Aniimo Curios, Legendary Perfumes and Spices

A specially treated flower used for decoration and perfume. It never withers and always gives off a wonderful fragrance. During the Bloom Festival, Bloomville gives it to invited guests as a keepsake.

Graymane was one of the most legendary Flameruffs in his clan. He carried an intoxicating scent of flame, a trace left by countless battles, as if every strand of his fur burned with fighting spirit.

On the day his daughter was born, Graymane stood at the entrance to their den and looked toward Thousand-Fang Ridge in the distance. He made a vow: "Someday, I will make that tree bloom for me. When that day comes, my daughter will know her father is the strongest Scorchhowl."

But Graymane had one fatal flaw. He got lost very, very easily.

Whenever he set out to challenge a powerful foe, only one-twentieth of his time was spent fighting. The rest was spent finding his way. He once took a three-month detour to challenge a Glynsera in the north, only to stumble into a Bonesky family’s territory and send them scattering in fright. He also once chased prey all the way to the edge of Bloomville, where perfumers mistook him for a rare source of fragrance and chased him for three days and nights.

But Graymane never saw it as a problem. "Getting lost is training, too," he always told his daughter. "Every time I lose my way, I meet unexpected opponents and learn unexpected things."

His daughter grew older and slowly got used to her father coming home late. She no longer worried about whether he had been wounded in battle. She worried about whether he had gotten lost at the ends of the world again.

Then one day, Graymane told his daughter, "I am going to Thousand-Fang Ridge. I will earn the Ridgeback Tree’s recognition, just like Icho did. Once I make the Ridgeback Tree bloom for me, I will come home."

Graymane set out.

This time, he did not get lost. He found Thousand-Fang Ridge without a single wrong turn and stood before the withered Ridgeback Trees.

But he failed.

No matter how fiercely his fighting spirit burned, the dead trees gave no response. They stood in silence, as if quietly mocking his weakness.

"Maybe I am still not strong enough," Graymane told himself.

So he waited. He heard that Icho had appeared, and that Thousand-Fang Ridge had bloomed like flame. Graymane saw hope. If Icho could do it, surely he could, too.

He challenged Icho again and again, and lost again and again.

"As long as I become the strongest Scorchhowl, the Ridgeback Tree will recognize me." Graymane clung stubbornly to that belief.

But what he did not know was that the Ridgeback Tree had never bloomed for "the strongest."

Day after day, year after year, Graymane changed from a spirited wolf in his prime into an old wolf with gray-white fur. His fighting spirit wore away with each defeat, and his flame slowly died beneath the withered Ridgeback Tree.

Then one day, Graymane realized he could no longer leave Thousand-Fang Ridge. An invisible chain had appeared around his feet. It was a shackle he had placed on himself, forged from his obsession with "becoming the strongest" and his shame at going home to face his daughter.

He became an Inferlupa.

He no longer got lost, because he had nowhere left to go. Trapped in Thousand-Fang Ridge, he withered alongside the Ridgeback Trees. Sometimes he remembered his daughter, how she chased her own tail in circles when she was little, and the sparkle in her eyes when she asked, "Where did you get lost today, Dad?"

"Home... home..." Graymane the Inferlupa murmured. "Do I still have to keep fighting?"

What he did not know was that his daughter had never blamed him. That little Emberpup still waits outside the dead forest, believing her father is only a "lost fighter" who has not yet found his way home.

Cinderclaw was once an Omega Flameruff of an Emberpup family.

In his youth, he was the flashiest Emberpup around. Every day, he chased the old Omega’s tail and challenged him, getting a mouthful of mud every time he fell, only to climb back up again. Then one day, he finally won. The old Omega gave him one last look, then turned and walked down from the peak.

"I won," Cinderclaw told himself. "I am the strongest now."

But he soon learned that becoming the strongest was not the end. It meant more challenges.

Young Emberpups challenged him one after another, each trying to prove they were stronger than the Omega. Cinderclaw defeated them again and again, but every victory left him a little more tired.

"Am I getting old?" Cinderclaw began to ask himself.

His flame still burned bright. His strength was still mighty. But his heart had begun to age. He started to fear defeat, not because of defeat itself, but because defeat would mean, "I am old. I cannot do this anymore."

That feeling reached its peak on the day he was defeated by a young Emberpup.

