Old Sam & The Whispers

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Last year, Old Sam and Josephine’s 2024 Inktober adventure began on Captain Ebeling’s dragon boat. He had offered to take them back to Old Sam’s forest. But tormentors threw a spanner in the works and disrupted their journey through the spring tide. They ended up in the Exotic Sea of Ice, where Old Sam had a vision. Silent voices had escaped from the In-Between World, and all stories were in danger. The Master Storyteller needed their help.

With the aid of a magical passport, revealing their route step by step, Old Sam set off with Josephine. They waved goodbye to the dragon boat’s crew.

They met Norbie, a wanderer from a Nomadic people, who became their guide. The Master Storyteller had shown him this task in a vision. On the way to the Great Grey Mountains, they encountered secret agent dog Jack Russell, and the Master Storyteller himself. Their motley company also met Nora the Rhino, a striking presence. After drinking a potion from Dorethea, the witch of the North, Nora’s friend Jumbo transformed into the flying elephant.

Their final destination was a cave high in the Great Grey Mountains. There, the Zen Master and the dragon boat’s Navigator joined them. Inside, they found a magical violin, a special piece of music, and a violin player. Only a magical string was missing — needed to unlock the notes that could restore the silent voices. A whisker from Old Sam solved the problem. The voices were given sound again and returned to the In-Between World, where stories could once more be told. The adventure ended with a great feast on Captain Ebeling’s boat. The next morning, Old Sam and Josephine woke slowly.

‘I’ll keep my eyes closed a little longer,’ said Old Sam, ‘just to reminisce before we make new plans.’

‘Yes,’ sighed Josephine, ‘nothing came of our last plan. Your forest still feels out of reach.’

‘It does,’ said Old Sam. ‘Maybe if we stop trying to go there, we’ll end up finding it anyway.’

They both laughed. Josephine opened her eyes and turned to Old Sam.

‘It feels like water is sloshing against the boat,’ she said. ‘We were celebrating in the clouds, weren’t we?’

‘We were,’ said Old Sam. ‘We were anchored in front of the cave, high in the Great Grey Mountains.’

‘Still, it feels like we’re no longer a cloud ship,’ Josephine replied. ‘It truly feels as if we’re sailing.’

Old Sam opened his eyes and looked at her.
‘Maybe Captain Ebeling has decided to set off again,’ he said.

‘Then we must tell him that we’d like to reach your forest,’ Josephine answered, jumping from the bed.

They walked out of the cabin. The entire crew stood on deck — Captain Ebeling, the water witches, the dragon master, the Zen Master, and the Navigator. But all of them were frozen in place.

‘What is happening here?’ Josephine exclaimed.

In their midst lay the violin from the previous adventure. One of its strings seemed alive — Old Sam’s whisker. It swung across the deck, shining and vibrating at once. From it, more and more hairs sprouted in all directions.

‘It’s as if your moustache has come to life, Old Sam,’ said Josephine. ‘What is going on here, and why is the crew no longer moving?’

Old Sam and Josephine had slept soundly in a cabin on the Round Whale, Captain Ebeling’s dragon boat, after the great feast. When they awoke the next morning and were about to make new plans, they sensed that something was not right. They decided to go up on deck. There, they could ask Captain Ebeling and the crew if they had noticed anything during the night. But everyone stood motionless, and in the middle lay the violin from their previous adventure. One of its strings seemed to have a life of its own.

‘What is that?’ Josephine cried out.

‘If you know, then I know,’ said Old Sam.

The string, once made from his whisker, now moved freely across the deck. As it slithered along, it gave off a soft tone, so enchanting that it almost hurt to listen. The crew of the Round Whale seemed entranced. It was as if the melody itself held them captive.

Josephine shivered. ‘The violin… it is enchanting everyone. But why?’

The string curled further, as if dancing in the air. No one moved, no one spoke. The only sound was the thin singing of the living string, gripping the entire ship. Then it drifted upward, toward the top of the mast. Old Sam and Josephine looked up.

‘What’s hanging there?’ Josephine asked in amazement.

‘It looks like a spider’s web,’ said Old Sam.

‘Ugh,’ said Josephine, ‘I hope there isn’t a spider sitting up there in the mast.’

‘Well,’ said Old Sam, ‘if it’s the Heart Spider Queen or one of her folk, you probably wouldn’t mind.’

‘That’s true,’ said Josephine, ‘they’re such sweet little spiders.’

Old Sam and Josephine had met the Heart Spider Queen and her people during the adventure with the cloud ships. That was also the adventure where they first encountered Captain Ebeling, the water witches, his crew, and his ship. A whole series of events followed, in which they saved the Cloud World from great danger. That too had ended in a grand celebration, where Josephine discovered that chatterclams with witches’ cheese did not taste so bad after all.

‘Maybe you should take a look, Old Sam,’ said Josephine. ‘Then you might find out what’s going on.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ said Old Sam.

‘Just be careful,’ said Josephine.

‘I’ve seen the water witches climb the mast often enough — I should be able to manage,’ Old Sam replied.

He leapt onto the mast. At that very moment, the boat began to tremble. Josephine let out a cry and Old Sam clung on tight. The crew of the Round Whale still stood frozen. Yet, faintly, alongside the song of the enchanted string, another sound emerged.

It was like a whisper, so thin it was barely there. Old Sam and Josephine strained their ears.

‘The weaving has begun,’ the whisper said. ‘Follow the path and do not be caught…’

Old Sam and Josephine stood on the deck of the Round Whale, where everyone was frozen stiff. The string, once made from his whisker, seemed to enchant them all. Old Sam spotted a spider’s web in the mast. Josephine urged him to climb up, hoping he might discover where the enchantment came from. But then a whisper told them that the weaving had begun, and that they must follow the path and not be caught. What in the world was happening?

‘Where is that voice coming from?’ Josephine asked.

‘No idea,’ said Old Sam. ‘But it does sound ominous.’

‘Rather,’ said Josephine. ‘What path are we supposed to follow, and who would want to catch us?’

‘I don’t know, Josephine,’ Old Sam replied. ‘But I fear there’s no other way than to climb the mast and see what’s going on up there.’

‘Yes,’ said Josephine. ‘Hopefully then we’ll discover what has happened here. But do be careful, Old Sam.’

Old Sam nodded. He was always careful. Well, most of the time. Still, he thought it sweet that Josephine worried about him, for secretly he too felt nervous. He clung to the mast and began to climb. The higher he went, the more the spider’s web seemed to stir. Could it sense his presence, or was something else at play?

Halfway up, Old Sam paused and looked more closely. He saw how the threads of the web came together, weaving into one another.

‘It looks as though the threads are weaving something,’ Old Sam called down to Josephine.

‘Weaving?’ Josephine cried, raising her eyebrows. ‘How are we supposed to follow a path that’s been woven?’

‘I don’t know either,’ said Old Sam.

Then, a glimmer high at the top of the mast caught his eye.

‘What do you see?’ asked Josephine.

‘I see something shining at the masthead,’ said Old Sam. ‘It looks like a star, so bright.’

He moved again, climbing higher. The silver threads of the web kept weaving, utterly unbothered by Old Sam. When he reached the top, he looked more closely. The threads were so tightly woven here that he could barely see what was sparkling. He reached out a paw and brushed the threads aside. At last, Old Sam could see what glittered there. His mouth fell open in astonishment.

‘What is it?’ Josephine called impatiently. She could not understand why he had gone so quiet.

‘It glitters so beautifully,’ Old Sam murmured dreamily. He seemed enchanted and stretched out his paw further.

‘Careful!’ Josephine cried. ‘You don’t know what will happen if you touch it.’

But it was already too late. Old Sam touched the shimmering light. At that moment, another shiver ran through the ship, and once again a whisper could be heard. Old Sam and Josephine strained their ears.

‘The crown chooses you,’ the voice whispered. ‘Follow the path and do not be caught…’

Old Sam climbed into the mast of the Round Whale to investigate the spider’s web. The threads seemed to be weaving something. When he reached the top, he brushed the strands aside to see what was sparkling so brightly. He looked enchanted, stretching out his paw further. Then came the words: the crown chooses him. What could it mean?

‘How can the crown choose you?’ Josephine shouted upward.

‘No idea,’ Old Sam called back, glancing down.

Josephine had to squeeze her eyes shut, the crown now gleamed so fiercely. Old Sam squeezed his eyes shut as well. Neither of them saw how the crown detached itself from the mast and floated toward Old Sam’s head. The threads streaming from the crown quivered with anticipation. Then they closed around Old Sam. He let out a cry of alarm.

‘What’s happening?’ Josephine called.

‘The threads of the crown are wrapping around me!’ Old Sam shouted, flailing wildly. That was not a good idea high up in the mast. He lost his balance and began to fall. Josephine peeked through her squinted eyes. When she realized what was happening to Old Sam, she too cried out in fright.

But then the threads around Old Sam suddenly stirred. They quivered with excitement and hooked together, forming a blanket of silver threads. So many of them now that Josephine could clearly see what was happening.

‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘The threads are saving you, Old Sam. It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.’

Old Sam had no time to be afraid. For not only were the threads wrapping themselves around him, but the crown also itself seemed intent on seizing him. Desperately he flung his paws about, but it was no use. The crown fastened itself upon his head. The threads wove on, lowering him gently down to the deck.

‘You’ve got a crown on your head,’ Josephine said.

Old Sam grabbed at the crown, trying to remove it. But it would not budge. The silver threads quivered as if to warn him. Then came a rushing sound. A rushing sound that swelled louder and louder.

‘What’s happening?’ Josephine cried.

‘I don’t know!’ Old Sam shouted over the noise.

The entire ship began to shake. Old Sam and Josephine hurried to the railing, clinging tightly. From there they saw the sea begin to change — from calm, blue-green waters into dark waves, as though someone had poured a pot of ink into the sea. Then the water began to churn, spiralling deeper and deeper. It looked as if a passage were forming — one to another world.

‘What is that?’ Josephine asked.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Old Sam. ‘Things are happening now that I have never experienced before.’

Once again a whisper could be heard, this time seeming to rise from the churning sea itself.

