The last manifestation

As soon as he entered, he was welcomed at the town's threshold by a wide plaza paved with gray stones, brimming with life and movement, as though it were a beating heart distributing warmth throughout the place. Men and women, young and old, each was immersed in the details of their daily life, strolling confidently between wooden stalls that exuded the scent of ripe, appetizing fruits.

At the center of the plaza stood a striking fountain that drew the eyes. It featured intricately carved stone statues, from which water flowed in thin streams like threads of liquid glass. The droplets reflected the light, forming a small, vibrant rainbow through which children leapt, their laughter echoing as they danced around the fountain. Their cheerful voices blended harmoniously with the gentle sound of flowing water, creating a musical scene of spontaneous joy.

Ace stopped in the middle of the square, his eyes scanning every corner, every color, every motion. His gaze resembled that of a child seeing the world for the first time. Although the place lacked the grandeur and embellishments of big cities, it radiated a subtle warmth that brought a sense of peace—an atmosphere measured not by its size, but by the emotions it stirred. While he was entranced by the captivating scene, he heard Emilia's cheerful voice behind him, saying with a bright smile,

 "How about I give you a tour of the town? There's so much to see."

Ace turned to her, momentarily surprised by her offer, but quickly smiled and replied with gratitude,

 "That would be very kind of you."

Just before they set off, his eyes landed again on her bulky bag. Raising his eyebrows and gesturing toward it, he asked,

 "May I carry your bag for you? It looks heavy."

Emilia blinked in surprise, glanced at her bag, then smiled gently as she placed a hand on it and replied playfully,

 "Oh, this? Don't worry, it's not as heavy as it looks. It's full of fabrics. I just got back from the Royal Capital after hearing about an amazing sale. I couldn't resist buying a large amount of fabric at fantastic deals."

She laughed and lightly tapped her forehead, as if scolding herself for her shopping spree, then added,

 "And that's how I ended up with such a big bag—but really, it's not as heavy as it seems, so don't worry about it."

Despite her casual tone, Ace felt that her words revealed a part of her character—a blend of childlike innocence and mature wisdom, as if life had shaped her early on without ever stripping her joy. Still unconvinced, he replied with gentle insistence,

 "It doesn't feel right to let a young lady carry such a large bag, while I'm barely holding anything."

His sincerity made the girl pause a moment before she smiled softly and, without further argument, nodded in agreement. She bent slightly, letting the bag rest on the ground, and the straps slipped from her shoulders, leaving faint marks—subtle signs of its weight. Ace noticed them instantly. That small trace told a story of effort and endurance—a child who never complained. In one swift motion, he lifted the bag as if afraid she might change her mind.

He hoisted it onto his shoulder. Though the weight meant little to him, he could tell it was heavy—far too heavy for a child. He imagined the strain she must have endured, hidden beneath her layer of innocence. Despite her youth, she was remarkably self-reliant. A sense of admiration and respect blossomed within him.

Afterward, the girl suggested they stop by her home to drop off the bags, which clearly weren't suited for a long tour. Ace nodded in agreement, and the two set off down the town's main street, where the sidewalks were paved with weathered stones, faded by time and the footsteps of passersby. On either side stood small houses with slanted roofs covered in red tiles and modest shops, some wafting the scent of fresh bread, others, the aroma of coffee.

Though the street wasn't bustling, every corner pulsed with the quiet life of its residents. An elderly woman sat in front of a tiny shop, knitting a piece of sky-blue wool. Children darted between low-hanging trees, while a gray cat perched on a stone wall, observing passersby with half-closed eyes.

They continued walking, with Ace observing the surroundings in detail, while Emilia occasionally pointed out familiar landmarks and shared their stories. After a roughly 500-meter walk, they reached a crossroads, turned left, and entered a quieter side street. The closely packed houses gave the area a warm, intimate feel, as if the homes whispered secrets to each other through their open windows. They passed a small garden surrounded by a worn wooden fence, where wildflowers bloomed chaotically, singing joy into the air despite the neglect.

At last, they stopped in front of a modest house. Though small, it radiated warmth with its soft colors and simple features. Its facade was partially covered by climbing plants, wrapping around it like a gentle embrace. A large window, almost shop-like, offered a clear view inside. Above the door, a small sign swayed gently, adorned with a golden thread and needle design. Emilia stepped forward, unlocked the wooden door, and pushed it open. It creaked softly, as if whispering a shy greeting, followed by the chime of a bell that welcomed them in. She turned to Ace, gesturing politely for him to enter, her eyes full of innocent hospitality.

He gave a slight bow in thanks and stepped toward the threshold—but paused. A strange sensation crept over him, as though unseen eyes were watching. He quickly turned, scanning the crowd, the expressions, and the corners that might conceal someone. Everything appeared normal, leaving him puzzled. He took a deep breath, convincing himself it was just fatigue playing tricks on him, and stepped inside.

Once across the threshold, he found himself in what appeared to be a tailor's shop. Before his surprise could fully settle, Emilia's excited voice rang out as she spread her arms wide in presentation,

 "Welcome to Grandma's little shop!"

With her theatrical declaration, Ace looked around, soon realizing this wasn't just a workshop—it was a living room transformed into a vibrant space of craftsmanship. Soft white curtains draped over the large window, letting sunlight stream gently inside and reflect off the wooden floor, mingling with the scent of fabric.

At the back stood a wooden table, its surface marked by age—scratches and grooves left by years of sewing, with remnants of fabric clinging to its edges. On the wall behind it, spools of brightly colored thread were neatly arranged on wooden shelves, accompanied by scissors and needles hanging like soldiers awaiting their next task.

Additional shelves lined the walls, holding small boxes adorned with delicate floral patterns, each filled with buttons of various colors and shapes—some metallic, others glass. Across the room stood a collection of small dolls, each a miniature masterpiece made by skilled hands.

One doll wore a velvety purple dress, its silky fabric trimmed with soft white lace, resembling a princess ready for a royal ball. Beside it, another doll donned an elegant winter coat lined with plush fur, its fine stitching a testament to expert hands. The third doll was strikingly different—larger, with stern features. It wasn't just a pretty toy; it resembled a warrior, its sharp details evoking strength rather than playfulness.

Ace stood in the center, absorbing every detail, then turned to Emilia, who smiled with pride. He realized then that this space wasn't merely a workshop—it was her world, woven from threads, dreams, and memories. She told him she would fetch some clean clothes. Ace set both bags down, his eyes scanning the garments displayed on simple wooden mannequins, each piece radiating care and affection.

Moments later, Emilia returned, holding neatly folded clothes and a pair of shoes. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. The outfit was simple: a clean shirt and comfortable trousers, both fresh with the scent of washing and ironing. She handed him the clothes, assuring him with cheerful confidence that they would fit perfectly. In her eyes, there wasn't a hint of doubt—as though she had memorized his measurements without ever needing to ask.

Ace took the clothes with gratitude, giving her a silent look of thanks before glancing around for a private corner to change. She noticed his hesitation and stepped forward, shaking her head apologetically, explaining that the shop was small and lacked a fitting room. Her customers, she said, usually relied on her judgment, which had never failed them.