That day, Cinderclaw lay on the ground and looked up at the young Flameruff standing before him, eyes full of hunger for victory. Cinderclaw remembered himself from long ago, the Emberpup who would not stop chasing the old Omega’s tail.

"I lost," Cinderclaw said. "The Omega’s place is yours now."

He felt a wave of relief, followed by a crushing sense of loss. He did not know what else he could do. He had been the Omega for too long, grown too used to the pack looking up to him, and forgotten how to be an ordinary wolf.

"Maybe I should go to Thousand-Fang Ridge," Cinderclaw told himself. "Now that I have set down the burden of being Omega, maybe... I should go wild one last time."

He challenged Icho.

Then, everything ended.

With a single strike, Icho knocked Cinderclaw down. Cinderclaw lay on the ground of Thousand-Fang Ridge, gazed at the withered Ridgeback Trees, and suddenly laughed.

"I really am too old," he said. "So old I do not even have the strength to stand."

But after he fell, something he never expected happened. A legend began to spread across Beast Fang Ridge: the "Immortal Warrior."

They say that after the defeated old Omega left the peak, he still left his footprints all across Beast Fang Ridge. He taught young Emberpups how to fight, helped injured Emberpups find their way home, and even drove off an entire Bonesky family alone during one raid.

"He did not grow old. He just found another way to fight," said the Emberpups he had helped.

But Cinderclaw did not know any of this. He was trapped in Thousand-Fang Ridge and became an Inferlupa. Around his feet was a chain called "old age," and over his heart lay a layer of dust called "powerlessness."

"I am too old," Cinderclaw told himself. "Too old to do anything."

But he did not know that beneath the peak, flames can still burn. Leaving the summit may not be the end. It may be the beginning of passing on the torch.

Blazehowl was the only Flameruff in the Emberpup family to leave behind the legend of "one hundred victories."

He was a lone wolf, without a family or companions, with only a pair of claws that never stayed sheathed and a heart always craving battle.

One hundred victories. One hundred in a row.

That record made Blazehowl an idol to many Emberpups, who told stories of every battle, mimicked every move, and dreamed of one day becoming as strong as him.

But Blazehowl was not happy.

"Winning is too easy," he once told an admiring Emberpup. "I do not want victory. I want the fight itself."

The Emberpup did not understand, only gazing at him with even greater admiration.

Then Icho appeared.

On that day, Blazehowl tasted defeat for the first time. Icho felled him with a single claw.

Blazehowl rose and charged again. Fell. Rose again. Fell again.

In that battle, he lost seven times.

"Impossible," he said, lying on the ground of Thousand-Fang Ridge, staring at the withered Ridgeback Trees. "I should be invincible. I should be the Undefeated Warrior..."

He obsessively challenged Icho. Once, twice, three times... and each challenge ended in defeat. His famed speed meant nothing against Icho, and his crushing strength felt as weak as a breeze.

By the tenth defeat, Blazehowl began to doubt himself.

By the fiftieth defeat, Blazehowl began to fear battle.

By the ninety-ninth defeat, Blazehowl had lost his fighting spirit completely.

On the day of his hundredth defeat, Blazehowl stood at the center of Thousand-Fang Ridge and howled to the sky. It was not a battle cry. It was a wail.

"I lost. I lost completely," he told himself. "I am not the Undefeated Warrior. I am the Hundred-Loss Warrior."

At that moment, a chain appeared around his feet. It was called "fear of failure" and "the inability to accept his imperfect self."

Blazehowl became an Inferlupa.

He no longer challenged anyone, nor did he accept anyone’s challenge. He simply stood in a corner of Thousand-Fang Ridge, silent as a withered tree, cold as stone.

"The Undefeated Warrior is dead," he told every wolf who asked his name. "Now there is only the Hundred-Loss Warrior."

Yet in his heart, a voice still echoed. It was what the admiring Emberpup had said long ago:

"I really, really cannot wait to hear your next victory story!"

Blazehowl closed his eyes. The next victory story... would there ever be one?

The young Recas and the young Icho were once the greatest rivals on Beast Fang Ridge, each convinced that defeating the other would make him the strongest. One day, the Recas discovered an ice crystal deep within a cavern and sought to break it free. the Icho opposed him, believing it would collapse the cavern and endanger both the Bonesky clan below and the Emberpups above. They clashed–and in the aftermath, the cave gave way, burying the Recas beneath the ice. The Icho lost his rival. Yet unknown to all, the Recas survived, trapped in a narrow crevice. In darkness and solitude, resentment took root, twisting him into the Ghost Glynsera. When he finally shattered the ice in a frenzy and broke free, the Icho was gone, and the Boneskies had already chosen a new Recas. From then on, he became a wandering wraith of resentment in the night, and under his influence, some Boneskies too began to harbor shadows in their hearts.

