The scent of Voidbean Brew filled the house, rich and smoky, curling through the air like delicious ink spreading through water.  Hiraeth poured it carefully, watching the way the thick, dark liquid settled into his favourite cup—a ceramic beauty, hand-thrown by his own daughter, its edges slightly uneven but softened by years of use. The steam rose in ribbons, catching the flickering light of the lanterns as the evening settled over the house.

The night beyond the windows was a deep, inky black, the sky cloudless and vast, but the house was warm. Cozy. Lined with shelves heavy with books and jars of dried pigments, the scent of oil paints and earth mingling with the aroma of brewing coffee. A soft candle burned near the hearth, and in the corner, Liora sat in her usual chair, wrapped in a thick, woven blanket.

She was listening to the world in that quiet way of hers, head tilted slightly, her sightless eyes turned toward the open window where the wind rustled the garden leaves. He could see the pale shimmer of her hair in the dim light, loose strands curling against the fabric of her shawl as she sat deep in thought.

He smiled. “It’s almost ready, love,” he said, giving the coffee pot a final stir before setting it aside to steep.

She turned toward him at the sound of his voice, her lips curving into a soft, familiar smile. “You always say that like I can’t smell that it’s ready.”

“Yes, but this is an extra special blend that requires extra time to get just right, kind of like my cooking.”

She chuckled, picturing her dad obsessing in the kitchen, and the sound was warm.

A sudden, thunderous crash from the next room made them both jump. Hiraeth sighed, setting his cup down with practiced patience before turning toward the noise.

And there he was—Muckley, the giant, shaggy, clumsy beast of a creature—standing over what had once been a table full of paintbrushes, now scattered across the wooden floor in a colourful sprawl, grinning on the spot. The massive hound had his ears pinned back, tail wagging uncertainly, as if deciding whether he was about to be scolded or if he would get away with it again.

Liora tried—unsuccessfully—to stifle a laugh. “What did he knock over this time?”

“Everything,” Hiraeth muttered, rubbing his temple as he surveyed the carnage of bristles and splattered pigment. He knelt to gather the brushes, only for Muckley to assist, gathering one brush awkwardly in its oversized mouth and smiling like he was being a tremendous help.

Liora grinned. “He’s helping.” Muckley, now towering over the knelt down Hiraeth put its heavy paw on his shoulder, then the other paw.

They stood up together, Muckley and Hiraeth face to face as the giant beast admired his master lovingly, seemingly apologising. A big lick spread blue paint across Hiraeth’s face.

“Well,” Hiraeth muttered, standing toe to toe with an absurd amount of canine, “I suppose my face matches my beard now.”

Hiraeth, much to the bemusement of the locals, had suffered a comedy of errors with his oil paints whilst arranging them in his store. Thanks to the bumbling efforts of Muckley, the blue jars of paint were tossed unceremoniously from their perch, knocked by an airborne stuffed toy Liora had knitted for him.

The blue jar spilt stickly blue oil over Hiraeth’s kempt beard, staining it. Whilst it was not permanent, he had to paint the rest of his beard to match until it faded away.

Liora shook her head, still smiling. “You should’ve known better than to leave the table out.”

“And yet, I remain a fool.”

Muckley huffed happily, satisfied with the attention he had given his master. He dropped down on all fours and crossed the room to Liora, circling three times before settling down curling up next to her, taking up almost the entire floorspace.

With some effort, Hiraeth finished picking up the last of the brushes before making his way back to the kitchen. The Voidbean Coffee was ready now, the rich, dark brew settling into perfect stillness inside the pot. He poured two cups—one for himself, the other for Liora. She couldn’t see the colour, but she could feel the warmth, breathe in the scent, taste the depth of the brew on her tongue.

“Is this just normal Voidbean?” she asked as she wrapped her hands around the cup.

“The finest batch.” Hiraeth smiled proudly.

She hummed thoughtfully before taking a sip.

Hiraeth sat across from Liora at the worn wooden table, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup, letting the warmth sink into his fingers. The room was quiet except for the occasional crackle from the candle near the hearth, its golden light flickering against the walls. Outside, the wind brushed through the garden, rustling the leaves like a lullaby.