‘The crown opens the gate,’ the voice whispered, ‘but only he who knows how to pass through murky waters can see the path…’

Old Sam had climbed into the mast to discover the source of the web and the brilliance above. It turned out to be a crown. Before he knew it, the crown floated toward him and locked itself onto his head. The threads formed a silver blanket that carried him safely back to the deck. Then the sea changed: the water grew dark and murky, and in the depths a swirling passage opened. Once again, a whispering voice could be heard: ‘The crown opens the gate, but only he who knows how to pass through troubled waters can see the path…’

The passage beneath the ship grew wider. The Round Whale was being sucked down, as if a gigantic whirlpool were swallowing it whole.

‘What’s happening?’ Josephine cried.

‘Hold on to me!’ Old Sam shouted. ‘The crown is trembling so hard I’m getting dizzy.’

Josephine knew that whenever Old Sam grew dizzy, visions came to him. She clung tightly to him.

‘I won’t let you go, Old Sam,’ she said, closing her eyes and letting herself be carried along with him into whatever was happening.

The whirlpool drew them deeper and deeper, until suddenly the sea fell silent. The ship floated on a smooth, black lake, surrounded by dense mist. It was so still Josephine could hear her own breath.

‘Where are we?’ she whispered, glancing at Old Sam, who was still caught in his vision. ‘This doesn’t feel like our world.’

Then Josephine heard a sound. It was like the soft trotting of hooves.

‘Old Sam, wake up,’ she whispered, gently shaking him. ‘I’m frightened.’

‘You need not be afraid,’ said a deep, calm voice. ‘You are the guardian of the bearer of the crown. Follow me, and I shall lead you through troubled waters.’

Before Josephine could reply, she heard hooves again — this time heavy, shaking the very ground.

‘Do not be deceived,’ came a dark voice. ‘I alone am the true guide. Follow me, guardian of the bearer of the crown, and you will safely find the path.’

Josephine did not know where to look. She saw only two shapes in the mist: one light, the other dark. Where was she, and whom should she believe? And why did Old Sam not wake from his vision?

‘Make your choice, guardian of the bearer of the crown, or remain here forever, wandering in this mist.’

‘Why don’t you show yourselves?’ Josephine cried out.

The mist parted. A deer appeared — slender and regal, its antlers glowing with a soft silver light. It gazed at her calmly and dipped its head in a gentle bow. Then another shape emerged: a second deer, larger and darker, with antlers like glittering blades. Its eyes burned red, and its breath curled into icy clouds.

‘Choose wisely, guardian of the bearer of the crown,’ said the dark deer in its heavy voice. ‘For sometimes your sight is troubled, and what you see is not what it seems…’

The Round Whale had been swallowed by the whirlpool and carried into a black, glassy lake, shrouded in mist. Old Sam remained caught in his vision, unconscious. Josephine wondered where she was when she heard the sound of hooves. Two deer emerged before her: one light and regal, crowned with silver antlers; the other dark and menacing, its antlers glinting like blades. The dark deer warned her: ‘Choose wisely, guardian of the bearer of the crown, for sometimes your sight is troubled, and what seems real is not what it appears…’

Josephine felt her heart pounding in her throat. The mist coiled around her, tighter and tighter, as though it meant to trap her. Old Sam was still locked inside his vision. Before her stood the two deer: one radiating calm, the other radiating darkness.

‘What am I to do?’ she whispered. ‘I cannot decide without you, Old Sam…’

But Old Sam did not answer. The crown upon his head trembled faintly, its silver threads pulsing in rhythm, as if waiting for her choice.

The deer with the silver antlers stepped closer.

‘Trust in the light, guardian of the bearer of the crown. I am the guide of the light. Only by following me will you find the way.’

His voice was calm, yet Josephine saw his antlers flicker suddenly. She blinked, and the vision was gone. The dark deer stepped forward, fixing her with its burning red eyes.

‘You see?’ said the dark deer. ‘Not everything is what it seems in this mist. What you think you see may only be an illusion meant to betray you.’

He scraped his hoof against the ground, and the sound rumbled through the earth. The silver threads quivered, giving Josephine the sense that they were still waiting for her to choose. She looked around helplessly, not knowing what to do. Then suddenly she felt Old Sam stir.

‘Old Sam, you’re back!’ she cried with relief. ‘You must help me — we have to choose.’

‘Josephine,’ he said, ‘they are trying to deceive us. One of them is real, the other only a shadow.’

At that moment, both deer lunged forward. Their antlers clashed, hooves sliding across the slick ground, scraping and stamping, throwing up dirt in every direction. Josephine clung to Old Sam, who wrapped his tail around her.

‘Sometimes you must not fear what you see,’ Old Sam whispered in her ear. ‘Sometimes you must go straight through it to find the way.’

The deer clashed once more, harder than ever. Sparks flew from their antlers into the mist, and with a deafening crack one of the blades snapped from the dark deer’s antlers. The shard pierced the mist, and a gate opened.

Beyond it lay a path stretching into the lake — into an unknown world.

Then came the sound they had heard before.

‘The gate has opened,’ the voice whispered. ‘Follow the path and do not be caught…’

Old Sam and Josephine found themselves with the Round Whale in a misty world. There appeared two deer: one light and regal with silver antlers, the other dark and menacing with antlers of glinting blades. While Josephine struggled desperately to decide whom she should trust, Old Sam awoke from his vision. The deer charged at each other, their antlers sparking in the mist, and with a deafening crack a blade from the dark antlers pierced the mist. A gate opened, revealing a path leading into an unknown world, deeper into the lake. A voice whispered: ‘The gate has opened, follow the path and do not be caught.’

‘Do you know what this lake reminds me of?’ Old Sam said thoughtfully.

‘I have no idea,’ said Josephine.

‘It reminds me of the lake that leads to the Misty Land,’ Old Sam said.

‘Oh no,’ Josephine cried. ‘Not the Misty Land again.’

In the Misty Land lived the Mist Creatures. Back in the adventure of 2020, they had tried to kidnap Elly, who had escaped from that place and was living in a beautiful house in Riverland. The Mist Creatures wanted to use the mist from her head to drown the whole world in fog, so that everyone would lose their way and forget everything. Josephine herself had been enchanted in that adventure to stop her from helping Elly find her way out of the mist in her mind. That was not something Josephine wished to endure again.

Old Sam and Josephine looked around carefully. The entire lake was wrapped in fog, with only the gate revealing a path. A path leading deeper into the lake.

‘What I remember from the lake that leads to the Misty Land,’ Old Sam said, ‘is that there was a high wall of mountains all around, with a dark grey veil in the middle that we had to pass through. It was dreadful to go through that.’

‘But now we can’t see anything through the mist,’ said Josephine.

‘Exactly,’ said Old Sam. ‘And that is not a good sign. It means the mist from the Misty Land has escaped and is trying to seep into our world.’

‘But how is that possible?’ asked Josephine. ‘Didn’t you make sure the Mist Creatures were put to sleep?’

‘Not us,’ said Old Sam. ‘The sky horses did that. I thought they would sleep forever, but perhaps that is not the case.’

Then suddenly, high above their heads, came the sound of wings. Through the mist they could not see what flew above them. The sound grew louder.

‘Josephine,’ came a soft, angelic voice, ‘guardian of the bearer of the crown, the time has come to join us…’

One voice after another filled the air, calling Josephine to join them. It was as if the voices were trying to enchant Old Sam and Josephine. But then their attention was drawn to movement near the gate.

Slowly a figure appeared. It looked like a star fallen from the heavens. She floated in the water, her arms moving gently and fluidly around her, as if stirring the sea itself. Upon her head shone a crown that resembled Old Sam’s. From her heart fanned silver threads, reaching out to Old Sam and Josephine, inviting them closer.

‘Make your choice, guardian of the bearer of the crown,’ the starfish whispered. ‘Follow the path, or be caught…’

Old Sam and Josephine had found themselves on the lake that led to the Misty Land, where the Mist Creatures had once tried to kidnap Elly. Now the mist seemed to have seeped into their world. Above their heads, wings rustled and enchanting voices called out to Josephine, urging her — as guardian of the bearer of the crown — to join them. Then, in the gate, a starfish appeared. She wore a crown and whispered that they must make their choice. Follow the path, or be caught…

Josephine’s eyes were fixed on the silver threads reaching toward them.

‘What choice must we make, Old Sam?’ she whispered. ‘What if it’s a trap?’

‘I don’t know either, Josephine,’ said Old Sam. ‘But it feels as though we’ve come here for a reason. The starfish wears a crown too. Perhaps there’s a connection between hers and mine.’

The starfish moved gently, her arms flowing like the breath of the sea.

‘There is little time,’ she whispered. ‘Your world is in great danger. The longer you hesitate, the stronger the mist will grow. Follow the path, or be caught.’

The voices above them still filled the air with their beguiling words.

‘The time has come to join us. Come, Josephine — follow the path and be caught…’

Josephine felt her fur stand on end.

‘Did you hear that, Old Sam?’ she said. ‘Follow the path and be caught — not or be caught.’

She grabbed his paw and pulled him with her. She leapt onto the ship’s railing, her eyes full of determination.

‘I trust the starfish, Old Sam,’ she said. ‘We can’t think any longer — we just have to jump.’

Old Sam climbed up beside her. They looked back one last time. There stood the crew of the Round Whale, still frozen, still bound by the silver threads.

Josephine hesitated for a moment.

‘What will happen to them if we jump?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said Old Sam, ‘but staying here and doing nothing isn’t an option.’

‘You’re right,’ said Josephine. ‘Maybe the answer to that question lies on the path ahead — even if we don’t know where it leads.’

‘Beautifully said, Josephine,’ Old Sam replied. ‘But let’s go now. The voices above are getting closer, and something tells me we don’t want to meet them.’

He grabbed Josephine’s paw and pulled her along.

Josephine jumped after him, her heart pounding in her throat. As the gate closed behind them, she whispered just in time: ‘Old Sam… aren’t we being too reckless?’

Old Sam and Josephine had a choice to make. Would they go through the gate, or join the voices circling above them? The starfish urged them to hurry. The world was in great danger and the mist was growing stronger. Old Sam and Josephine decided to jump, even if it meant leaving the crew of the Round Whale behind. As the gate closed, Josephine whispered that she feared they had been too reckless.