Icho was born in Beast Fang Ridge, long ago.

It did not take long for it to become the strongest Emberpup. Then the strongest Flameruff. Then, the strongest Scorchhowl that Beast Fang Ridge had ever known. The name Icho had always belonged to the strongest of each generation, but this one came to be known as the Icho among Icho.

There was a fire inside it that never seemed to go out. That fire made it crave battle, crave something that could make it burn brighter. Back then, the only thing it cared about was finding someone with harder fists. Everything else? It barely saw it. It only wanted to grow stronger, stronger, and stronger still.

Every fighter in Beast Fang Ridge was just another opponent waiting to fall.

Then, one day, there were no opponents left.

It had fought everyone worth fighting and beaten everyone worth beating. Victory came too easily. Battle lost its fun. Standing in the middle of the Thousand-Fang Ridge, staring at the withered Ridgeback Trees, it suddenly felt... empty.

It had lost its rivals. It had lost its goal. The fire still burned inside it, but it had nowhere to go.

Those were lonely days.

Then an outsider appeared.

His name was Lewis. They did not share a language, so ordinary words were useless. But Lewis was clever. He discovered that fists spoke well enough.

They fought ninety-nine times. Icho lost ninety-nine times.

Badly. Again and again. But Icho was not bitter. If anything, the dying fire inside it began to burn again.

"Want to come with me?" Lewis asked after every victory. "You will become stronger."

On the ninety-ninth defeat, Icho said, "Yes."

It did not yield because it had lost. It yielded because it had finally found someone whose fists were harder than its own. It wanted to know how far it could go by following him.

Only after leaving Beast Fang Ridge did Icho begin to understand something.

Winning was not the end.

As a child, it carved its path with its fists. As a young fighter, it claimed the title of strongest among them. Later, those fists became the way it understood the world. After all this time, the one thing that has never changed is that Icho still trusts its fists.

It has lost plenty along the way: the fire of youth, its rivals, even the title of strongest. But it is not alone.

Maybe because that man is still standing across from it. Maybe because clenching its fists still feels exactly the same.

These days, Icho rarely leaves Lewis’s side.

Not because Icho has grown weaker, but because Lewis has changed. The man who once defeated it ninety-nine times with his fists is now gravely injured, and has even lost the ability to Twine with Icho. What happened to Lewis? Icho does not know. Neither do you.

But Icho knows one thing for certain.

Lewis has not lost his fighting spirit. And neither has Icho.

There will be no hundredth fight between them. Not because they no longer want one, but because some things matter more than winning. Icho once thought fists existed to defeat opponents. Now it understands: fists are what carry you to the next battle, and what help you find someone willing to stand beside you when it comes.

The Thousand-Fang Ridge once bloomed for Icho. They once bloomed for the Inferlupa as well.

Icho knows the flame will never go out. And it will not burn in the Thousand-Fang Ridge alone.

Almost no one knows that the current Alpha Scorchhowl of Beast Fang Ridge was born in the same era as the Icho. But beside the Icho’s brilliance as a prodigy, his light seemed faint. By the time the Icho had already claimed his name, he was still just an Emberpup, training day after day, staring up at the blooming Thousand-Fang Ridge. His growth was slow–so slow it went unnoticed, even dismissed as ordinary. Many Flameruffs and Emberpups pitied him, saying it was unfortunate to be born in the same age as the Icho. Yet while others sighed, he kept moving forward at his own pace. Step by step, year after year, he eventually reached the same height the Icho had once attained.

"I’m not talented."

"If I have any talent at all... it’s that I never stopped."

The Recas didn’t like being called "Recas"–a title reserved for the strongest of the Bonesky clan. He could never defeat the Icho, not even come close.

Once an ordinary, naive Bonesky, he wandered out of his ice cave one day and got lost, eventually encountering the Icho. He sensed the power radiating from the Icho and grew wary, but the Icho beckoned him over. Having lost his rival, the Icho was lonely and asked, "Little one, do you want to grow stronger?"

