Flow of Time is a set of Story Suits. When you obtain the First Wind, Rose Kiss, Illusive Snow and Watching Moon suits, which can be obtained from the Flowing Garden event, you will unlock their stories.
I heard everything. Every breath of wind is my correspondent, and they bring me sounds from across the land. The rustling of leaves, the vibrations of vocal cords, the ripples of shadows, the chirping of insects, the crashing sound of waves, and the roiling of the clouds in the sky...the sounds of nature please me much more than the voices of humans.
Miraland is full of magical places: the Flower Field in Cloud Kingdom, the snowy mountains of North Kingdom, the Rose Garden of Lilith Kingdom, the howling expanses of the Wastelands...of all the wonderful places in this world, my favorite of all is the Pigeon Forest. It is a wondrous paradise devoid of human voices, and replete with the sounds of nature. Rabbits eating their carrots, deer frolicking in the woods, birds singing their melodious songs, sloths snoozing in the trees, turtles and hedgehogs hiding from the outside world, fish swimming freely in the lakes and rivers, and fireflies buzzing through the air...it is a symphony of nature! Aside from them, there are the elves and the dwarves residing in the forest; I don't mind at all, since elves voice are wispy and ethereal, and dwarven voices are cute and cheerful. I often lose track of time in this place, and have fallen asleep many times to the sound of the wind blowing under the surface of Povali Lake.
I'm not sure when this new sound appeared in the forest, but it came from the deepest, darkest reaches of the woods, and it carried a strange coldness with it. When I heard this new sound, I detected a very particular disturbance within it. The wind told me of its existence, but not of its origins, and so I set out to find the source of the disturbance.
Heeding the wind's direction, I came to Povali Lake and found one source; he seemed to be a receiver, however, as the disturbance disappeared within me. His long, silver hair, pointed ears, and cold, solemn eyes told me that he was a tree elf; other elves around him referred to him as 'Your Highness.' I circled him twice but he did not see me, so I poked his cheeck with a small puff of wind; he frowned, but continued his discussion with his men. 'Hmph, what a boring elf,' I thought to myself.
It seems the elves were on the eve of battle. They wore armor and carried long swords in their hands. I never did like swords; all I could hear from them were mournful sounds, and they always smelled of blood. I never thought these things, which were so common in the human realm, could come to a wonderful place such as Pigeon Forest.
The sound of the disturbance would come and go, like a reflection in a shimmering pond. All I was certain of was that this retinue of elves were on their way to yet another one of its sources. As I followed them deeper into the woods, the disturbance grew stronger. The royal elf seemed to feel something, as well; his heartbeat became anxious and uneasy, and an air of sadness hung over him. He was not aware of the reason he felt this way; only I was aware that the reason was this mysterious disturbance.
The elves finally arrived at a castle deep within the forest. Their enemies lurked in its shadows, with skin as white as snow and ferocious fangs behind their pale lips. The cold, murderous sensation I felt from the disturbance overwhelmed me once more. At the elf's command, they launched their first and final attack on the castle. Everything was thrown into chaos, and the woods were submerged in the sounds of death...I have always hated these sounds the most. I wanted to leave right away, but then I discovered the source of the disturbance.
He was standing on the highest terrace of the castle. I flew to his side, and he unexpectedly turned his head in my direction, as though he noticed me. Startled, I leapt away from his side, but soon realized he never saw me, as his head turned back to the battlefield below. I followed his line of sight and saw that his focus was on the elves' leader. At that moment, the disturbance became unbearably loud, a strange, sad noise mingled with joy. I couldn't understand his words, but I managed to make out the name he was speaking: 'Kloris.'
The darkness above the castle began to fade away, and the elves' enemies began to disappear, one by one, until he was the only one left. The warm light of dawn shone down peacefully upon him; he closed his eyes and raised his head, exposing his neck.
When the elves' leader pierced his body with his Dawnblade, I heard a painful tearing sound coming deep within the elf's chest, as though he has just stabbed himself...as though they shared the same body. Only I could hear it, the loud, final sound of the disturbance. As leaves fell over his cold, lifeless body, All I could do was blow them away with the wind.
His body was later dropped in the bottom of the lake, and ever since then the disturbance disappeared. The wind no longer brought me new stories from Pigeon Forest, and I did not go back for a long time; it was no longer a paradise for me.
But one day, I heard that mysterious disturbance once more. It was faint, but there was no mistaking it. I flew to Pigeon Forest, but it was much different than that I remembered. Human sounds were now carried by the wind in its vicinity. I saw a purple-haired girl, dressed as a swordsman, walking in the forest. When I arrived at Povali Lake, the disturbance was gone, but the same elf was standing silently by the lake. A woman wearing a crown appeared behind him, holding treasure that held immense value to humans. The elf took it from her hands.