Liora held her own cup delicately, her fingertips tracing its rim. She had always been slow with her coffee, savouring it, letting the taste settle before she spoke.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she finally said, tilting her head slightly. “Is something wrong?”

He exhaled softly, looking down at the swirling darkness of his brew. “No… not exactly.”

Liora smiled faintly. “Not exactly?”

He chuckled under his breath. “You always see through me.”

“I don’t have to see through you,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “I just listen. You sound… heavy.”

Hiraeth leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his beard. The blue still caught him off guard sometimes when he glimpsed it in the reflection of a window, though it had almost become part a of him. “I suppose I feel heavy,” he admitted. “I was thinking about when you were younger.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Good memories or embarrassing ones?”

“Both.”

She laughed. “Tell me one.”

He smiled, the weight in his chest easing just a little. “There was a night when you were about six or seven. You had a bad fever, and you couldn’t sleep. I was terrified, convinced you were burning up worse than you were. I remember walking circles around the house with you wrapped in a blanket, humming some old song my mother used to sing. It felt like the longest night of my life.”

Liora’s expression softened. “I don’t remember that.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said with a small shrug. “But I do. And I remember thinking, that night, that I would give anything—anything—to make sure you never felt pain again.”

Hiraeth sat on the edge of his chair, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his cup. The coffee inside had long gone cold, but he hadn’t noticed. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in thoughts that had been pressing against the edges of his conscience for years.

Liora let out a slow breath, her fingers tightening around the cup. “That’s not something you can promise.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “Your health. Your blindness. Everything you’ve had to endure.” He looked down at the table, at the way his hands curled into fists. “I wonder if there was something I could have done. Something I should have done.”

Liora set her cup down carefully, folding her hands in her lap. “You think this is your fault?”

“You’ve missed so much,” he continued, his voice rougher now, heavy with things unsaid.

“You’ve never seen the colour of the sky at sunrise, never seen the paintings I make, never—” He dragged a hand down his face. “And your legs, I don’t know how to stop feeling like I failed you.”

Liora shuffled awkwardly across the floor – Muckley raising his head – her fingers finding his wrist, her grip firm and certain. “You didn’t fail me.”

He felt guilt, having cared so deeply for her only to watch as her legs began to fail her too.

He looked at her, and she smiled faintly. “I may not walk well, or see the sky, but I know the way the wind moves through the trees in the garden. I know the weight of rain against the roof before a storm. I don’t see your paintings, but I hear the way your brush moves across the canvas, the way you sing and get excited when you’re creating something. I don’t need eyes to know the beauty in those things.”

Hiraeth clenched his jaw, his throat tight.

“You gave me a life full of warmth, of love,” Liora continued. “You never treated me like I was broken. And when I struggled, you were always there, never once making me feel like a burden.” She reached up, cupping his rough, paint-stained hand in both of hers. “So don’t tell me you failed me, because I know what failure looks like, and you aren’t it.”

Hiraeth let out a long breath, his hand tightening around hers. “You’ve always been wiser than me.”

She smiled. “That’s because I listen.”

He chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “I should do more of that.”

Liora squeezed his hand one last time before letting go. “Then listen to me now—there’s nothing to feel guilty for. You’ve done more than most fathers ever could.”

Hiraeth nodded slowly, picking up his cup again, holding it between his palms. The warmth had faded, but he didn’t feel quite as cold anymore.

Hiraeth stepped onto the back porch, cradling the last cup of coffee from the pot. It was a warm evening and the world was quiet. The garden stretched before him, bathed in soft lantern light, the leaves of the climbing vines shimmering gently as they swayed in the night breeze. The scent of damp earth and blooming flowers mingled with the lingering aroma of coffee, grounding him in the quiet beauty of his little corner of the world.

Crickets chirped in the undergrowth, their rhythmic song weaving through the rustle of leaves. Somewhere beyond the low stone wall that bordered his land, an owl let out a single, ghostly call before falling silent again. Hiraeth took a slow sip, closing his eyes for a moment, savouring the delicate richness of the brew which lingered on his tongue.