Driven by his instinct to challenge the powerful, the Bonesky gave a simple, resolute answer. From that day, the Icho trained him like a master, aiming to raise a worthy opponent. Soon, he grew into a Fenrier.

"Master Icho, how strong must I become?"

"Only more powerful than yesterday. Till you become a Recas and defeat me."

He soon became the Bonesky clan’s mightiest and earned the name Recas, yet he still could not best the Icho. One day, the Icho decided to leave, saying he was no longer the strongest. The Recas couldn’t believe anyone but his future self could surpass the Icho.

"That person comes from beyond our world."

"Now I’m off to test myself in the wider world."

The Recas didn’t understand–only that this "person" had defeated the Icho. So he honed his will, aiming to someday overcome both the Icho and that "person."

Then he became a Glynsera, but he never met "that person."

Then you came along. The moment you defeated the Recas, he finally came to understand.

"I’ve met a person of my own."

"I’ve also seen a bigger world."

Hi there,

Congratulations on your upcoming promotion to Wayfarer! You are invited to Berylline Vale at midnight tonight for a special concert performed by my Aniimo and me.

Come enjoy the night sky, the stars, and some wonderful music with us. It’s going to be a fantastic show!

I look forward to seeing you there!

The signature reads "Loulla," followed by three mysterious pawprints. One of them seems to belong to a bird.

Intelligent consciousness generated by the Holo-Lab system that assists trainers. Contains copied data from all Holo-Battle Sim Aniimo and protects any Aniimo that equips it.

Long, long ago, Driftwise Meadow was a world of pure blue, serene yet tinged with sorrow, until one day, new life emerged–the Fentuft family. They are joyful and enjoy the company of others, and so they have invented many games. Slowly, over time, this blue world began to shimmer with dazzling gold–so bright it even melted the ice and snow around it. They were a new form of life–untouched by the age of colorlessness, a small but vital change within an endless cycle. For after the colors faded, restoration would never simply be a return to what once was.

Before Driftwise Meadow was covered in snow, it was a land of clear lakes and endless blue flower fields. The Skippies played freely in the water, while the Nimbis drifted quietly through the blooms, steeped in sadness, and releasing melancholic mists that drifted and gathered in the air. Even when ancient Idyllians came here, they would grow sad and weep uncontrollably upon touching those mists. Over time, this gave rise to the legend of the Weeping Lake. But as the fiery power of the Russet Highlands weakened, this land gradually grew cold. The lake froze, snow accumulated, and the Aniimo living here began to undergo wondrous changes. Yet the Nimbis remained much as they had long ago, as though untouched by time–until the arrival of the Fentufts made them so sorrowful that they started shedding melancholic fluff.

A weapon left behind by Sherro.

When Shelly evolves into Sherro, the shell it once lived in becomes an unbreakable knight’s sword.

This shell sword is covered in scars, likely marks from the battles it fought alongside its Sherro.

Now, its worth lies mostly in the memories it carries.

Susuta’s shell shovel.

With a wooden handle and a shell-made scoop, it is proof that Aniimo in this world can make tools of their own.

Susuta use it to dig up beautiful shells and stones, then offer them to potential mates.

With someone cute watching, a Susuta could probably dig straight through Idyll with this shovel.

Just like Cress, Ranka is descended from Bloomville’s night watchers.

But as Irelia restored all the colors to the land, peace settled in, and the night watchers were no longer needed.

People grew eager to explore new lands, searching for ingredients to craft exquisite perfumes.

From this curiosity arose Bloomville’s floral school, devoted to seeking and planting rare flowers–the first perfumery tradition of the town.

Ranka’s ancestor was among its earliest practitioners.

Flareburst flowers bloom on the ridgeback trees, radiant symbols of fighting spirit, and were once the very prize the night watchers pursued.

Unlike Cress’s warrior-descended ancestor, Ranka’s forebear carried no rusty iron sword steeped in glory.

Yet he shared the Emberpup’s ambition, climbing toward the highest peaks side by side.

Ever since, perfumers of this lineage have grown alongside their Emberpup companions.

They see flareburst flowers as their goal and regard "true battles" as nourishment on their path of adventure.

Ranka, however, did not long for the mightiest path. Even as a perfumer, he was inclined toward idleness.

Perhaps the blood of the night watchers had thinned.

Perhaps it was because his mother once chose the path over him.

Whatever the reason, he preferred lying still in a sunlit meadow of blossoms, breathing in the scents of the flowers.