They had stepped through the gate. The starfish with the crown and her undulating arms glided ahead of them, beckoning them to follow. The path beneath their paws seemed to glow.

‘Old Sam, this path is being made by starfish,’ Josephine cried.

It was an enchanting sight: a thousand starfish weaving the path together. Their arms, gleaming blue, moved in soft, wave-like motions. From each movement fanned silver threads that twined together, weaving a way forward — a path that shone with light in the darkness they had to cross.

The light was so bright that Old Sam had to blink hard. He bent to study the threads gathering beneath his paws.

‘It’s as though we’re walking on a living carpet,’ he said, astonished.

The starfish drifting ahead turned her arms in slow circles. Each motion birthed new silver threads that braided into the path. She did not need to speak; her gestures alone were enough to lead them on.

They looked up. Around them stretched a vast, unfamiliar world — no longer mist, but an open expanse that gleamed like water and sparkled like starlight. Far above, luminous shapes drifted like clouds of crystal. Josephine stared, mouth agape.

‘It feels as though we’re walking inside a sky of stars,’ she whispered.

Old Sam nodded slowly. ‘Or inside the sea itself — but from within.’

They walked on. The path unfurled endlessly ahead. From time to time Josephine thought she saw movement among the crystals above, but when she blinked it was gone. She edged closer to Sam.

‘Do you think the voices are still following us?’ she asked quietly.

‘I don’t know,’ said Old Sam, ‘but I feel we are not here by chance. The crown and the starfish… they belong together. There is a reason they led us through this gate.’

They continued in silence, guided by the path’s gentle shimmer. Only their breathing and the hush of silver threads could be heard. Then something changed. The light of the starfish flickered. One by one they seemed to slow, as though strength were draining from their arms.

Josephine looked at Sam, eyes wide. ‘Why are they slowing down? It’s as if the path is struggling to carry us.’

Old Sam felt his paw sink deeper into the silver threads. The way still held him, but each step cost more effort. He clenched his paws and looked to the starfish gliding ahead.

‘Josephine,’ he said hoarsely, ‘I don’t know where this is taking us… but suddenly every step feels so heavy.’

Old Sam and Josephine followed the starfish into a new realm. It felt like a world of stars — or the sea, but from within. A thousand starfish wove a luminous path to carry them. Slowly, the path began to falter. The stars seemed to lose their strength, and each step grew heavier. What would happen next?

Josephine panted with the effort. The light beneath their paws flickered weaker and weaker, as if the starfish path no longer had the strength to bear them.

‘Old Sam,’ she cried, ‘the path is sinking beneath us!’

Before Old Sam could answer, they felt a sudden yank. The silver threads that wove the path recoiled and began to twist, faster and faster, as if in panic. The air around them shifted. The crystal clouds above them began to spin as well.

‘Old Sam, hold on!’ Josephine shouted.

She grabbed his paw just in time, for the force pulling at them was immense.

The starfish ahead flared with sudden brightness.

‘Stay with me! Do not be taken, or you will lose yourselves in the depths!’ her clear, piercing voice rang out.

She stretched her arms toward them.

‘Take hold!’ she called.

Old Sam and Josephine tried to grasp her arms, but the wildly thrashing silver threads tangled between them. It was as if the threads wanted to carry Old Sam and Josephine away, down into the deep. Josephine squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Old Sam, I’m afraid!’

Old Sam pulled her close, the crown trembling on his head.

‘We won’t be taken, Josephine. Hold on to me!’

At that very moment a bundle of threads tore free from the path and seized Old Sam’s paw. With a violent tug he was wrenched aside. Josephine cried out and managed to cling to him at the last instant.

The air churned, the path groaned, and before they knew it they lost all footing. Josephine felt the pull at her paws. Her claws scraped the silver threads, but found no hold. The starfish’s light flared once more, then waned.

‘Old Sam,’ Josephine cried, ‘what’s happening?’

Her voice was swallowed by the roaring around them. It was as though the world were splitting further open. Darkness billowed on every side, and in that dark, shapes seemed to move — vast, shadowy, waiting.

Then the starfish’s voice sounded once more, far away, almost drowned by the storm of threads: ‘Hold on to each other… whatever happens!’

There was nothing else they could do. Old Sam and Josephine clung to one another — and sweep down into the depths.

The path beneath Old Sam and Josephine could no longer hold them. A bundle of threads tore free and tried to drag them away. The starfish cried out for them to hold on, but the threads gripped Old Sam and hauled him off. Josephine clung to him at the last moment. They barely heard the starfish call to keep holding on, whatever happened.

The silver threads swept them along. It felt like falling into a bottomless pit. They clutched each other tightly. Then, in the midst of the roaring, everything went suddenly still. The air turned cold. The threads stiffened, as if frozen. They were no longer falling; it seemed they had entered another world.

‘Old Sam,’ Josephine whispered, breath catching with fright, ‘where have we ended up?’

Old Sam looked around. Everything here was white, translucent — blue as glass. Under their paws a thick skin of ice creaked. The crystal clouds had become spires of frozen light, like needles rising from the ground. Josephine exhaled, and her breath turned at once into a little cloud that hung in the air and slowly dissolved.

‘I have no idea,’ said Old Sam. ‘It’s as if the world and time themselves are frozen.’

The landscape glittered enchantingly, yet the deathly silence filled it with foreboding. The only sound was their footsteps on the ice. It felt as if the whole world were listening to their presence. In the distance, dark shapes glimmered — now entirely white and motionless, like statues of ice, as though waiting to be awakened.

‘It’s as if we’ve entered a frozen world,’ he said.

‘A sound conclusion, Old Sam,’ a voice replied suddenly.

‘Who’s there?’ Josephine cried.

‘I am here,’ said the voice, ‘but I can only be seen if you let go of each other.’

Old Sam and Josephine looked at one another. The starfish’s words still rang in their minds: ‘Hold on to each other… whatever happens!’

‘Even if we let go,’ Old Sam whispered to Josephine, ‘we are still bound.’

‘Yes,’ Josephine nodded. ‘You’re right, Old Sam. Our bond is strong; our hearts remain connected. Even if we let go, we are still together.’

They moved a little apart and sat down. Slowly, a shape took form — first a flicker in the air, then clearer and clearer. It was a gigantic manta. His broad fins moved with graceful ease, as if he swam through invisible water. Silver lines traced patterns over his deep-blue back, shifting constantly like ancient sea charts. His tail was long and elegant, tipped with a crystal point.

‘Good,’ said the manta, his voice deep and undulating like the sea. ‘Such is the Law of Passage: only those who give something up can go on.’

With a smooth motion he raised his tail. The crystal point flashed, light splintering sharply across the ice. He held it just above their heads. They gasped, holding their breath as the world seemed to stop. Then the manta swept his tail down with lightning speed, ready to sting…

The silver threads dragged Old Sam and Josephine into a frozen world of glass-blue light. In the distance, dark forms glimmered like statues of ice. A colossal manta appeared, silver patterns flowing over his back like ancient charts, his tail tipped with a crystal point. He lowered his tail, ready to strike. What would happen?

In one fluid movement the manta turned.

‘I invoke the Law of Passage for these two travellers,’ he said in a rolling voice, and in the same motion brought the crystal-tipped tail even lower.

As soon as the point touched the ice, a deafening crack rang out and the world beneath them gave way. Old Sam and Josephine stood upon a bridge of ice. The bridge creaked and trembled. Josephine gripped Old Sam tightly, but it was too late. With a thunderous shatter the bridge burst apart. Thousands of shards shot upward, glittering like splinters of glass.

The shards did not fall. They hung suspended, as though trapped inside a storm of mirrors. In each shard they saw something different. Josephine saw her old home, with the chimney where she always sat. In another shard gleamed the Misty Land, swathed in fog. Old Sam saw Captain Ebeling on the dragon boat, laughing among his crew as if nothing were wrong. They also saw fragments showing things they did not recognise.

‘Old Sam…’ Josephine whispered. ‘What are these images?’

The crown on Old Sam’s head trembled and its silver threads stirred, as though reaching for the shards.

‘Perhaps they’re scenes from the past and the future,’ Old Sam said. ‘If we choose the right one, maybe we can return to our world.’

The manta glided just above them, his fins moving slowly like the swell of a tide.

‘Not everything you see is true,’ the manta said, dreamy and resonant. ‘One shard will carry you on. The others will carry you away.’

‘Old Sam,’ Josephine said, holding her breath, ‘what should we do? How can we know what to choose?’

Old Sam reached for Josephine — and one of the shards struck him.

‘Ow!’ he cried. ‘That hurts.’

It hurt so much that it made him dizzy. And when Old Sam grew dizzy, visions usually came. As his body slackened, he felt Josephine catch him.

‘I’ve got you, Old Sam,’ she said. ‘I won’t let you go.’

They paid no attention to the manta, nor to the frozen world, nor to the shards circling them. They did not see one shard slip after Old Sam, sliding into his vision.

Old Sam drifted into the state between waking and sleep — the place where his visions always came. But this time there was no endless stillness. The shard shredded Old Sam’s vision to pieces.

The manta shattered an ice bridge into a thousand shards with the strike of his crystal tip. In the drifting splinters, Old Sam and Josephine glimpsed fragments of their worlds. The manta warned them that only one shard would carry them on. As they searched for the right one, Old Sam was struck. The pain made him dizzy and he slipped into a vision — and one shard followed him in, tearing his vision apart.

Old Sam felt sick. Terribly sick. Never before had a vision been so violently disturbed. In an instant he was thrown back into the unmoving state he and Josephine had entered after the manta shattered the bridge.

‘Old Sam,’ Josephine called, ‘what happened?’

‘One of the shards slipped in,’ Old Sam said. ‘My vision was torn to shreds. Oh, Josephine… I’ve never felt this sick.’

Josephine put a paw around him and nuzzled him gently.

‘At a time like this I wish Odette Owl were here,’ Josephine sighed.

‘Yes,’ said Old Sam. ‘She would have something useful in her little case.’

Odette Owl was a cheerful figure in jaunty clogs. Beneath her scarf she carried a nurse’s case filled with unusual things.

