Mr. Bloom and Isidor went into a side room, leaving Tom and Mia behind. Then Mia turned to Tom, her large braid swaying gracefully with the motion.
"I'll call my little brothers," she said. She placed the nail of her index finger between her teeth and whistled several sharp, clear notes.
Almost immediately, the sound of running footsteps echoed throughout the large house. Two children appeared and came to a stop beside her, standing upright like well-trained soldiers.
"Yes, sister," they said at the same time.
She pointed toward Tom. "This is Tom, our guest. He's going to be staying here with us for the next few days. Introduce yourselves."
"Hello, guest," said the first boy, who looked to be about fourteen years old. "What's up? I'm Ron. Nice to meet you." He reached out his hand in greeting.
Tom took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Nice to meet you too. I'm Tom."
The second boy, who appeared to be around ten years old, looked very excited.
"I'm Lloren," he said quickly.
Tom looked around the space he was in. The room was quite large. In the center stood several spacious sofas and a few tables, clearly meant for entertaining guests.
The children began talking with Tom, and before long, they were chatting comfortably as if they'd known each other for much longer. Tom shared stories about what life was like in his village, far below the mountains, and in turn, they told him how they managed to survive the bitter cold up here. They even showed him a few of their magical skills.
"Wow," Tom said, clearly impressed. "I've never seen ice magic before."
"That's our specialty," Lloren said proudly, standing a bit taller. "You won't find anyone else who can do ice magic the way we do."
"I think the best wizards in the White Families might be able to," Tom said thoughtfully.
The children made a face at that. Even Mia looked a bit puzzled.
"Who are the White Families?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"You really don't know?" Tom asked, surprised. "They must be part of the noble families in the kingdom we live in."
Mia looked a little embarrassed as she replied.
"We never leave the mountainside," she admitted. "So we're pretty cut off from the rest of the world. I'd be glad if you could explain more about them."
"I've never actually seen them myself," Tom said, "but Mr. Bloom—my teacher—told me they're distant relatives of the mountain people. That means... well, you."
"But we've lived here for millions of years," Mia said, frowning slightly.
Tom nodded, then began to explain everything Mr. Bloom had told him.
-------
"Why did you come so early?" Isidore asked Mr. Bloom, his voice low with confusion. "From the message that was sent, I was sure you wouldn't arrive for at least another month. And Emilio hasn't come either."
The room they were in was lit by candles made from the earwax of a giant mountain lizard—a primitive and undeveloped species of dragon. Because of that, the light in the room was dim, casting long, flickering shadows. It wasn't nearly as strong as the bright and steady light Mr. Bloom was used to back in the village.
"At the last minute, we received word that some nobles from the Golden Families were coming," Mr. Bloom explained. He let out a long, weary sigh, like an old man who only wanted to sit down and rest. His shoulders slumped slightly as he spoke.
"This is really big news," Isidore replied after a moment of silence. "There must be a reason they suddenly decided to come like this, without warning."
Mr. Bloom wrung his hands in frustration, his fingers moving anxiously. "I have no idea," he said. "They didn't even tell us the rank of the person who's coming. Not a word about who it is. I just know that Emilio decided to stop work in the mine, probably because of the news."
Isidore nodded slowly, then began to tell Mr. Bloom about the strange monster that had attacked them. He spoke in a steady tone, explaining that they had joined forces with the dragon hunters. Together, they had finally managed to kill the creature. No one knew exactly where it had come from, but it had managed to destroy all the grain they had grown on the mountain, leaving them with almost nothing.
"The dragon hunters are still on the lookout," Isidore said after a pause, his expression grim.
"Did you think to check the big hole?" asked old Bloom suddenly. He was referring to the large cave at the top of the mountain, a place long known as the source of many evil beasts and various monsters throughout the years.
"Even if the monster came from there," Isidore replied sharply, his tone rising with frustration. He pulled out a small log from beside him. "What can we do about it? That place is far too dangerous. Even the dragon hunters are afraid to go near it, and they've seen worse than most of us ever will."