I can't help but feel pity for them, as the wind foretells the coming of yet another tragedy.
Humans are such interesting creatures. They feel the most precious thing about themselves is their rationality and intelligence, and believe they can use these two to determine the future.
I detest their so-called 'rationality'; it seems boring, even arrogant to me. What I like most about them is the uncontrollable part of their existence, their human 'love.' Delicate yet formidable and decidedly definite, its thorny and intoxicating vines choke out all rationality. Nothing can stop its growth. Love is the best nourishment for the most beautiful flower; when it blooms, its petals are the same color of the blood that runs from their human bodies.
I found another flower bud in my rose garden today.
I blow a wilted petal off of it and the petal drifts wantonly in the wind. Eventually, it finds its mark: the palm of a little girl. She looks around to see where it came from.
Alas, poor child! You will never know!
'Neva, do you remember my words?'
'Yes, Your Majesty. I shall dedicate my life to you, Queen Nanari.'
'Then let us go to see Royce together.'
I love watching encounters between humans; they are moments of total uncertainty, like throwing a handful of assorted seeds into the soil and waiting to see which ones bloom into flowers. Neva, wearing all black, stands in the shadow corner of the palace, while a 12-year old Royce stands in the bright sun, his golden hair flashing in the light; their worlds are separated by a distinct line. Royce looks curiously at the long-haired little girl; he always sees the shadows from the brightest places, but doesn't know what his world looks like from her perspective.
Neva does not light the light; it blurs her vision and weakens her body, slowing down her movements.
'Royce, from now on, Neva will serve as your guardian and forever be by your side.'
Royce doesn't understand why his sister would assign a girl half his age to protect him. He doesn't understand why she only wears black and never speaks, or why she detests the sunshine he so loves to bathe in. Even with all the happy moments that a day can bring, he has never seen Neva smile, not even once. He doesn't understand it at all. In the days that followed, Royce's head was filled with many boring things; he would read useless history books, learn human truths that were apparently important, and pointlessly follow his sister around and learn from her, with Neva following silently in his wake.
This is not the kind of human interaction I enjoy watching. I get closer to the bud, so close that I can kiss it, and notice an ugly mark on one of the bud's petals; this mark could either be its distinguishing feature or my reason to clip it away and be done with it. The uncertainty of this discovery fills me with excitement.
I encase the bud in a protective crystal sphere and leave to tend to my other flowers.
Time does not flow in my rose garden; only a charming fragrance permeates through it. When I return to check on the bud, I notice that the petal bearing the ugly mark is trembling as though ready to fall off. I want to water it so I make it rain within the crystal sphere. Rain falls in earnest, through the wind and the clouds, and crashes coldly to the ground, washing the blood from Royce's face.
He stands behind Neva as her slim arms firmly hold up her daggers, her tiny frame standing as strong as a city wall. The rain flows into her eyes, but they remain fixed on what's in front of her; she doesn't seem to feel the rain.
This is Royce's first time seeing this much blood up close and it makes his heart pound in his chest. His royal swordplay could not protect him; the truths he learned could not help him discern the identity of his attackers. The sky is dark and gloomy, without a single ray of sunlight and Royce can only smell the scent of blood on Neva's body.
When she sees the Prime Minister's army finally arrive, Neva breathes a sigh of relief, lets go of her daggers, and collapses to the ground. Royce, holding his tiny protector like a fallen leaf, suddenly notices a fantastic, flowery fragrance around him.
Royce stayed by Neva's side everyday while she was unconscious. One day, when the doctor was changing her bandages, he inadvertently saw a long, deep scar on her small back. In that moment, he realized he never really knew Neva, just like how he never really knew anything about the world.
While Neva was recovering, he would bring her out to sit in the sunshine and chat with her, sometimes even asking her questions about her past. Whenever she was unwilling to speak, he would simply change the subject. He is patient, and could wait as long as necessary for Neva to finally tell him. Neva still doesn't like the sun; it makes her feel dull and throws off her aim with her dagger. Even so, she continues to talk to him, telling herself it is because she cannot refuse her master's orders.
This little rosebud, encased in crystal, has yet to bloom; nevertheless, its lips have begun to unfurl, if only ever so slightly. This bud may just blossom into the most beautiful flower in my garden and it is this very thought that fills me with boundless excitement!
Everyone has a serene lake in their heart. These lakes are often frozen over; however, they can always be thawed once more.