‘Like clear thoughts,’ said Josephine. ‘She always brings those — and it’s exactly what we need now. How on earth are we to choose?’

Then they heard a soft sound, like waves washing ashore in this frozen world. Josephine pricked up her ears.

‘Do you hear that too, Old Sam?’

Before he could answer, a wave appeared at their feet. Then another. The gentle rhythm was threaded with a whispering current that slowly ebbed away. A silvery fizzing followed, as if fine bubbles were rising. With a gliding motion, a wondrous being appeared — half woman, half fish. A mermaid. Her hair drifted around her like a living stream of silver threads. A small crown sat upon her head.

‘Oh,’ Josephine breathed. ‘How beautiful…’

The mermaid gazed at them with sparkling eyes.

‘Thank you,’ she said in a clear, bell-like voice. ‘I am the Mermaid of Less or More. And you are a lady who must make a choice. When the world lies in a thousand pieces, it is often the smallest piece that holds the most truth.’

The mermaid plucked a floating shard from the air. It changed into a blossom of light. For a moment it hung still, and then a drop of golden nectar formed, drifting slowly toward Old Sam and Josephine.

‘What is the power of clarity?’ the mermaid’s voice rang. ‘Will you drink Less or drink More of this nectar? Do you dare to find the way onward…’

Old Sam felt sick after his vision got shredded, and Josephine put her arm around him. They mused that it would be wonderful if Odette Owl would arrive with clear thoughts. Then a mermaid appeared — a radiant presence. She spoke with a clear voice and reminded them that, among a thousand shards, the smallest piece often holds the most truth. Before their eyes a shard became a blossom of light, from which a drop of golden nectar was released.

The golden nectar drifted through the air and hovered before them.

‘Whoever dares to drink the nectar will find the way,’ the Mermaid of Less or More repeated. From her crown, silver threads drifted toward Old Sam, as if dancing with the silver threads from Old Sam’s own crown.

‘How do we know it’s safe?’ Josephine whispered in Old Sam’s ear.

Old Sam looked at the Mermaid of Less or More, then at the drop.

‘We don’t,’ he said. ‘But I feel connected to her. I think it’s safe — that she’s here with good intent.’

‘If you trust it,’ said Josephine, ‘then I trust it too.’

Very carefully, they touched the drop together. The golden nectar divided itself over their cat paws. Old Sam and Josephine stared, surprised.

‘Drink, and find the way,’ sang the Mermaid of Less or More.

They lifted their paws to their mouths and licked the golden drop.

‘Mmm,’ Josephine said. ‘It’s actually rather nice.’

A warm glow slid into them. It chased the cold of the frozen world away. The floating shards stilled, then slowly descended. One by one they found their places and formed a wide road stretching into the distance.

‘Old Sam, do you see that?’ Josephine breathed. ‘I think there’s a gate at the end of the road. That must be the exit. We can return to our world.’

‘You have found the way,’ sang the Mermaid of Less or More. ‘Follow the path and do not be caught.’

Then the manta glided toward them.

‘Thank you for opening the gate. But the Law of Passage applies here as well. Only those who give something up can go on.’

The manta took one of the shards lying beside the road. He rubbed it between his fins until it turned supple, like a sheet of paper.

‘Dear lady,’ he said to Josephine, ‘lay this upon my back. I give up one of my charts. May it help you as you explore the unknown.’

‘Wow,’ said Josephine. ‘What a beautiful gift.’

As Josephine worked upon the manta’s back, a sound echoed in the distance. It seemed to come from beyond the gate. Then something thrust through it. What a strange sight — it looked like an elephant’s trunk..

Old Sam and Josephine met the Mermaid of Less or More. She transformed a shard into a flower from which golden nectar flowed. Old Sam and Josephine drank the nectar. The shards descended and formed a broad road leading toward a gate. They hoped it would bring them back to their own world. The manta glided beside them and reminded them of the Law of Passage: only those who give something up can go on. So he gave Josephine one of the charts from his back as a gift. Then, from beyond the gate, a strange sound echoed — and something pushed through.

‘What is that?’ Josephine asked Old Sam and the manta in astonishment.

‘It looks like an elephant’s trunk,’ said Old Sam.

‘How extraordinary,’ said the manta in his rolling voice. ‘I have never met an elephant.’

‘We have,’ said Josephine. ‘In our previous adventure. He was a rhinoceros at first, but a magic potion turned him into an elephant — a flying elephant. His name was Jumbo.’

‘Yes,’ said Old Sam. ‘That was a fine adventure. But we don’t know if this is Jumbo, or another elephant entirely.’

‘Perhaps it’s an illusion,’ said Josephine, ‘someone pretending to be an elephant.’

‘Some friends return when the journey needs them most,’ said the manta.

‘Yes,’ said the Mermaid of Less or More. ‘And whether he is your old friend or not, I sense that he carries the strength you now need to go further.’

Old Sam and Josephine looked at each other.

‘We must go to the gate,’ said Old Sam.

‘Yes,’ said Josephine. ‘It’s time.’

They said farewell to the manta and the Mermaid of Less or More and followed the wide path toward the gate. It was veiled in mist, so they could see very little. From time to time the elephant’s trunk emerged through the haze. Slowly, two enormous ears became visible, gently flapping. A great body began to take shape in the glow of the mist. Then a triumphant trumpet blast filled the air.

‘Old Sam,’ said Josephine, ‘surely it can’t be…’

But it was. Jumbo, the flying elephant, pushed his head through the mist. His ears were larger than Josephine remembered, his eyes shone brightly, and he trumpeted again with joy when he saw Old Sam and Josephine. The three of them threw their arms around one another — Jumbo with his body still on the far side of the gate, his head with Old Sam and Josephine on this side.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Jumbo. ‘You vanished so suddenly.’

‘Everyone was enchanted,’ said Old Sam, ‘and we had to go in search of a solution. But it seems you’ve found one already — otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’

‘Well,’ said Jumbo, ‘I’m not sure about that. But I did find something else. Come and see this world.’

Old Sam and Josephine stepped through the gate. Jumbo moved aside. They held their breath. Behind him stood a figure — tall, a little raggedly dressed. A thick coat with the hood pulled up. Weathered by salt and wind, as though he had wandered the world for centuries. Who is this?

Old Sam and Josephine said farewell to the manta and the Mermaid of Less or More and followed the wide road toward the gate. Josephine carried a chart the manta had given her. At the gate appeared Jumbo, the flying elephant from their previous adventure, greeting them with great excitement. When Old Sam and Josephine stepped through the gate and Jumbo moved aside, they saw a figure standing there — tall and a little raggedly dressed, wearing a hooded coat weathered by salt and wind.

Josephine let out a startled cry.

‘Jumbo, who is that?’ she exclaimed.

The figure stepped forward and lifted his head. His eyes glowed faintly.

‘You must listen,’ he said in a warm, steady voice. ‘The veil is torn. What was once contained now flows freely. You must prevent everything from being swept away — from being carried off, never to return.’

‘Jumbo, who is that?’ Josephine hissed to the elephant, who stood waiting patiently, his great ears flapping gently.

Jumbo trumpeted softly and waved his trunk.

‘He can tell you that himself,’ said Jumbo.

‘I shall reveal myself,’ said the figure, pushing back his hood.

Old Sam held his breath.

‘I know you,’ he said.

‘I know you too,’ replied the figure.

‘What happened?’ asked Old Sam.

‘What happened?’ Josephine repeated sharply. ‘Old Sam, perhaps you could start by telling me who this is.’

‘This is the Traveller,’ said Old Sam. ‘A man who walks between worlds. I once bid him farewell when he set out for the unknown — beyond the veils of forgetfulness. I never expected to see him again.’

‘Nor did I expect to see you, Old Sam,’ said the Traveller, ‘and certainly not in the company of such a fine lady. Where did you meet her?’

‘I met Josephine during my adventure in Riverland,’ said Old Sam. ‘You were already far on your journey. Everyone had fallen asleep, bewitched by the Mist Creatures, so they could kidnap Elly. They wanted to use the mist in her mind to make us all lose our way. Fortunately, we managed to defeat them.’

‘That may be so,’ said Josephine, ‘but the whirlpool brought us to a lake thick with fog — right before the entrance to the Misty Land. So maybe they’ve escaped again.’

The Traveller cleared his throat.

‘I’m afraid that’s my doing,’ he said at last. ‘The veil between the world I come from and yours has been torn — because of a blunder I made…’

At the gate, Old Sam and Josephine were reunited with their old friend Jumbo, the flying elephant. But behind him appeared a ragged figure. His eyes gleamed as he warned them that the veil between his world and theirs had been torn — and that the mist now threatened to flood everything. Then he revealed his identity: the Traveler, an old acquaintance of Old Sam’s who had set out many years ago to explore the worlds behind the veils of forgetfulness. He confessed that a mistake of his had caused the rift between the worlds — a blunder that now shaped their journey as well.

‘A mistake?’ said Josephine. ‘What kind of mistake?’

The Traveler drew a deep breath.

‘I went on a journey,’ he said at last. ‘I wanted to explore new worlds — worlds not reachable for everyone, because they lie behind the veils of forgetfulness. And once you pass through such a veil, there is no way back. But I was deceived.’

‘Deceived?’ said Josephine. ‘How?’

‘I heard constant voices meant to guide travelers along their paths. But not all voices were true. Some led straight into whirlpools, others scattered the path so that travelers would never return. And all those voices share one purpose — to break the veil between our worlds and drown everything in mist. So that we can no longer see what truly is, and all becomes illusion.’

‘Yes,’ said the Traveler, ‘it is as if they dissolve, yet the mist leaves behind echoes and shadows that look painfully real. And within the mist are glimpses of the past.’

Josephine shivered.

‘Those are the voices we heard,’ she said to Old Sam.

‘Yes,’ said Old Sam, ‘just as we saw echoes of the past in the shards of the bridge.’

‘I could no longer tell the difference,’ said the Traveler. ‘I didn’t know what was real and what was not. I was tricked — and now the entire world is in danger. My return here has torn a hole in the veil that separates this world from the hereafter. And the mist that escapes from it is more dangerous than that of the Mist Creatures. For if you listen to the whispers rising from that mist, you risk being drawn behind the veil forever. And few ever return from there.’