He began to carve the piece of wood with his knife, the blade moving with practiced precision, the sharp scraping sound filling the room for a moment as the conversation fell silent.
"In the last decade," said Mr. Bloom, "our mine's research department has managed to create something rather remarkable."
He reached slowly into his magical storage compartment, the surface of which shimmered faintly, and pulled out an unusual object. It was a transparent ball, almost perfectly smooth, and it was attached to a small cube. Inside the ball, a soft purple crystal glowed gently, casting subtle reflections through the transparent casing. Isidore leaned in, intrigued. As he examined the strange object, he noticed a thin chain hanging from the base.
"Can you attach this to the ceiling of the room?" Mr. Bloom asked after a moment.
Without hesitation, Isidore rose from his seat. He moved across the dimly lit room to a wooden block that protruded from one of the ceiling beams—likely used in the past to hang things. Carefully, he hooked the chain to it, letting the cube dangle slightly. It looked odd and futuristic in the rustic, shadowy room lit by nothing but flickering lizard-wax candles.
"Now," said Mr. Bloom, gesturing upward, "pull the thread connected to the ball. Gently."
Isidore did as instructed. The moment the thread was pulled, the device responded. The crystal inside the ball flared to life, casting a strong, clean, white light that filled the entire room. The corners, once draped in shadow, became crisp and visible. The walls, the furniture, and even the dust in the air shimmered under the pure illumination.
"What is this thing?" Isidore asked, clearly amazed. His eyes reflected the glow, wide with wonder.
"It's a kind of light-generating ball," Mr. Bloom replied, folding his hands behind his back. "I don't really know exactly how they work—I'm not the engineer behind them—but the researchers in our department figured out how to activate these crystals from the mine. Somehow, they interact with the structure of the device to produce light like this."
He reached into his original magical compartment once again, and from within it, pulled out another storage container—nested within the first like a set of enchanted boxes.
"I've brought a few thousand of these light balls," he said, placing the second compartment down with a soft thud. "They're for you. For all three of your villages. And in here—" he tapped the side of the container, "are enough crystals to keep them running for at least ten years, maybe more, depending on how often they're used."
Isidore stood silently for a moment, then stepped forward and embraced Mr. Bloom tightly.
"You are the best friends we could have ever asked for," he said, his voice warm with genuine gratitude.
They continued talking for nearly two hours, discussing everything from the light orbs to village needs and future plans. As the conversation wound down, Isidore sat back and stretched his legs.
"I think I," he said thoughtfully, "along with a few other representatives from the village, will come down with you."
Mr. Bloom smiled, visibly pleased. "That's the best news I've heard in a long time."
"I don't think we've come down from the mountain in twenty generations," Isidore added, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's been far too long. And we need to show a presence in the world again. If we don't, this continent might forget we exist entirely."
While they talked, Isidore had been carving a piece of wood. Now the log in his hands had taken on a rough but recognizable form—the image of a strange and terrifying monster, its proportions exaggerated and features menacing.
"I suppose this is the monster you were talking about?" Mr. Bloom asked, examining the carved figure with raised eyebrows.
"Yes," Isidore confirmed, his expression darkening. "One day, something fell from the sky. It hit the upper reaches of the mountain, and there was a massive explosion."
He handed the wooden figure to Mr. Bloom, who held it carefully, turning it over in his hands.
"The noise from that blast must have woken some animals from their deep sleep. And I'm afraid..." He paused, his tone growing heavy. "Some ancient creatures may have awakened as well."
---------
After a while, Isidore and Mr. Bloom stepped out of the side room, their voices trailing off as they finished the last strands of their quiet conversation. They walked together down the narrow hall, the soft creaking of the wooden floor beneath their boots mixing with the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. When they returned to the main living room, they were met with a warm and somewhat surprising sight.