As he glanced toward the horizon, his gaze caught on something unusual. The Skycatcher’s Tower, far in the distance, had cast its usual beam into the night sky, but tonight—tonight it was different. The light, typically a slender spear of pale blue, was brighter, almost radiant, cutting through the dark like a beacon from some distant world. It was beautiful, illuminating the low-hanging clouds in soft halos, tracing the skyline in a way that almost didn’t seem real. The effect turned the valley into a shifting tapestry of light and shadow, soft silver and deep indigo, something beautiful, eerie and delicate.

He leaned against the porch railing, staring at it for a long moment. He had seen the Skycatcher’s beams before, seen the way they reached toward the heavens like a tether to other worlds, but never quite like this.

Tonight, it was art—a moment begging to be captured.

A painting like this would sell well. Something grand, something mysterious.

Draining the last of his coffee, he set the cup down on the wooden ledge and turned back toward the house, stepping lightly so as not to wake Liora who was now dozing in her pillow pile next to Muckley, who had one curious eye open. He gathered his easel, brushes, and a fresh canvas, rolling up his sleeves as he worked. The blue in his beard caught the lantern as he picked it up.

With everything packed neatly into his satchel, the small easel strapped securely and a canvas under his arms, he whistled softly. Muckley lifted his head from where he had been sprawled, his ears twitching in curiosity.

“Come on then, you great lump,” Hiraeth murmured, patting his side as he headed for the door. “Let’s go make something beautiful.”

The dog lumbered to his feet with excitable enthusiasm and followed, his heavy paws thudding against the stones as they made their way to the foot of the garden, passing his treasured mud puddle with a glancing interest.

“Don’t you dare,” Hiraeth said to Muckley, “It’s too late to go washy today.”

The flame flickered gently behind the lantern glass, casting soft, golden arcs over the dewy grass as he stepped towards the gate.

Muckley padded alongside him, his large paws pressing into the damp earth with an easy, unhurried rhythm. His thick coat was already collecting stray leaves as he brushed past the low bushes that lined the garden path. The night air carried the faintest hint of rain from earlier in the evening, leaving the ground cool and fragrant, rich with the scent of turned soil and flourishing flowers.

The gate creaked softly as Hiraeth unlatched it, the iron handle cool beneath his fingertips. Beyond the fence, the land sloped gently downward before rising again into the familiar crest of the hill, where the old tree stood like a quiet sentinel, its broad branches stretching toward the stars. He had painted beneath it countless times, had sat in its shade on sweltering afternoons and leaned against its gnarled trunk on crisp autumn mornings, but tonight, it felt different. The landscape was cast in a strange and shifting light, the Skycatcher’s beam illuminating the distant clouds in rolling bands of silver.

Muckley trotted ahead, his tail sweeping side to side as he bounded through the grass, his nose twitched as he paused to sniff at a cluster of wildflowers, then sneezed forcefully, shaking his head before lumbering after Hiraeth again. The sight made Hiraeth chuckle softly.

As he moved further from the house, the familiar glow of lantern light faded behind him, replaced by the pale, spectral luminescence of the Skycatcher’s beam. The world felt vast out here, open and quiet, the kind of silence that made a man feel small. The climb up the hill was slow but steady, the grass cool beneath his boots, slightly damp from the evening mist. His breath came evenly, his body accustomed to these nightly excursions. Muckley beat him to the summit, planting himself beneath the tree with a heavy thud before rolling onto his side, exhaling loudly as if the journey had been one of great hardship.

Hiraeth set down his easel and stretched, rolling his shoulders as he surveyed the view before him. From this vantage point, he could see the valley sprawled below, the darkened rooftops of distant homes barely visible, the winding rivers catching slivers of light from the sky. But it was the beam that held his attention, cutting through the heavens like something divine.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the moment. Then, with practiced ease, he unfolded his easel, secured the canvas, and dipped his brush into the first streak of colour.

Muckley let out a contented sigh beside him, curling up in the cool grass, his massive frame rising and falling with each breath.

Hiraeth smiled faintly and set his brush against the canvas.

He didn’t know it yet—didn’t feel the weight of it pressing down on him—but tonight was the last night things would be this simple because far above them, hanging in the unseen blackness of the void, something immense was being reeled in.

Before long, it would change everything.