That was until one day, when the Emberpup he grew up with also left to embark on its own adventure, and a ripple stirred in his heart... soon settling back into calm.

That longing for the path, and that weariness of it, together shaped the Ranka we know today.

And so, whenever he calls himself a "legendary perfumer," it feels both proud and tired.

When she was young, Baboni would always ask her mentor Avetine why the legendary perfume formula was called "Golden Wish" and why its main ingredient was named "Golden Answer." Avetine would tell her the story of Haidt, the founding perfumer.

Haidt was a genius perfumer, and also a strange one.

She always lived in her own world. Perfumery was her way of speaking to the world, and fragrance was the world’s response.

She could hear others, yet never quite understood them.

It was as if her ears caught the words, but her heart could not truly listen.

In search of inspiration, Haidt came to Blitzwood, where she was struck by lightning and fell unconscious.

After waking up, she found herself in a cave beneath a Blitz Tree. She was brought there by a Blazen. A young, clueless Bolty was also there.

Haidt could not understand them.

Then the Blazen motioned for her to touch its bristling tail.

A faint yet layered current of electricity flowed through her.

Haidt withdrew her hand instinctively, but a word echoed in her heart:

Concern.

She could not understand the word, yet for the first time she felt the meaning of concern.

Injured and touched by this feeling, Haidt stayed–living with the Blazen and its cub.

They grew from strangers into family.

Haidt would often go with the Blazen to the Blitz Tree.

The Blazen would send its wishes to the World of Wonders through electric currents, and would also carry Haidt’s voice into the world.

The thunder rolled on as usual, but nothing ever came of it.

The little Bolty was not interested in this routine, as if it did not believe in the World of Wonders at all.

So the days passed on.

Until one day, the Blazen left–perhaps to the World of Wonders.

Haidt went to the Blitz Tree one last time.

She could not generate electricity, but she cried out from the very bottom of her heart.

A peal of thunder sounded, and a branch fell–like a reply from a distant friend.

Young Baboni was deeply drawn to Haidt’s amazing story. She too longed to see that World of Wonders.

Each time, Avetine would shake her head gently and call Baboni her "silly little apprentice."

Baboni grew frustrated.

She began to feel that perhaps Avetine didn’t really like her, especially when Avetine mentioned that once Baboni finished her studies, she would leave for a long journey. Baboni felt sad and was convinced that she just couldn’t wait to leave her foolish apprentice.

It was only when she crafted Golden Wish that Baboni understood–what Avetine truly wished was for Baboni to grow into an apprentice she could trust and finally let go, and that Haidt had not named that fallen branch Golden Answer because the branch itself was extraordinary.

Perhaps that thunder was not truly a reply from her friend Blazen.

But the bond they once shared would never fade.

Decades ago, the Breezy Plains lost their peaceful, tranquil nature. The frequent shifts of the world and ceaseless conflict defined these plains from then on.

It’s said that dangerous creatures, even those pesky Sparkis, formed mobs at night and sneaked into Bloomville.

As such, besides perfumers, many in Bloomville had also become night watchers.

One night, Night Watcher Reikito was feeling down, her stomach growling with hunger.

As she passed by Grace’s house, she discovered that she had left a pan of honey cakes out for night watchers to enjoy, free of charge. But she was conflicted.

Although she would be able to sate her appetite, Night Watcher Reikito was worried that the taste might knock her out on the spot.

It was right at this time that the sound of a beastly howl filled her ears.

Night Watcher Reikito hurried to grasp her sword as she looked to the sky.

It was the Infergon!

Reikito pulled out her old rusty iron sword that was the butt of many a joke, as her eyes locked on the Infergon. At the same time, she shouted for the townsfolk to flee.

In the blink of an eye, the Infergon descended before Reikito.

Reikito was like a speck in comparison to the Infergon’s gargantuan size.

But Reikito still defended her people and confronted the mighty Infergon.

No one expected what happened next. The Infergon did not destroy any houses. It did not harm anyone. Instead, it stared at Grace’s stove... and drooled.

The Infergon left, content, even leaving an unusual red rose behind.

Grace’s family was elated.

As perfumers, they knew that this was the start of a legendary perfume.

They began researching day and night, and have now grown accustomed to the Infergon’s occasional nightly visits.

Although now, the townsfolk of Bloomville worry more about the explosions coming from Grace’s abode than they do about the Infergon himself.