The children were all gathered on the large, cushioned rugs in the center of the room, sitting cross-legged or sprawled out on pillows, their eyes wide with wonder. They were listening with rapt attention to Tom, who was in the middle of recounting one of his many stories. After spending four days traveling and living alongside Mr. Bloom, Tom had collected no shortage of tales to tell—and the children, it seemed, couldn't get enough of them.
What surprised Isidore the most, however, was seeing Mia among them. Unlike her younger brothers, Mia had always carried herself with the seriousness and restraint of someone far older than her years. Yet here she was, leaning forward slightly, eyes fixed on Tom, her mouth parted in astonishment as she listened. Her usual composed demeanor had given way to the same innocent curiosity that lit up her brothers' faces. Clearly, Tom had found the right words to reach even her.
But then, without warning, Mia's expression changed. She sat up straighter, and a flicker of emotion passed over her face—something close to irritation or suspicion. Her gaze shifted away from Tom and locked on her father, who had just entered the room with Mr. Bloom at his side.
She stood and turned to face him directly, her eyes sharp.
"What are the White Noble Families?" she asked, her voice tense. "And why did you never tell us about them?"
Isidore blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. For a brief moment, he didn't speak. Then he gave a tired sigh and looked her straight in the eye.
"Maybe you really are lacking a bit of general knowledge about the world," he said, not unkindly but with a bluntness that made Mia's brows knit tighter. "But in any case, since I assume you're asking because Tom already told you something about them—I'll tell you now."
He took a breath, then said flatly, "They're a bunch of walking trash who just happen to carry the blood of the first Oleks chief. Other than that connection, which barely matters, we have no relation to them. So forget about them. They're nothing to admire."
Mia didn't respond right away. Her arms crossed slowly over her chest, and she looked down, clearly disappointed. She had imagined something different—perhaps some noble lineage to be proud of, the kind she had heard about in storybooks: powerful families who lived in grand houses, dressed in fine clothes, and didn't have to hunt and fight every day just to survive. She had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that they might share a part in that world.
But no. Her father's words had closed that door, blunt and absolute.
Isidore, seeing the look on her face, didn't press the matter. Instead, he called out to the rest of the household.
"Everyone," he said, raising his voice slightly, "come join us. It's time to eat."
He turned to Tom and Mr. Bloom and gestured toward the long wooden dining table.
"You're both invited, of course. Eat with us."
"Zina," he added, turning to his wife, who had just come in from the kitchen area, wiping her hands on a towel, "the guests will be staying here for a full month." He took a long sip from the cup of strong, clear alcohol resting beside him. "And after that, I'm taking Mia with me to the village down below. We haven't shown our presence there in far too long."
At the sound of those words, Mia's eyes went wide with excitement. For a moment, a glint of joy lit her face—but she quickly composed herself, straightening her back and tightening her jaw. A warrior, after all, had to stay calm. She couldn't allow herself to look like a giddy child, not in front of her family and guests.
"How long will you be gone?" Zina asked from across the room. Her voice was casual, but with the practiced tone of someone used to her husband disappearing for weeks—sometimes even months—at a time.
"A month," Isidore said, rolling his shoulders. "Maybe a little more. Depends on how long we can stand the heat down there."
Mr. Bloom chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. "Don't worry about that," he said reassuringly. "There are cooling devices in the village—machines that can create cold air. Some can even make real ice if needed."
The conversation shifted then, growing more relaxed as food and drink were laid out. The warm aroma of roasted meat, mountain herbs, and baked root vegetables filled the room. Laughter and talk bounced off the stone walls, and soon the alcohol began to take effect. Mr. Bloom and Isidore, sitting side by side, started to laugh more freely.
Before long, the two old companions were engaged in a game of hand-holding contests—gripping each other's hands tightly, knuckles white, each trying to outlast the other. Every time, Mr. Bloom won, though not without effort. Still, they both roared with laughter each time one of them gave in, and the children cheered them on with amusement.