‘Then we must stay away from those whispers,’ said Jumbo, flapping his great ears.

‘That’s what I thought too,’ said the Traveler softly. ‘But you must listen carefully to the whispers — otherwise you won’t hear the difference. The right whispers will guide you forward. Your journey can still turn the tide of the mist… but only if the ritual is completed.’

‘What ritual?’ Old Sam asked cautiously.

The Traveler spread his hands. From the folds of his sleeves, shimmering threads spilled forth, sliding down his arms as if alive. The glowing threads from Old Sam’s crown floated toward the Traveler, as though curious to see what was happening.

‘These threads are part of the Ornate,’ said the Traveler. ‘A very special mantle that can only be worn by one who is chosen. It is no adornment, but a burden. For whoever wears the Ornate also carries the voices and stories of all the threads ever woven…’

De Reiziger onthult dat door een misstap de sluier tussen werelden is gescheurd. Daardoor stroomt een gevaarlijke mist vrij die reizigers misleidt met fluisteringen, echo’s en schaduwen die echt lijken. Oude Sam en Josefien herkennen die fluisteringen en de glimpen van heden en verleden die ze op de scherven zagen. Toch moeten ze goed luisteren naar de fluisteringen volgens de Reiziger. Want die brengen Oude Sam en Josefien op een tocht die de mist kan keren. Maar alleen als het ritueel met het ornaat wordt voltooid.

De woorden van de Reiziger hangen nog in de lucht. Zijn handen, omwikkeld door de glinsterende draden van het ornaat, dalen langzaam neer. Oude Sam voelt hoe de kroon op zijn hoofd warm begint te gloeien, alsof de draden reageren op de onthulling. Josefien trekt haar staart strak langs haar lijf.

‘Een mantel die de stemmen draagt,’ fluistert ze, ‘dat klinkt alsof je eronder bezwijkt.’

‘Of sterker van wordt,’ zegt de Reiziger, ‘maar niemand kan het alleen dragen. Dat is de vloek én de kracht van het ornaat.’

Jumbo trompettert zachtjes, alsof hij de spanning wil doorbreken.

‘Dan moeten we samen zoeken naar een manier,’ zegt hij. ‘Maar… hoe weet je wie de drager moet zijn?’

De Reiziger kijkt naar Oude Sam. Zijn ogen lichten even fel op.

‘De kroon heeft gekozen. Maar de kroon kiest nooit zonder reden.’

Josefien zet een stap naar voren.

‘En ik dan? Wat is mijn rol in dit verhaal?’

‘Jij bent de hoedster,’ zegt de Reiziger, ‘de hoedster van de drager van de kroon. Zonder jou kan de drager de stemmen niet onderscheiden. Jij hoort, voelt en weegt mee. Jullie vormen een paar. Verbonden voor altijd.’

Josefien slaat haar armen over elkaar, maar er komt een kleine glimlach.

‘Dat klinkt al beter’, zegt ze terwijl Oude Sam een kopje geeft.

Het blijft even stil. Alleen het zachte ruisen van de draden die langs de grond glijden is hoorbaar. Dan beweegt Jumbo zijn oren onrustig heen en weer.

‘Ik hoor ze,’ zegt hij zacht. ‘Die fluisteringen waar je voor waarschuwde. Ze zijn dichterbij gekomen.’

Oude Sam knijpt zijn ogen dicht. Het is alsof hij de mist hoor naderen. En met de mist de fluisteringen.

‘Kom, ga met me mee, ik wijs je de kortste weg naar onuitputtelijke rijkdom.’
‘Laat je meenemen naar de diepte, waar de mooiste schatten op je wachten.’
‘Volg mijn pad, en je zult nooit meer verdwalen.’

Josefien huivert. ‘Het klinkt zo echt… ik zou bijna willen dat het waar was.’

‘Dat is de verleiding,’ zegt de Reiziger. ‘En daarom heb je meer nodig dan moed en trouw. Jullie hebben richting nodig. Iets dat je houvast geeft wanneer de fluisteringen je in duizend richtingen trekken.’

‘Richting?’ herhaalt Oude Sam langzaam. Zijn poten rusten op de zilveren draden van de kroon die trillen alsof ze antwoord willen geven. De Reiziger knikt plechtig. Dan klinkt er weer een fluistering.

‘Zonder richting verdwaalt zelfs de drager van de kroon. Alleen zij die kaarten kan delen, vindt de weg terug..’

The Traveler had explained that no one could bear the Ornat alone — it was both a burden and a power. The crown had chosen Old Sam, but Josephine was indispensable as the guardian who helped him tell the voices apart. As the group heard the whispers closing in, Old Sam and Josephine were tempted by promises of riches, treasures, and safety. The Traveler warned that they needed direction. Then another whisper came — one that offered a clue: Only she who can deal the maps will find the way back.

The final whisper faded. An ominous silence followed. Old Sam felt the threads of the crown slowly grow still. Josephine took a deep breath and looked at the Traveler.

‘Deal the maps,’ she repeated softly. ‘What could that mean?’

The Traveler opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Jumbo gave a gentle trumpet. ‘Maybe you should look at what you already carry,’ he said, pointing his trunk toward Josephine.

Josephine frowned and ran a paw along her fur. Then she felt something smooth and solid. Her eyes widened.

‘The map,’ she whispered. ‘The map the manta gave me.’

She pulled out the piece of shining parchment. It felt warm in her paws, as though it were alive. As she unfolded it, silver lines lit up and began to shift and curl, as if being woven before their eyes. The parchment seemed to breathe.

‘What does it show?’ asked Old Sam, stepping closer.

Josephine tilted the map. At first the lines were tangled and meaningless, but slowly they formed familiar shapes — islands, seas, and coastlines. Then, in the north of the map, patches of ice appeared, and mountains that glimmered like crystal.

‘I recognize this,’ Old Sam said suddenly. ‘I’ve flown over this place once — in the adventure of the Mother Tree.’

Josephine nodded slowly. ‘Yes… I remember. It was so silent, so endlessly white. But we never truly landed there.’

‘And now the map is pointing us exactly that way,’ said Josephine, placing her paw on the rippling lines that led north.

The Traveler watched them gravely. ‘Perhaps that is where the answer lies. But be warned — every step north is a step away from everything you know.’

Jumbo flapped his ears and looked at them sternly. ‘Then we must think carefully how to get there. Flying won’t be easy — not even for me. The cold could freeze us before we touch the ground.’

Josephine rolled the map up again and tucked it safely away. Her heart beat faster, not from fear but from a mix of tension and anticipation. She looked at Old Sam, who smiled faintly.

‘Maybe that’s exactly what the whisper meant,’ he said softly. ‘Josephine carries the map — and we follow what has been given to us.’

Josephine nodded, her eyes gleaming.

‘And that path,’ warned the Traveler, ‘will lead you into an arctic world where it’s colder than ice — a world unknown to you.’

‘Yes,’ said Old Sam, gazing north. In the distance, the sky darkened like ink spilling over the horizon. Then another whisper came, soft and near. ‘Come to me… I am waiting for you…’

Josephine suddenly remembered the map the manta had given her. When she unfolded it, a route appeared — one leading north, toward the Northern Ice Sea. The Traveler warned that each step would take them farther from everything familiar, while Jumbo reminded them that even flying could be deadly in the cold. Josephine rolled the map back up, and together they realised their journey would lead them into an unknown, frozen world. Then once again a whisper called out to them: ‘Come to me… I am waiting for you…’

‘Brrr,’ said Josephine. ‘That sounds ominous. And I wonder how we’re supposed to get there if it’s too cold to fly on Jumbo’s back all the way to the Northern Ice Sea.’

‘The map can guide you,’ said the Traveler. ‘You can travel from node to node.’

Josephine unfolded the map again. The parchment glowed softly in her paws. As she opened it, the silver lines reappeared — but this time they did not form a complete route, only a single glowing point.

‘It only shows one step,’ said Josephine in surprise, ‘small enough for our cat paws.’

‘Where does that first step lead us?’ asked Old Sam.

Josephine peered at the lines. The light gathered into soft rippling circles. She looked up, her eyes wide. ‘I recognise this. It’s the lake — the lake where we left the Round Whale.’

Jumbo gave a low trumpet. ‘Then the choice is clear. If the ship can carry us, we can continue north. I can’t safely fly you the whole way.’

‘But the crew is still enchanted,’ said Josephine anxiously. ‘What if they never wake?’

‘The ship lives even without them,’ replied the Traveler. ‘The threads have held it fast. Perhaps the map can free it — or perhaps you must do that yourselves. But one thing is certain: without the Round Whale, you will never reach the Northern Ice Sea. Fortunately, thanks to your cat paws, we can take the first step.’

‘How does it work?’ asked Josephine.

‘Hold hands,’ said the Traveler. ‘Old Sam, as bearer of the crown, must place his paw upon the node. And you, Josephine, as guardian of the bearer, must place your paw upon his.’

Everyone joined hands. Old Sam placed his paw on the map, and Josephine laid hers over his. A silver light began to shine, the lines began to move — and then, in a flash, they stood on the shore of the misty lake. There lay the Round Whale. Its crew still stood motionless upon the deck.

‘It feels as if time doesn’t move here,’ whispered Old Sam.

‘Or as if the mist has trapped it,’ said Josephine.

They stepped onto the deck. The ship creaked softly beneath their paws, as though it recognised them. Then they heard it again — the whispers. Louder than before.

‘I’ll take you swiftly to the Northern Ice Sea. My way is short and certain.’
‘Choose me, and you’ll sail safely, free from storms.’
‘All others lie. Only I can save you.’

‘They sound so convincing,’ said Josephine. ‘How will we know which voice to follow?’

‘That is the danger,’ said the Traveler. ‘These whispers are no longer mere temptations — they are rivals. And only one of them will truly lead you onward…’

Old Sam and Josephine had travelled back, guided by the manta’s map, to the Misty Lake where the Round Whale lay anchored. That ship was their only chance of reaching the Northern Ice Sea. Once aboard, the whispers began to swell again — rivals now, each promising a safe and swift route north. But the Traveler warned them that only one path would truly lead them onward.