Perfumers have always been the object of admiration in Bloomville, but Marlowe seemed to be the exception.

Whenever Marlowe promotes a new perfume, everyone keeps their distance, afraid that getting too close might cause them to become another "victim."

Yet there are still those who, swayed by his passionate pitches, end up passing out on the spot.

The elder was deeply troubled by this.

As there was nothing else to be done, the elder made Marlowe stand near his own home to promote his products. That way, whoever was unfortunate enough to fall prey to his concoctions could be dragged back to the elder’s house for timely treatment.

The elder had worn himself out worrying over Marlowe.

In fact, the elder’s favor toward Marlowe was not without reason.

Marlowe was born with a "bad nose," unable to tell one scent from another.

As a child, he tried learning perfume blending like everyone else, and eagerly brought his very first perfume to the elder.

The elder was overwhelmed by the stench, which smelled like "rotten honey cake"... and passed out on the spot.

When he woke up and saw Marlowe watching him with concern, he had no choice but to say he only passed out from delight–the scent was simply too wonderful.

Marlowe was so excited that he decided then that he was a genius perfumer.

And so, even though his perfume promotions continued to meet resistance, he never gave up his pursuit of perfume making.

Marlowe’s belief that he was a genius perfumer wasn’t just because of the elder’s compliment.

Though he couldn’t smell the sea breeze or the flowers, he could perceive certain... unusual scents.

For instance, he might catch whiffs of money, freedom, and warmth from people.

He even once caught an Aniimo thief.

Some said Aeolus had closed one door for Marlowe but opened a window.

Others argued it was just Marlowe’s imagination.

Yet when Marlowe crafted "Perfect Mistake," which was later regarded as a legendary perfume, a quiet shift began in people’s minds.

Could he really be a genius? The people of Bloomville started wondering.

Zephyro is a perfumer of the mixture school, and also the inheritor of legendary perfumes.

Yet for him, perfume making feels more like a duty than a passion.

Zephyro holds his own, impractical dream–

He wants to fly across the sea.

Fortunately, he can twine with Aniimo.

Unfortunately, he can only twine with Flutternyms.

Without the wind’s aid, a Flutternym cannot fly across the sea.

Luckily, his Flutternym was once the companion of Zephyro’s grandfather, and it knows that singing the Song of Freedom can make the Bell of Freedom bloom.

When the Bell of Freedom blooms, a great wind will rise.

They could then ride that wind across the sea, just as his grandfather once did.

And so, Zephyro and his Flutternym would often sing near the Bell of Freedom.

Yet the Bell did not bloom–not once.

The wind even carried away the Song of Freedom.

They grew almost mad with frustration.

Singing, waiting, and thinking–

Great wind, great wind–when will you come?

Is our song not free enough? Why won’t the Bell of Freedom bloom?

When the Bell of Freedom finally bloomed, Zephyro understood:

The freedom to leave and the freedom to stay are one and the same.

Still, he chose to ride the great wind with his Flutternym and left.

Because that was the freedom they desired.

No nobler than staying, only true to their hearts.

When the perfume "Freedom’s Breeze" was complete, Zephyro let go of everything at last.

He was no longer a perfumer, and he relinquished the duty passed down through the generations.

He felt light, so light.

For all he carried now was the wish to fly across the sea.

"To you who share this destiny, I give this Freedom’s Breeze–

May it carry you, too, toward the place in your heart."

In his final moments, Ron looked at the "Beautiful Voice Perfume" and many memories returned to him.

A boy who felt ashamed of his singing met Tucker hiding in a corner, humming an equally off-key tune–and they both stopped feeling sad.

In fact, they began to feel glad, knowing there was "someone else just like me" in the world.

They started singing those awful songs together, louder and louder, more and more joyfully.

And as they sang, their hearts connected, and they gained the power to twine.

"From the moment we twined, we became each other’s greatest friend."

"No matter what happens, that will never change."

Ron told this story over and over to his son, again and again, along with the regret of a promise left unfulfilled.

In the end, he set down the perfume and picked up the long-dried glimmer fruit garland.

There was still so much he wanted to say, but by then, he no longer had the strength.

His son held his hand and repeated to him:

"I’ll wear the garland. I’ll find Tucker. I’ll keep your promise for you."

Ron’s consciousness was already fading, drifting in and out with thoughts left unspoken, until he slipped into slumber.