These frozen lakes are where people store certain memories; not the kind of memories that you always remember, but the kind you think you have forgotten. These memories never disappear; they are simply waiting for the ice to melt. I often walk across these frozen, snow-laden surfaces, searching for even the tiniest cracks. The memories kept in these frozen lakes are often sad and cruel ones, memories that their owners no longer want to think about. Perhaps that is why they are frozen and covered in heavy snow all year round? A cold and bitter wind whistles across the centers of these lakes; the closer to the center, the more precious and intimate the memories become.
I have snuck my way into many people's hearts to see their frozen lakes. Children's hearts usually contain a very small lake covered in thin layer of ice, with flowing water just below. In the sunlight, their lakes resemble large, dazzling fragments of glass. The lakes in the hearts of young maidens are the most adorable, but also the most unpredictable. I often sit at the edges of their lakes, wondering if the ice will suddenly melt, or if a howling snowstorm will further entomb it in ice and snow.
One time, I came across a very deep frozen lake, its center frozen completely through without the slightest crack in sight. The snow surrounding the lake was one of the deepest I had ever seen and the cold, northern winds seemed especially morose. I had never been here before; it seemed as though this lake was frozen completely through, perpetually caught in a frigid snowstorm. It made me curious: who was the owner of such a lake? What was the owner like? What happened to him that caused his heart to be encased so thoroughly in ice, and what kind of memories did he keep in the depths of his lake?
I dove into the frozen lake, passing through a thick layer of unbudging ice and into its dark, freezing depths. On my way towards the center, I saw a frozen, red flower. I remembered seeing this in a different person's memories; it was a Flower of Heroes, a special bloom that grew in a part of the human world known as the North Kingdom. After the flower, I spied a small cup with a golden rabbit painted on it. Even deeper still, I found a medal; there was a very little light this far under the frozen surface, so I could only barely see a faint glimmer reflected off of its edge. I reached for it and began to catch fragments of memories coming from it. A huge arena surrounded by screaming spectators and two boys standing at its center. The boys stood face to face, one with black hair holding a black sword, the other with silver hair holding a long spear. The crowds grew still as the boys approached one another, but their eyes did not show even the slightest hint of hostility.
After that, there was a lapse, and then another memory appeared. This time, a black-haired warrior was seen kneeling down to receive a medal from a man in a knight's cloak; the silver-haired warrior stood beside him, a knight's lance in his hand.
“Now rise, Nidhogg. From this day forth, you are the sword and shield of the Royal City, a defender of the North Kingdom and its glory.”
Was this man the owner of the lake? I dove further still, and found memories of a later time. The two young warriors traveled to many different places, though all were battlefields. They placed their lives in each other's hands and this tacit understanding of one another made them invincible in combat. Across the snowy battlefield were many things: a blood-stained bandage, a knight's cloak, and even a small decorated tree, apparently a symbol of an important human holiday. On a rocking chair in front of the fire sat the man who knighted these two men; in his civilian attire and with his eyes full of love and pride, he resembled an ordinary father more than anything now.
"You two are my pride and joy…"
The fire was warm and a melodious hymn was echoing softly in my ears, but all of a sudden, the scene began to pull away, becoming smaller and smaller until it shattered before me, its fragments shooting everywhere like arrows. When I looked again, I saw flames and a house all but burnt to ashes. Then the scene abruptly changed and the two knights were standing before a plain, unmarked tombstone in the wilderness. The silver-haired young man kneeled before it, growling like a beast. The black-haired young man, who must be the owner of this lake, only stared at the tombstone with one eye; the other was covered by his messy, black hair. He was not crying and he did not utter a single word; I began to feel choked by the agony in the scene before me, but just then the man lifted his hand and ripped the medal from his chest.
I suddenly felt a violent sense of oppression, something I had never felt before. The owner of this lake appeared to have detected my presence, and was subconsciously trying to expel me from within his memories. Before I could react, a great force quickly rejected me from the lake.
I found myself back on the snowy banks of the lake's edge, and began to think about what had just happened. After that, I began coming to the lake frequently. I am waiting; waiting for a crack to finally appear on its surface. It could happen tomorrow, it could happen years from now, but I'm certain it will come someday.
Every time when night falls, I come to the Earth.
I can enter the dreams of humans while they are deep in their sleep. Human dreams are the most direct embodiment of their hearts' desires. They can see anyone, obtain anything, and fulfill any dream they could never achieve in reality; they give humans hope even in the deepest despair. Their dreams are worlds of wild imagination, more colorful than any other place I have ever been. But within their dreams, there also the darkest abysses and the most turbulent seas; the most ferocious howling and the most despondent weeping. At first I would only visit them in their dreams, but I could feel their deepest pain from their dreams; it's as though everyone has a crying child in their heart, trapped in a dark place, with only moonlight as their companion. When I saw this, my sympathy for the children in their hearts made me begin giving them a little hope in the dreams.