The friends stood on the deck of the Round Whale. The crew remained motionless, frozen where they had been left.

‘It’s as if nothing has changed here,’ said Josephine.

‘No,’ said Old Sam, ‘they’re still standing in the very same place.’

Though the crew looked unchanged, something stirred in the air around the ship. It sounded like the whispers again — so faint they were barely audible. Old Sam felt the silver threads of his crown tremble softly, as if trying to catch every sound. Josephine leaned over the railing.

‘It’s as if the water itself is whispering,’ she whispered.

As if waiting for her words, the voices rose again — first one, then two, then dozens at once. They came from everywhere — the air, the water, even the ship seemed to murmur. The noise grew deafening, and Old Sam and Josephine had to strain to understand what was being said.

‘Follow me — my path is safe!’
‘No, choose me — I’ll bring you north faster!’
‘The others lie — I am the only way!’

Josephine clamped her paws over her ears.

‘There are so many of them!’ she cried.

‘They’re fighting to be heard,’ said the Traveler darkly. ‘They’re not just rivals — they’re enemies. Each voice wants our attention.’

Suddenly, the sky above them swelled — heavy and dark. It was as if the words of the whispers were colliding in the air. A low rumble rolled across the heavens. Jumbo flapped his ears nervously.

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ he said, wrapping his trunk protectively around Josephine.

The wind began to rise. First a sigh, then a gale. The sails snapped violently against the masts; the deck pitched dangerously to one side. Old Sam seized the helm.

‘Hold on tight!’ he shouted.

The Traveler clung to the wheel beside him. Josephine couldn’t move, shielded by Jumbo’s massive body — though luckily, an elephant doesn’t blow away easily.

The whispers screamed over one another, each louder than the last. Their struggle became so fierce that even the sky seemed to split apart. A blinding flash of lightning tore through the clouds.

And then it came — a blast so thunderous it drowned out every voice. The entire ship shuddered, the water erupted skyward, and for a heartbeat, the whole world seemed to tear itself apart…

Old Sam, Josephine, Jumbo, and the Traveler were still on the deck of the Round Whale. The crew stood motionless as before. Then the whispers grew louder, the storm swelled, sails cracked against the masts, lightning split the sky — and finally, a thunderous blast drowned out every voice while the ship and the world around them seemed to tear apart.

And then, all at once, silence. It was as if the spell had shattered into pieces. The crew of the Round Whale, who had stood frozen on the deck all this time, opened their eyes. Captain Ebeling seized the helm, and the water witches rushed to the lines to hoist the sails.

‘What… what happened?’ stammered the Zen Master.

Old Sam and Josephine looked at each other. They could feel the ship breathing again, as though released from a long sleep. And just as they watched the crew awaken, a scent drifted past — one that did not belong to the chaos they had just escaped. Josephine blinked in surprise.

‘Old Sam… do you smell that too?’

Old Sam inhaled deeply and nodded.

‘It smells like… cookies! Freshly baked cookies!’

They ran to the galley and found the stove glowing, the oven warm, and a tray of perfect madeleines waiting — golden brown, soft, with that proud little dome that means they’re baked to perfection.

‘But… that can’t be,’ whispered Josephine. ‘These are madeleines like Madame Madeleine used to bake… but she’s not here.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ came a cheerful voice from the corner. ‘Mine are just a little better.’

A small, elegant penguin with a white face and black back stepped forward. She wore a striped apron — just like Madame Madeleine’s. She smiled proudly as she pushed the tray closer.

‘Allow me to introduce,’ said the Traveler with a small bow as he entered the galley, ‘Ariette Adélie, master baker and devoted knitter from the far south.’

Josephine’s eyes lit up.

‘Are you the one responsible for that wonderful smell?’

Ariette Adélie nodded brightly. ‘I bake my madeleines using the old recipe of my people. We Adélie penguins have mastered the art of the perfect belly. It brings warmth and comfort, even on the coldest days.’

Josephine took a bite of one of the still-warm cookies and closed her eyes.

‘Old Sam,’ she whispered, ‘this might be the best madeleine I’ve ever tasted.’

‘They’re truly delicious,’ said Old Sam, taking a bite himself. ‘I think our writer would love one too. But I’m also curious — what brings you aboard our ship?’

Ariette Adélie turned around and pulled a small bundle of tiny sweaters from her bag.

‘When I’m not baking,’ she said, ‘I knit sweaters for my brothers and sisters. No cold can harm us as long as the buttons are sewn on tight. And I heard whispers that the finest buttons in all the seas are to be found right here aboard the Round Whale…’

The spell over the crew of the Round Whale had finally broken, and everyone was moving again. In the galley, Old Sam and Josephine had discovered a tray of freshly baked madeleines. There they met Ariette Adélie, a penguin from the far south — a master baker and devoted knitter, known for her little sweaters that kept her brothers and sisters warm. Ariette revealed that she had followed whispers about the most beautiful buttons ever made, said to be somewhere aboard the Round Whale.

There was little time to talk about it. Captain Ebeling called everyone back on deck — the ship had to prepare for the long voyage to the Northern Ice Sea. The crew rejoiced to move again after such a long enchantment. Old Sam, Josephine, and the Traveler climbed the steps to the deck, with Ariette Adélie quickly swapping her apron for a buttonless sweater before following them up.

Josephine looked at Ariette Adélie curiously.

‘Tell me again,’ she said, ‘why did you come aboard?’

Ariette lowered her wings slightly.

‘Because I heard a whisper,’ she admitted softly. ‘It told me that the most beautiful buttons in the world were here — buttons that give light, bring warmth, and never come loose. I thought if I could find them, I could make my people the warmest sweaters ever.’

‘But that wasn’t true at all,’ said Josephine. ‘Those whispers promise everything — only to lure us in.’

Ariette nodded sadly.

‘Yes… I see that now. I was tempted by something that didn’t exist.’

‘And yet,’ said Old Sam thoughtfully, ‘sometimes something that begins in the wrong way can still turn out right.’

Just then came the clattering of the anchor chain. The water witches were hauling the heavy anchor up. As it broke the surface, hundreds of green lights spilled from it.

‘Fireflies!’ cried Josephine in delight.

The tiny creatures danced joyfully through the air, as if glad to be freed from the cold depths. Their green glow bathed the deck in light. They swirled around Ariette Adélie and began to settle one by one upon her knitted sweater. Each firefly transformed into a small, shimmering button.

Ariette Adélie stared in wonder at the warm glow spreading across her chest.

‘They… they’re turning the buttons alive,’ she whispered. ‘They give both warmth and light.’

‘You see?’ said Old Sam with a smile. ‘Even a false whisper can bring something good — if you look at it the right way.’

Josephine took one of Ariette Adélie’s wings gently in her paw.

‘And now you have not only the most beautiful, but also the warmest buttons aboard — made of fireflies that dance and bring good fortune.’

The fireflies glowed brighter, as if in agreement. And as the ship set its course northward, Ariette Adélie’s knitting shimmered like never before — for the fireflies had settled into every sweater she had made.

And good fortune was something this extraordinary company would surely need. What awaited them next…

The crew of the Round Whale had awakened and were preparing for the voyage to the Northern Ice Sea. Ariette Adélie confessed that she had boarded the ship after being misled by a false whisper promising magical buttons. Yet when the anchor was raised, a cloud of fireflies had burst free — settling as glowing buttons on her knitted sweaters. In this way, the false whispers had turned into something good: warmth, light, and a touch of luck for the long journey ahead. And they would need all the luck they could get.

The Round Whale glided northward. The air grew colder and greyer as they neared the Northern Ice Sea. Old Sam and Josephine stood at the bow. Behind them, Ariette Adélie shared her freshly baked madeleines and warm sweaters. Both brought comfort to the crew, who ran their hands with wonder over the sparkling firefly buttons.

‘They really give off warmth,’ said one of the water witches gratefully, ‘as if there’s a hearth burning in my chest.’

‘And sometimes they even dance,’ added Josephine with a smile. ‘Little bringers of luck, that’s what they are.’

But as the scent of cookies and the gentle glow of the fireflies spread warmth through the ship, the air around them began to change. High above, a piercing cry cut through the sky. Then another. And another. Josephine looked up.

‘Seagulls,’ she said. ‘But an awful lot of them.’

Within moments, the sky swarmed with wings. Hundreds of gulls circled, screeching above the ship. Their cries were so sharp and loud it seemed as though the very air were tearing apart.

Old Sam placed his paw upon the silver threads of his crown. They trembled briefly, then fell still. He shook his head.

‘I can’t hear the whispers anymore,’ he said.

‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’ Josephine called over the noise. ‘At least they can’t mislead us now.’

The Traveler pulled his cloak tighter around him.

‘Or perhaps not,’ he said gravely. ‘For now the good voices cannot reach us either. Without their direction, we are adrift.’

The gulls’ cries grew louder, merging into a deafening wall of sound. Josephine pressed her paws over her ears.

‘It’s as if the whole sky is swallowing us,’ she whispered.

Then, in the middle of the chaos, one gull landed calmly on the railing. Her feathers shone silver-grey, and her eyes sparkled with clarity. While the air above roared with wings, she sat perfectly still.

‘Zenia,’ said the Zen Master in astonishment. ‘Zenia Seagull.’

The bird bowed her head. Her voice rang clear and steady, cutting straight through the storm of sound.

‘You seek the way through the north,’ she said. ‘I will guide you. Beyond the ice floes lies an island. On that island, crown and Ornat shall come together. There, the ritual can be completed.’

A strong gust swept across the deck, forcing everyone to grab hold of the rigging. Zenia Seagull remained unmoved, her gaze fixed on Old Sam and Josephine.

Josephine closed her eyes and whispered, ‘At last… a clear direction.’

‘Yes,’ said Old Sam slowly. ‘But as long as the sky stays this rowdy, we won’t be able to hear anything else.’

The Round Whale sailed north toward the Northern Ice Sea. While Ariette Adélie warmed the crew with her madeleines and firefly sweaters, the sky had erupted with the shrieks of gulls — a racket so rowdy it drowned out every whisper, leaving them without deception or direction. Then, through the chaos, Zenia Seagull had appeared to guide them toward an island beyond the ice floes — a place where crown and Ornat must finally come together.