He saw Tucker again, right there before him.

"Tucker, look... I finally made the Beautiful Voice Perfume. Now we can sing together. But now... I almost don’t want to give it to you."

"Sorry... I can’t sing with you anymore. So... will you sing those awful songs alone for me?"

"Don’t wait for me... but don’t forget me, either."

"Just keep singing those off-key tunes... and remember me always."

At first, Elvira’s ancestor only wanted to create a perfume that captured sorrow.

After her mother passed away, something inside her stayed hollow. It was not pain, exactly. It was cold. It was the silence left behind by footsteps she would never hear again. She tried to bottle that feeling with the depth of sandalwood, the coolness of frankincense, and the airy haze of white musk.

But after three months of trying, she still could not make it. The longing in her heart was too heavy. No fragrance could truly hold it.

One evening, she sat by the sea, lost in thought. Then a song drifted over the water, low and haunting, long and far-reaching, like a greeting carried from another world. Following the sound, she found a lone Echoback gliding through the water.

It kept singing, again and again, as if waiting for an answer that would never come.

With each Echoback Song, luminous pink flowers bloomed along the nearby shore. Their clear, glowing petals slowly unfurled, as though the song itself had taken form. Elvira’s ancestor reached out to touch one. A bead of moisture slipped from the petal, carrying a strange warmth with it.

And in that instant, she remembered her mother’s hand. Not as it was at the end, thin and fragile, but as it had been years ago, warm and gentle, leading her through the flower fields. It carried the scent of Duskwhisper.

Then she understood. The Echoback was not singing out of sorrow. It sang because it still remembered the warmth of the one it had lost. Longing is not cold. It is the glow of a warmth that still endures, even across an immeasurable distance.

And so, Elvira’s ancestor named the flower Whalesong Blossom. She brought it back to Bloomville and used it to craft the very first bottle of "Whisper of Longing."

On the day it was finished, Elvira dabbed it onto her wrist. It was nothing like the deep, cool, elusive scent she had set out to make. Through the haze of its fragrance, she could almost see her mother again, standing in a field of violet blossoms, smiling with the same joy as before.

Dael is a perfumer with a traveler’s heart. He hopes to carry Bloomville’s signature fragrances across the world and share them wherever the road takes him.

After his family passed away, he began living on the move.

Whenever his travels brought him near the Forest of Falling Stars, he would visit there instead of returning to Bloomville, because to him, the Celestis were the last family he had left.

It all began with a simple joke.

Once, when Dael was little, he asked his mother where he came from.

She brought him to the Celestis outpost and told him she had found him there and carried him home.

"So you were a little Celestis," she said. "You only look like this because I brought you back to Bloomville."

Young Dael believed every word.

From then on, he was always running off to the Celestis outpost to play.

He thought of the Celestis as his family, and eventually he could almost understand their language.

After growing up, Dael knew it had only been his mother’s little joke. Still, the Celestis at the outpost never stopped feeling special to him.

When he is far from home, he misses them.

But when he is close by, it is enough simply to know they are safe.

In this world, there are people who are born happy.

Some admire them.

Some find them strange.

Others find them to be quite normal.

Fantine is one of those naturally happy people.

Fantine and Iola are sisters from Bloomville.

The elder sister, Fantine, followed in their father’s footsteps and became a perfumer, while the younger sister, Iola, took after their mother and became a shepherdess.

Fantine couldn’t understand why Iola worried so much over a certain boy named Lycus, and Iola couldn’t understand why Fantine was always so happy.

Iola didn’t just worry about Lycus–she began worrying about Fantine, too.

She wondered if her sister might be ill.

For the first time, Fantine felt a little worried. She took her little Nimbi and went to Driftwise Meadow, hoping to relax a little while searching for perfume ingredients.

Not long after arriving, her Nimbi grew upset.

Holding her upset Nimbi, Fantine felt a sorrow she had never known before, and let the Nimbi go.

She couldn’t understand. Was her joy what made her different? Was being sad really the right way to be?

It wasn’t until the bittersweet bloom blossomed that Fantine suddenly understood.

If Fentufts were happy, and she was happy too, then why shouldn’t a happy Fantine be together with the happy Fentufts?

She even began to wonder–was she actually just a tall, slender Fentuft?

