Miracleborn Saga

Henry stepped through the front door of his home, closing it gently behind him as a wind whispered against the frame. The soft click of his shoes echoed against the wooden floor as he moved through the dim entryway, reaching for the switches. One by one, he lit the house—lamps flaring to life with a dull amber glow that pushed the cold corners of the room back into retreat.

Warmth returned in shadows, stretching along the furniture, crawling softly across the books, the coats, the small cluttered memories of a man trying to maintain order.

He took his hat off, hanging it on the wall hook, then loosened the scarf at his neck. His coat came off next, and only then did he notice the silence.

No claws tapping the floor. No playful tussles in the hallway. No Mimi.

His brows furrowed. "Mimi?"

He moved toward the living room—careful, quiet. And there she was, curled on the blanket near the heater, not asleep, not alert. Her small chest rose and fell with difficulty, and her fur had lost its usual sheen. Her ears twitched only faintly when he approached.

"Mimi…"

Henry crouched beside her, resting his palm gently on her side. It was too warm—feverishly warm. Her little body was trembling, but not from cold. Her tail didn't move. Her whiskers barely flicked.

He pressed the back of his hand to her head. She was burning up. Her eyes fluttered open at last, but they didn't really focus. She was breathing through her mouth—slow, raspy. Henry's jaw tensed. A strange sense of helplessness crawled up his spine.

"I'm taking you somewhere," he said softly.

Standing up, he hurried to grab a small blanket, folding her gently inside. His thoughts moved quickly—was it something she ate? Something from the streets? From… that place?

He didn't waste another second. The city outside was growing cold, the wind rising. He buttoned his coat tight, clutching Mimi close to his chest like something irreplaceable—because she was.

Henry opened the door.

The pet care shop wasn't far. But the night felt longer than usual.

....

Snow had begun to gather gently on the cobblestone road as Henry walked, each step crunching underfoot, slow and deliberate. The city was quiet this hour—carriages passed rarely, their wheels muffled under fresh frost. The streetlamps stood like sentinels, lighting the path at precise intervals, casting golden halos into the flurrying dark. Their glow shimmered faintly on the rising mist that danced just above the ground.

Henry kept Mimi wrapped close to his chest, beneath his coat. Her warmth against him was waning, like a flickering candle. He looked down often, watching the rise and fall of her breath. It was weak. Sluggish.

The town's pet care shop came into view, tucked between two tall buildings, its wooden sign swinging lightly in the winter wind. The door had a small lantern above it, flickering against the frost-blurred glass. A soft "Open" sign hung crooked on the door, but the windows were dark.

He pushed the door slowly.

A small bell above gave a quiet chime. The air inside was warmer, dry and herbal, faintly smelling of hay and ointments. The shelves were lined with medicine jars, bandages, tools, and small blankets folded in neat piles. A counter stood at the back, but no one was there.

"Hello?" Henry called, voice low.

Only silence replied.

He looked around, then walked to a wooden bench against the wall and sat down, careful not to wake Mimi from her restless half-sleep. She whimpered slightly. Her tail was limp.

The ticking of the clock on the far wall was the only sound. It was nearly 08 PM.

He could've left. But he didn't. Something inside him told him to wait. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was guilt.

He unwrapped part of the blanket to check her again. Her breathing was slower now. The fever hadn't gone down.

Henry leaned his head back against the wooden wall, snow melting off his coat in slow drips. His legs ached from walking. His hand trembled slightly as he brushed a lock of fur from her eyes.

Still, he waited.

The soft chime of the entrance bell broke the silence.

Henry sat up as the door creaked open, revealing a tall, burly man stomping off snow from his boots. A thick scarf was wrapped around his neck, and his coat still dripped from the walk through frost.

"Apologies, young man!" the man called out, voice deep but warm. "Got caught up at my sister's place. I didn't think anyone would show this late."

Henry gave a small nod. "I wouldn't have come, but... it's urgent."

The man smiled apologetically, hanging his coat behind the counter. "Name's Lavish. Owner of this humble shop. My partner's supposed to be on duty... probably fell asleep again." He sighed and leaned over a small desk. "Roze?"

At first, no sound came.

Then, footsteps shuffled behind a curtain at the back.

Roze emerged slowly, rubbing her eyes, her feather hat missing. Her hair was untied, dry and disheveled, and she wore a long green apron over casual sleeping clothes. Her face twisted into embarrassment the moment she noticed Henry.

"You're sleeping again during your shift," Lavish muttered with mock irritation, tossing her a half-smile. "If you were anyone else, I'd dock wages."

Roze rolled her eyes, yawning. "Maybe you shouldn't keep books that read like sleeping pills on the desk."

Henry gave her a quiet nod. "Sorry to wake you."

She shook her head gently. "You didn't."

Lavish waved a hand. "Anyway, I'm off. Wife's waiting, and I already broke curfew. Shop's yours. Try not to nap again."

He left, shutting the door behind with a puff of wind and snow.

Roze approached and knelt before Henry, peeking at Mimi with a soft expression. "Let me see her."

She brought over a faint-glowing glass wand and passed it gently across Mimi's small body. The wand flickered and pulsed with strange black veins of light. Roze's brows furrowed.