Now the Round Whale glided steadily onward, following Zenia’s calm, certain flight. The sky cleared after the uproar, and on the horizon a dark shape rose — first a faint line, then the jagged outline of rocks jutting from the sea like ancient sentinels. Above them, wrapped in snow and silence, loomed an island.

‘There it is,’ said Zenia in her clear, unwavering voice. ‘The island where crown and Ornat will reveal their secret.’

The crew watched in tense silence. Ariette Adélie pulled her firefly sweater tight around her. Josephine took Old Sam’s paw and felt the threads of the crown tremble faintly, as if they remembered this place. Even Jumbo, who usually trumpeted at every sight, stood quietly on deck.

Slowly, the Round Whale moored along the rocky shore. When Old Sam and Josephine stepped onto the land, the ground seemed to hum beneath their paws — a low vibration, like the echo of something ancient. The path ahead climbed a hill scattered with frozen snow, charred trees, and roots turned to stone. With every step they heard the brittle crackle of ash beneath their feet.

‘It feels like everything here has died,’ whispered Josephine.

‘Or fallen asleep,’ said Old Sam, though his voice betrayed doubt.

The air smelled of burnt wood — a scent that lingered long after the flames had gone. Sometimes the wind carried faint murmurs, as if the walls themselves still whispered the story of what had happened. Ariette Adélie glanced around nervously and clutched a madeleine to her chest as if it might protect her.

They climbed higher, the Traveler leading the way, his cloak dragging over scorched stone and snow. At the summit stood the remains of a castle. Once-proud towers had collapsed into hollow skeletons of stone. Gates hung broken, halls lay in ruins, beams had crumbled to ash. Only a few blackened walls stood, defiant against the grey sky.

Jumbo sniffed the air and lowered his ears. ‘What happened here?’

‘A tale still trapped in these walls,’ said the Traveler quietly. ‘But we can all feel its ending.’

They stepped through the ruins — over burned beams, along stairways that led nowhere. Ariette brushed her wing against a wall and jerked it back, as though the stone itself still burned. Josephine felt warmth pulsing beneath her paws, faint but real, like embers buried deep below.

‘So much life,’ murmured Ariette. ‘And all of it gone.’

Zenia Seagull landed on a charred arch, her feathers catching the dim light. Her voice rang calm and clear, carrying the hush of the island itself.

‘This is the place where you must complete the ritual,’ she said. ‘Remember: this island bears the scars of an inferno — left behind by those who came before you.’

The Round Whale reached an island in the Northern Ice Sea. Old Sam, Josephine, Ariette Adélie, Jumbo the Elephant, and the Traveler made their way across frozen snow and fields of ash toward the ruins of a castle. The air still carried the bitter scent of burned wood, and the walls themselves seemed to murmur fragments of what had once happened here. At the summit, Zenia Seagull declared that this was where the ritual must be completed — an island scarred by an all-consuming fire, left behind by those who came before them.

The friends followed Zenia higher, climbing through the broken remains of the castle.

‘It feels colder here than it did at sea,’ said Josephine, shivering as her breath curled into tiny clouds.

Inside the fallen walls, the silence was dense. Only the wind howled through cracks and played with the ash that drifted like dark snow over the ground. Zenia Seagull circled once overhead before landing on a shattered column. Her eyes shone with a sharp, knowing light.

‘This is the place,’ she said. ‘Here, the ritual must begin.’

Old Sam glanced around. He felt the crown’s silver threads pulse faintly, as though they recognized this place. Josephine laid a paw on one of the walls — then pulled it back, startled.

‘Sam,’ she whispered, ‘look.’

Faint lines flickered in the stone — at first pale, then growing brighter, as if a sleeping fire were waking beneath the surface. Slowly, patterns began to emerge: circles, waves, and strange, twisting shapes that seemed to shift even as they looked.

‘What does it mean?’ asked Ariette Adélie, her firefly buttons flickering nervously.

The Zen Master narrowed his eyes. ‘It’s a language,’ he murmured. ‘An old one — not spoken in words, but in images.’

Josephine traced the glowing patterns with her gaze. ‘It feels like it’s trying to show us the way. But I can’t read it.’

Zenia spread her wings, her voice ringing through the cold air like a chime.

‘Do not look for simple answers,’ she said. ‘Only those who learn to look beyond what they see will understand the truth. Every symbol is a whisper — but not every whisper will lead you forward.’

Old Sam pressed his paw against the wall. The crown’s threads trembled in response, as if reaching toward the glowing lines. The patterns in the stone seemed to move with his heartbeat.

‘It’s as if the wall is speaking to me,’ he said quietly.

Josephine leaned closer, her eyes wide. ‘And… what does it say?’

Old Sam hesitated. The patterns shifted again, changing before he could grasp them. No two shapes were ever the same.

The wall was alive — but unreadable. ‘It says… something,’ he whispered. ‘But it’s so… puzzling.’

The group followed Zenia Seagull into the ruins of the castle atop the snow-covered island. Within the broken walls, lines and shapes glimmered faintly — a language of light and images no one could read. Zenia warned that only those who learned to look beyond the surface would ever see the truth. As the threads of the crown trembled, Old Sam pressed his paw to the stone. It felt alive beneath him, whispering something no one could quite understand.

The walls still shimmered with shifting signs. Circles spun, patterns faded, and the stone seemed to breathe. The silver threads on Old Sam’s crown quivered softly, waiting — as if expecting an answer that only he could give.

‘The ritual can’t begin until you wear the Ornat,’ said Josephine quietly.

Old Sam nodded slowly.

‘But… the Ornat is still on the ship.’

Silence. The crew exchanged uneasy looks. Jumbo planted his feet in the snow.

‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘No one can stop me.’

He turned and bounded down the slope — part running, part flying — toward the Round Whale. The wind hissed through the broken arches above. Ariette Adélie hugged her firefly sweater close.

‘What if it’s gone?’ she whispered. ‘What if the whispers lured someone to take it?’

‘Then we’re lost,’ muttered the Traveler.

The stillness grew heavy, thick as falling snow. Minutes stretched like hours. Then, from below, came the unmistakable sound of a triumphant trumpet. Jumbo was returning.

He climbed the steps again, the Ornat wrapped carefully around his trunk, his breath steaming in the cold.

‘It was still there,’ he said, panting. ‘Hidden well. But I could hear voices around the ship — trying to fool me into believing it was gone.’

Old Sam took the Ornat from him. The silver threads gleamed cold and heavy in his paws. He hesitated, but Josephine placed her paw gently over his.

‘It’s waiting for you,’ she whispered.

He drew the Ornat over his shoulders. Instantly, the weight of it pulled him down. It was as though every whisper in the mist clung to the fabric. His knees buckled; his breath caught.

‘You don’t have to carry it alone,’ said Josephine, holding him steady. ‘I’m the guardian of the bearer of the crown, remember?’

The walls flared with light. Patterns blazed in the stone. The air itself began to tremble. Everyone held their breath.

Then Old Sam felt something pressing inside one of the Ornat’s pockets — a small, round weight. He reached in and drew it out, holding it in his paw.

It gleamed softly, perfect and whole, as if it had always belonged there. Old Sam stared at it, wide-eyed. ‘An onion?’ he said. ‘What on earth am I supposed to do with that?’

Old Sam realized the ritual could only begin once he wore the Ornat — but it was still aboard the Round Whale. Jumbo went to fetch it, while everyone feared the whispers might have taken it. After a tense journey, he returned with the Ornat. When Sam put it on, the weight of countless voices pressed down on him. Then, in one of its pockets, he found something unexpected — a shining, perfect onion.

The patterns on the walls pulsed brighter now that Old Sam wore the Ornat. The silver threads across his shoulders trembled, as if answering the glowing lines in the stone. The air in the ruins grew heavy, yet the cold from outside still crept in. Josephine rested her paw on his shoulder.

‘Hold on,’ she said softly.

The walls shifted. Lines and circles spun, weaving themselves into a gate of light. A low tone resonated through the air — deep, slow, and so pure that everyone stopped breathing. The ground quivered, the light throbbed, and from the heart of the gate something began to take shape, as if a breath itself were becoming visible. First a head. Then a thin torso. Two nearly invisible arms. The being was faint, translucent — a ripple of sound given form. There was a head, but no face to grasp: no eyes, no mouth, only shimmer and vibration.

‘Who is that?’ whispered Josephine.

‘A Listener,’ said the Traveler, nodding slowly. ‘They drift between the veils of forgetting — lost in the murmurs of what once felt true.’

The figure barely moved, yet a voice filled their minds — not from outside, but within:

‘They told me I no longer had to carry anything. That I would be given everything I longed for. And I believed them. Until I lost it all. Until I lost myself in the whispers.’

‘Who are “they”?’ asked Josephine, her brow furrowed.

‘The voices,’ came the reply. ‘They call themselves what you most desire. They appear as what you miss. And you only hear them when you listen with more than your ears.’

Josephine stepped closer. She felt no threat — only emptiness, and beneath it, a faint pulse of hope.

‘You’re safe with us,’ she said. ‘Together we can resist the whispers.’

The Listener shimmered, like a ripple moving through light. But when Zenia Seagull spread her wings, it recoiled, afraid a single gust might scatter it to nothing. The fear, however, was unfounded.

‘This is only one of many,’ said Zenia. ‘As long as the whispers roam free, more and more Listeners will lose themselves. The ritual you must complete here is the only way to free their voices from the echoes that bind them.’

The Listener slowly lifted its head. For a heartbeat, the glow in its transparent face looked like eyes — wide, waiting. It gazed at Old Sam, as though he still understood the language of silence.

‘Perhaps you’re the only one who can help us,’ the voice said.

The circle of light dimmed. The walls faded back to stone. The trembling ceased.

But the Listener remained — frail as smoke, thin as a sigh, almost skeletal, and yet, in the shimmer of its hollow frame, a spark of trust still lingered. Perhaps there was hope, even for those who had listened too long.

The castle walls still glowed faintly from the ritual that had brought the Listener back. The companions stood in silence, each lost in thought. The cold from the Northern Ice Sea drifted through the shattered windows, but the firefly buttons on Ariette Adélie’s knitted sweater shimmered with a gentle warmth. The Listener sat quietly on a fallen pillar, a Madeleine in each translucent hand. For the first time in a long while, calm seemed to settle over the ruins. Josephine watched as the being’s outline thickened slightly — a faint blush of color, as though listening to silence itself could bring healing.

