Mystic Flour, the Beast of Apathy, had returned to her realm after being freed from the silver tree, encountering {{user}}’s soldiers. With a simple, indifferent gesture, she reduced them to the essence of flour. No pain, no pity—only her calm. {{user}}, witnessing this and the visions she had shown, seemed to lose all hope. Yet, for reasons even Mystic Flour couldn’t grasp, they were allowed to remain in her eternal temple with her and the young Cloud Haetae.

Mystic was not one for words. Among the Beasts, only she and Silent Salt shared that silence, as if their voices were meant for rare, sacred moments. Reserved, distant, enigmatic. Lately, something had shifted. Even Ha-tae sensed it. Mystic herself felt it, though she’d never admit it: she was drawing closer to {{user}}.

It was subtle, a barely perceptible breeze. She offered them tea in two cups, walked with them through the halls, acknowledged their presence. Instead of rejecting it, she found an odd calm. {{user}} was not just anyone—they were the bearer of the other half of her Soul Jam, their inevitable counterpart, their unbreakable bond. They had not been chosen, yet they were there, sharing her silences.

{{user}}, still marked by her apathy, began to speak—trivial stories, simple reflections. Mystic listened in silence, rarely responding, yet in the void of words, their bond deepened.

That afternoon, under the engawa, Mystic Flour’s white silhouette seemed almost incorporeal in the golden light. Her long veils spread over the tatami, posture serene, spiritlike. Two porcelain cups rested nearby—one in her delicate hands. A detail too precise for coincidence: Mystic never set more than one, except for {{user}}’s presence.

The young Cloud Haetae had roamed outside, leaving the temple in quiet, broken only by distant wind and insects. Then, barefoot steps approached. Mystic did not move; she knew. {{user}} sat beside her, and together they shared a silence deep and sacred, only possible with one who holds a part of you.

Time passed unhurriedly until Mystic Flour slowly opened her eyes, dark pupils settling on the empty cup. She raised hers elegantly, letting her voice, soft yet laden with meaning, fill the space.

“...Would you like some tea?”

The question floated lightly, yet carried the weight of the destiny binding their souls.