"Something's... latched onto her. Not illness. A curse. Entanglement of an miracle, probably residual." She stood, walking to a shelf and scribbling on a parchment. "I can't lift it without the right things."

She handed the paper to Henry.

The list was short, but not simple:

*Resin of Clawthorn Pine

*A bowl of silver-grade moon salt

*Ashes of a black dahlia

*A drop of blood from the bonded keeper (written carefully)

Henry stared at the last line for a moment. "What does this mean?"

Roze looked at Mimi, then at him. "She chose you. You're the keeper."

Henry held the list, nodded once, and wrapped Mimi again in the scarf.

Roze placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Be quick. The curse is slow, but it coils."

He walked into the night, scarf fluttering, cradling the sleeping cat. The snow had thickened now, the lamps glowing dim behind curtains of white.

He didn't speak.

But deep down, he'd already made a decision.

He'd get every damn thing on that list.

Just as Henry turned to leave, scarf tucked over his face, the faint scuffle of soft boots sounded behind him.

"Wait," Roze called gently.

He turned back. Roze was standing at the threshold of the shop, still wearing her green apron over her sleepwear, her bare arms shivering slightly against the cold seeping through the wooden walls.

"I'll help you find the ingredients," she said, voice low but certain.

Henry blinked, caught off guard. "You've already done enough. It's not your problem."

Roze tilted her head with a slight smile, one that didn't quite reach her tired eyes. "But it is. She's yours. And that makes her mine too."

Henry didn't respond for a moment. Snow flurried past the windows, muffling the world.

"You should rest," he finally said. "You look like you've barely slept."

"I'll sleep when she's better." She walked forward and brushed some snow off his coat with the edge of her sleeve. "You're terrible at taking care of yourself. I can tell."

Henry glanced down at Mimi, breathing weakly in the folds of his scarf.

Roze placed a hand on his chest lightly, her palm barely touching. "You don't have to carry everything, Henry. Not always."

Her words were soft, not commanding—but they settled into his bones like warmth beside a hearth.

Something in Roze reminded him of something long buried. Not just gentleness. Not pity. But a quiet strength—a presence that embraced without demand. Her touch didn't promise rescue, only that she would walk beside him if he let her.

He gave a subtle nod.

Roze smiled. "I'll change, get my gear. Wait here."

As she turned and walked back inside, humming faintly under her breath, Henry stood silent in the doorway, clutching Mimi close.

The wind brushed against his face, cold but gentle.

And in that quiet moment, he didn't feel so alone.

Henry strode down the quiet mid-street, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows between the crooked buildings. The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional passerby hurrying home.

Meanwhile, back at the house, Marsh and Jeena were locked in an unexpected battle—against a single, utterly ordinary butterfly.

The tiny creature fluttered lazily near the kitchen window, its delicate wings shimmering with iridescent colors. But to Marsh and Jeena, this was no mere insect; it was a formidable foe.

Jeena, crouched low, narrowed her eyes and moved with the precision of a hunter. "Marsh, it's toying with us. That flutter near the vase was a distraction—watch the corner!"

Marsh, balancing on the balls of his feet, whispered, "I see it… it's blending in with the sunlight! Classic camouflage."

The butterfly flitted around, drifting near a vase of flowers, then darting toward the open doorway. Jeena lunged, arms reaching out like a martial artist trying to catch a shadow.

Marsh tried to anticipate its flight path, bobbing and weaving, his movements almost graceful. "I swear this thing has a sixth sense. It's faster than it looks."

Jeena snorted, "It's just a butterfly, Marsh! Not a ninja!"

Marsh shot back, "Don't underestimate the butterfly. Remember the time I got stung by a bee? That was almost as bad as this."

The butterfly zipped suddenly—Marsh blinked just in time, narrowly missing a slap that would have sent the poor insect spiraling into the wall.

Jeena smirked, "You're the one missing. Look at me—steady, calm, graceful. I'm going to catch this little devil."

As she lunged forward again, the butterfly performed a perfect evasive maneuver, causing Jeena to crash hand-first into the table. A vase wobbled dangerously.

Marsh stifled a laugh. "Graceful, sure."

Jeena shot him a glare, wiping dust off her sleeve. "Focus! It's near the curtains now—corner it!"

Marsh nodded seriously, "Alright, on three… One, two—"

Suddenly, the butterfly soared straight up, spiraling toward the ceiling fan.

Both froze, eyes wide.

Jeena whispered, "The ceiling fan… That's its high ground advantage."

Marsh grimaced, "I think we're dealing with a butterfly mastermind here."

After a tense moment, the fan stopped, and the butterfly settled on a nearby lampshade.

Jeena smirked triumphantly, "Gotcha now."

With a slow, deliberate move, she reached out—but the butterfly, as if mocking them, fluttered away again, disappearing out the open window.

Marsh sank onto the couch, breathing hard. "Well, it looks like we lost the battle, but the war goes on."

Jeena sat beside him, shaking her head with a reluctant smile. "Next time, we bring a net."

Henry, returning home and hearing the laughter, shook his head in disbelief. Only these two would turn a butterfly into a full-scale war.