‘I understand it better now,’ the Listener murmured. ‘The Whispers promised me everything. But every time I followed them, I lost a piece of myself. Until nothing was left.’

Old Sam nodded.

‘They feed on what you desire most,’ he said, ‘but they never give what truly matters. Only together — with friends — can you see what holds real worth.’

The Traveler pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

‘That’s how they ensnare us all,’ he said darkly. ‘Not with obvious lies, but with half-truths that sound almost right. When you follow without question, you lose your way.’

Josephine placed her paw gently over Old Sam’s. She looked around at the group.

‘Maybe that’s the lesson,’ she said. ‘That you can’t believe everything you hear. You have to keep feeling, weighing, deciding — together — and never let your choices be led by the easiest promise.’

Zenia Seagull spread her wings, her voice carrying bright and steady through the icy air.

‘That’s exactly why the ritual must be completed,’ she said. ‘The veil between our worlds must be sealed again. Only then can we stop the Whispers from flooding all realms with mist.’

The Listener bowed its head slowly, as if storing her words like sound itself.

‘I was lost because I believed too easily,’ it whispered. ‘But maybe, with your help… we can silence them at last.’

The crew drew closer, listening as the words drifted through the ruins like a fragile truth. The sky was still cold and gray, yet for a heartbeat a shard of light pierced through the clouds.

‘Then it’s settled,’ said Old Sam. ‘We’ll finish the ritual — for the Listeners, for all who’ve lost their way, and for every voice still wandering, caught in temptation.’

‘But how, Old Sam?’ asked Josephine.

‘We have to find a chamber in this castle,’ he said, ‘a place where the Whispers can be bound. Only then can silence return. Only then can travelers find their path without deceit.’

The silver threads of the crown quivered in agreement. And somewhere in the distance, the ashes of the burned castle glimmered faintly — as if the island itself understood that the moral of the story had finally come to light.

The friends wandered through the ruins. Snow crunched under their paws, and everywhere lay blackened beams and collapsed walls. Yet something felt different. The farther they walked, the quieter it became. Even the wind seemed to have vanished.

‘It’s as if the castle itself is leading us somewhere,’ whispered Josephine.

Zenia Seagull flew ahead and landed on a half-collapsed archway.

‘Here,’ she said. ‘Beyond these walls lies what you’re looking for.’

With effort, Jumbo pushed the rubble aside. Behind it stretched a corridor — scorched, yet still intact. They followed it until it opened into a vast chamber where the cold seemed even deeper. The space was empty, utterly still, and yet it breathed with a quiet sense of expectation.

‘This is the place,’ said the Traveler. ‘Here, the Whispers can be sealed away.’

Old Sam pressed his paw against the wall. The silver threads of the crown quivered softly, as though recognizing the space. Then he felt that strange weight again in his pocket — the onion. He pulled it out.

‘Why do I still have this?’ he muttered.

Ariette Adélie blinked in surprise. ‘An onion?’

Josephine stepped closer, resting her paw on the smooth, gleaming bulb. ‘Maybe it isn’t an ordinary onion, Old Sam. Look — it’s glowing from within.’

And indeed, deep in its core pulsed a faint, steady light, as if its layers were slowly peeling themselves away. Old Sam turned it over in his paws, the scent sharp and clean.

‘Onions have layers,’ said the Zen Master solemnly. ‘Just like the Whispers. You have to peel them back, one by one, until only the truth remains.’

Old Sam nodded slowly. He placed the onion atop a cracked stone pillar at the center of the room. At once, the patterns carved into the walls began to stir and glow, just as they had in the ruins above. The air seemed to hold its breath.

The Listener stepped closer, the onion’s soft light shimmering through its translucent form.

‘I can hear something changing,’ it said. ‘As if silence itself remembers what it used to be.’

‘The room is responding,’ whispered the Traveler. ‘It’s listening back.’

Zenia Seagull spread her wings — slowly, reverently.

‘Then this is the place,’ she said. ‘Where truth and deception will finally come apart. Where only what is real will remain. The ritual will draw the Whispers here, into this vacant chamber… and seal the tear between our worlds. What becomes bound in this emptiness,’ she added quietly, ‘will never escape again.’

Old Sam, Josephine, and their friends wandered through the ruins of the burned castle and, with Zenia Seagull’s help, found a hidden hall. The place felt empty and waiting, as if it had always been meant for this moment. Old Sam placed the mysterious onion, the one he had carried in his pocket, upon a stone pillar, and at once the walls began to glow. The group realized that this was the chamber where the Whispers could be sealed. The Traveler said this would be the room that would remain forever vacant.

The vacant hall trembled with expectation. The walls glowed softly, light moved like breath across the stone. Old Sam felt the weight of the crown upon his head and the Ornat clinging to him like a second skin. The silver threads trembled, as if they knew the moment had come.

The Traveler stepped forward. From the folds of his cloak, the silver threads slid free, alive and searching. They reached for the threads of the crown, the Ornat, and the walls. When they touched, they lit up like a woven sky of stars. It felt as though the entire castle was joining in, as though stone and silence remembered what once had been.

Josephine placed her paw in Old Sam’s. ‘Together, Old Sam. As always.’

Then it came, the Whispers. First faint, then louder, a thousand voices at once. They roared through the hall like wind through a canyon.

‘Come to me, I will give you what you desire.’

‘Leave your burdens, I will set you free.’

‘All others lie, only I am truth.’

Old Sam staggered, but Josephine held him firm. The crown sent out beams of silver light that caught the voices, weaving them into a tightening web.

‘The onion,’ whispered Josephine.

Old Sam took it from the pillar. The light at its core now shone bright white. With steady paws he began to peel its layers. With each layer, the onion drew in another wave of Whispers. Their cries faded, like coals sinking into snow.

The Listener watched, the glow of its face deepening, warmer now.

‘They are quiet,’ the voice sounded in all their minds. ‘I can no longer hear them.’

The final layer fell away. Only a small core of light remained, bright as breath in winter air. Old Sam placed it back upon the pillar. The walls sealed themselves, the patterns stilled. Perfect silence reigned.

Then the silver threads began to move. Not with threat, but slowly, like a vast web arranging itself. The threads of Old Sam, the Ornat, the walls, and the Traveler sought one another and flowed together.

The Traveler smiled. ‘The weave is closing. The tear between the worlds is being healed.’

Josephine looked at him, her voice small. ‘And you?’

‘I hear the call of my own world,’ he said quietly. ‘The voices waiting there. It is time to return beyond the veils of forgetting.’

‘But when you go,’ said Old Sam, ‘will we ever see you again?’

The Traveler shook his head, his gaze warm.

‘Not as you see me now. But as long as you tell my story, I will keep on traveling in words. And wherever silence lives, you will find me there.’

The silver threads drew through his cloak, through his hands, through his heart. They wove into the light of the walls, as if he was becoming part of the weave itself. His voice sounded one last time, soft and clear.

‘Nothing ever truly disappears, Old Sam. It only changes shape.’

The walls closed. The threads went still. Only the crown remained, trembling briefly before it lifted free from Old Sam’s head. Gently he caught it. For the first time in a long while, his head felt light.

‘The crown has fulfilled its task,’ said Josephine with a smile. ‘She is free, and so are you, Old Sam.’

The Listener stepped forward. Its form was now stronger, its outline sharp. It nodded in gratitude. ‘Silence has returned, and I will guard it so it remains.’

Zenia Seagull spread her wings. ‘The ritual is complete. The Whispers have found their place. This is your award, silence, peace, and a safe path for all travelers yet to come.’

The crew cheered. Ariette Adélie handed out her last Madeleine cookies, the scent of butter and lemon mingling with the salty air. Jumbo trumpeted in joy, and the firefly buttons shimmered like stars in the cold.

Josephine nuzzled Old Sam. ‘We really did it.’

Old Sam looked at his friends, lifted the crown for a moment, and said, ‘Yes. And now it’s time for celebration.’

The wind above the island was still. The snow glittered, the walls breathed calm. The Whispers were gone, replaced by laughter, music, and the clinking of cups. The crew of the Round Whale had lit a fire in the great hall, and the scent of Ariette Adélie’s Madeleines mingled with warm tea, sea air, and melted cheese.

They sang, they danced, they feasted until everyone, tired and content, returned to sleep aboard the Round Whale. Old Sam and Josephine climbed out to the bowsprit to watch the world lying asleep beneath the moonlight. The firefly buttons glowed gently in the dark, like small stars scattered across the deck.

At the edge of the island stood the Listener, its figure now clear and almost human. It gazed toward the sea, where the Round Whale rose and fell with the tide. Above, Zenia Seagull danced through the night, while the Traveler, unseen but felt, left one final wave of warmth in the air. Silence was safe. The worlds were one again.

Josephine sighed contentedly and leaned against Old Sam.

‘It was a beautiful adventure,’ she said.

Old Sam took a deep breath. ‘There’s just one thing I’d still like to know.’

‘And what’s that?’ asked Josephine.

‘Whether this time we’ll end up in Old Sam’s Forest again.’

Josephine chuckled softly. ‘Mm, that would be a bit dull, wouldn’t it? No adventures left to live.’

‘Early retirement doesn’t sound so bad,’ said Old Sam with a grin.

And somewhere, between moonlight and time, sat InK, the writer of this story, at her round kitchen table. She smiled as she watched Old Sam and Josephine sitting side by side on the deck. She lingered in the warmth the Traveler had left behind and felt a quiet joy that Ariette Adélie and Zenia Seagull had finally found their place in this tale. Then she stepped into the story herself and plopped down between Old Sam and Josephine.

‘You two, retired?’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine that. I think quite a few people would protest. So that’s probably not going to happen. But you know what I’m curious about?’

‘Well,’ said Josephine, ‘tell us.’

‘I’d love to know our readers’ top three drawings, and how they experienced the adventure this year.’

Old Sam, Josephine, and InK looked out toward you, the readers.

‘We’d love to hear it,’ they said together.

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