Radiant Jygglkin

The Highlands have always felt different to me - older somehow, like the land remembers things the rest of the world has forgotten. I’ve been wandering these ancient forests for nearly two weeks now, chasing stories about creatures called Jygglekin. Tiny fairy beings, the size of cherries, that supposedly appear where our world brushes up against theirs. The Umberglow was very specific this time, must be important!

My sight has been picking up strange patterns in the air since I entered the deep woods - shimmer-trails that don’t belong in this damp, cool climate. The trees here are massive, older than memory, draped in moss so thick it swallows sound. It’s the kind of place where you start believing in things your rational mind usually dismisses.

But I’ve been camping rough for twelve days, living off provisions and growing increasingly certain I was chasing folklore. Until last night.

I was settling down when that familiar tingling started - I wrapped my blue cloak tight and crept through the underbrush toward whatever was calling to my senses.

What I found… I wish I could forget it and remember it perfectly at the same time.

A hollow tree, ancient surely, pulsing with the most beautiful light I’ve ever witnessed. Dancing around it were what looked like fireflies to any normal observer, but I could see the truth. There they were - the Jygglekin, moving in patterns so complex they seemed almost musical. Their bodies had this translucent, jelly-like quality that made them glow from within, and they phased slightly in and out of reality as they danced.

I was watching something that belonged to a realm of pure wonder, and I knew - absolutely knew - that what I was about to do was wrong.

But I did it anyway.

The stasis powder the Umberglow artificers had given me worked exactly as promised. One handful scattered over their ethereal dance, and those beautiful creatures simply… stopped. Fell like tiny stars to the forest floor, their inner light dimming to barely visible glimmers.

I gathered them as gently as I could, placing each one in the specialized containers I’d been provided. They were warm to the touch, still pulsing faintly with whatever force had animated their dance. Their squishy consistency was immediately obvious - clearly what The Umberglow was after.

The artisans were delighted, of course, babbling excitedly about collagen research and revolutionary applications. Within days, they’d created “Radiant Jygglekin” a supplement that promises glowing skin with a citrusy flavor.

I suppose I should feel proud. The product works wonderfully, apparently. People will have better skin. That’s something, right?

But I can’t stop thinking about that hollow tree, now empty of its magical dancers. Those Jygglekin weren’t just ingredients - they were part of something larger, something connected to the thin places between worlds.

This is the part of being a Seeker that keeps me staring at the ceiling at three in the morning. We call ourselves explorers, discoverers and seekers of truth. But sometimes it feels uncomfortably like we’re just very well-trained thieves. Sometimes I lie awake wondering about Dravendir’s real purpose in all this… Taking genuine wonders from the world and reducing them to products, profits, and practical purposes feels deeply wrong on a level I can’t quite articulate.

But I trust him. I think. Something about his manner seems incredibly sincere, like he’s carrying the weight of knowledge I can’t even imagine. He must be orchestrating all this for some greater reason, some purpose beyond just selling premium cosmetics to people with disposable income. At least, that’s what I tell myself when the doubt starts creeping in.

I have to believe that someday I’ll understand the bigger picture, that there’s meaning behind these seemingly mercenary missions.

And honestly? After everything Dravendir taught us - how to create water from absolutely nothing, how to shoot actual energy beams ( haven't got the hang of that one yet ) I can’t help but think he’s preparing us for something far more significant than ingredient collection. That’s pretty damn extraordinary, all things considered. You don’t teach people skills like that just so they can become glorified supernatural shopping assistants.

Right?


- Sana