The easiest way to give them hope is simply to give them what they want, almost like giving a lollipop or a doll to a child. Once, I entered a certain girl's dream, where there was a beautiful begonia tree, its petals falling down like endless snow. But the begonias in the dreams I've visited never seems to wither, and their petals never fall. The girl sat under the tree, seemingly asleep. A petal fell on her cheek, bringing out the paleness of her jade-white skin all the more. Sometimes she would vaguely stir, then open her eyes and look up to the sky. The heavens bore nothing she wanted and, frustratedly, she would say, 'Still nothing,' and resume to sleeping. She would repeat this cycle endlessly, expecting something to come. Begonia petals constantly drifted down; there is no passage of time in dreams, and the silence of it all made me feel unhappy. And so, I gave her what she wanted; when she opened her eyes again, a bluebird appeared and flew down to her.
It is not always easy to read a human's mind, and I cannot always stop a child from crying simply by giving it what it wants. In another dream I visited before, there was another little girl. She held a longsword, and sat alone on the side of a training ground in the desolate moonlight. I knew she had many people she was concerned about, so I brought their images out before her. Her father, who taught her how to wield a blade; her mother, who read books on war and strategy with her; her beloved elder brothers wearing their armor and holding their swords aloft. I thought she would be happy when she saw the people she was missing, but instead she cried, which only heightened my sympathy and protectiveness towards her. I whisked away the phantoms, leaving her alone in the yard. In the moonlight, she was making a lantern on a stone table. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was important to her. The lantern rose slowly from her hand and flew into the night sky. At one moment, when it was almost blown out by the wind, I took the light from the lantern for myself, and it continues to burn brightly.
Usually I have to come out of one person's dream if I want to enter another person's dream; sometimes I can travel between two people's dreams, as long as they are dreaming the same thing, like crossing a bridge between their minds. I once entered a very cold dream. In it was this continuous sound, like the chirping of summer cicadas, but later I found it was the sound of an organ playing. I rarely see such simple, but cold dream; in this one, there was only the delicate sound of an organ and endless flowing water. There was also a jade pendant with a green dragon pattern carved into it; it was placed atop a simple-adorned bronze casket. The casket was empty, save for a single, broken kite.
I went to the end of the dream and found a pavilion that had not yet been finished. I walked into the building; the furnishings of the building were beautiful, but there was no one here. I looked out of the window and saw two lovewoods in front of the building, the round, yellow moon framed between them.
The moon looks so close, its bright light shining on the gray tiles on the roof, making them look like a flowing lake. A butterfly flew out of nowhere and crossed the liquid moonlight, casting a distressing shadow over this chilling dream.
I wanted to seek the source of that distress, so I walked out of the pavilion, but when I did, I found that I had crossed into another person's dream. In his dream, there was also a pavilion as magnificent as the previous one, but there was no light; only empty darkness. I groped around in the dark, unable to judge distances, for there was no sound. When I nearly forgot my own existence in this place, I was suddenly surrounded by a circle of flame. Though the flames were faint, they appeared ferocious in the darkness, as if to warn me not to go further. However, they soon disappeared.
I ignored the warning, for I refused to believe that a person's dream could only be boundless darkness. I plunged into the depths of the dream; I couldn't remember how long I was down there, but just as I was about to give up, I heard the sound a piano in the darkness. The piano was melancholy, its flowing melody telling the story of a broken past. I followed the tinkling of its keys to the source, and saw a ray of light in the dark. A child was surrounded by floating dust in the light. In such a profound, almost endless dark, here was only a child.
I hugged the child; his body was cold. I didn't know what I could give him, but luckily I had brought some moonlight with me.
I don't understand why humans are so lonely and sad, so I can only give them a little unreal hope in their dreams. When they wake up from their dreams, they may be able to see the moonlight through the window, but their nights remain long, and their wounds remain in their hearts. I can change nothing, and I can have no one.
But I know that true hope has come at long last to Miraland, bringing with it the long-awaited dawn.
Name by Server
|International (English)||Flow of Time||N/A|
|Japan||風花雪月 (Kaze Hana Yuki Tsuki)||Wind Flower Snow Moon|
|South Korea||세월정원 (sewoljeong-won)||Time Garden|
|Indonesia||Cahaya Waktu||Light of Time|
|Southeast Asia (English)||N/A||N/A|