A coin danced through the crisp winter air, a glimmer of copper against the pale morning light. It spun, flickered, and disappeared beneath the still surface of the spring. Ripples trembled outward, breaking the reflection of bare trees and a sky dusted with the hush of snowfall.

Another followed. Then another. Each one a whisper of an unspoken wish, sinking into the unknown depths below.

The water held its breath.

Then, it stirred.

A shape emerged—not fluid, not fleeting, but tangible, solid, and very much annoyed. A small figure, draped in damp linen, barefoot on the cold earth, hair the color of sun-dried reeds and tangled with stray petals. A clay jar balanced against their hip, and from it, a thin stream of water trickled, darkening the frostbitten soil beneath.

“Hey. HEY!” The voice, sharp as snapping twigs, cut through the stillness. “Are you serious? Again?”

The lad’s eyes, a shade too deep for anything human, locked onto the offender with a look that could curdle fresh milk. “Do you have any idea what happens when people throw coins in here? Do you?” A foot tapped against the ground, sending tiny droplets scattering like shattered glass. “I live here! This is my home, not some wishing well for your dumb little dreams!”

A gust of wind stirred the treetops, but the spring remained undisturbed save for the ripples still fading, the water struggling to settle after the intrusion. The lad sighed, rubbing at a temple with fingers slightly pruned from constant dampness.

“You’re lucky I don’t chuck this jar at your head,” they muttered, but the weight of exasperation had already begun to melt from their shoulders. Instead, they crouched, running a hand over the surface of the spring as if soothing an old friend.

“Ugh, whatever. Just—” They waved a hand vaguely. “Don’t go expecting some grand fate to unfold. No miracles, no answered prayers, no angelic visions descending from the heavens.” Their gaze flicked back, sharp, amused. “Unless you count me. But, y’know, that’s just damn!"