In Awen’s childhood memories, her home was just like any ordinary family home in Bloomville – simple, warm, and familiar. Back then, the biggest problem in her life seemed to be that her mother would stay out in the flower fields to cultivate new varieties instead of coming home, while her father’s complaints gave Awen no end of headaches.

Even when she sensed that she was somehow different from the other people of Bloomville, it never troubled her back then.

Except on those rare occasions when snow fell over the Sea of Flowers.

Her mother would gaze toward its deepest reaches, a wistful look in her eyes.

Young Awen asked her mother what lay beyond the Sea of Flowers.

Her mother only shook her head, as if there were things she couldn’t bring herself to speak about.

When Awen grew up, she found a line in her mother’s research notes – no context before it, none after.

"It’s snowing, but my homeland isn’t there anymore."

It was then that Awen understood – no wonder she carried a different scent from the people of Bloomville. She had another homeland somewhere.

She wanted to find that homeland, to find the "origin" she had never visited.

At last, after braving countless dangers, she reached the ancient white perfume tower deep within the Sea of Flowers, and found the perfume formula called "Homeland" – and with it, her origin.

She was from Azureville. She had never truly belonged here.

She thought: she had to leave this place and go toward her origin.

As for the perfume named "Homeland" – there was no need to bring it to her mother. Because the homeland in her mother’s heart was the white plateau, collapsed utterly in the upheaval of the earth – the place where she had lived alongside the Budsquires in her own childhood.

For some people, home is a guiding scent, leading toward the place they came from.

For others, home is a place one is destined to leave. To leave home is to begin anew.

Packed with the fiery energy of flame flower roots, this item is highly unstable and prone to explosion. Handle with care.

What meaning is there in battle? If a goal can never be attained, if our bodies grow old and weary, if defeat is all that awaits us–should we fight on? Thousand-Fang Ridge does not bloom for the strong–it bows only to souls that burn and never fade.

The Bolty family believes that electric currents have the magical power to connect everything in the world, and that making a "phone call" is to connect one heart to another. They believe that through the Blitz Tree, they can talk to the World of Wonders. In fact, even the oldest Bolty doesn’t know the origin of the Blitz Tree–the only thing they know is that one hundred years ago, it suddenly became withered as the land lost its colors and then revived as the guardian returned colors seventy years ago. How it came into being and from where it came, no one knows. Or perhaps it came from the World of Wonders... Perhaps it’s just an ordinary tree chosen by lightning.

A Baleetle’s body contains two consciousnesses: the active Baleetle Consciousness and the dormant Ball Consciousness. This also demonstrates the two possible evolution types for Aniimo in the Baleetle family. Racers who pursue perfection can evolve into a Waleetle, while those who charge in head-first can awaken their ball consciousness to evolve into a Bouldus. Which path is right, and which is wrong? The round stone in which the stoneflower grow is seemingly the destination, or perhaps it is simply a peculiar turquoise stone found resting in our world.

The Infergon has been defeated by a warrior. A flame-like flower somehow bloomed at the exact spot where it was slain.

Did the Infergon once swallow the precious flame flower of the Russet Highlands?

Or did the flame flower simply bloom for the Infergon?

The legend of the Jawling family might hold the answer.

–The Infergon lives eternally on the Russet Highlands, as long as the flame still burns.

The Twister Peaks often echo with the agonized roars of the Infergon.

Only when it is defeated by a Pawney do these roars briefly fall silent.

What is the source of the Infergon’s suffering?

The loss of a fated rival?

The price of being a legend of the Russet Highlands?

Perhaps only in the quiet of night, on this secluded island, will this ancient and mysterious tale be told.

Starry was a special Celestis–intelligent and with a profound love for food. With the help of Twinkle, they would steal large starines that were too tough for other Celestises to bite into. Together, they would use sharpened rocks to cut open the large Starines and eat the extra delicious pulp inside. One day, they discovered a large pinkish-blue starine. Starry managed to eat its pulp and evolved into a Prismana Form Stellarys. With the newfound knowledge of Stellaryses, Starry came to understand that the magical power it possessed had made it impossible for it to stay with other Celestises. Its mind became mystical and calm, yet saying goodbye was just too hard. So, it decided to protect the Celestis outpost with its power. Later, when Twinkle started looking for large starines to meet Starry again, Starry decided to have a shower of starines to say goodbye. Sharing the large starines and their blessings with everyone.

Originally, it was a rare flower that grew in the sea of blue blossoms, azure, with petals that drooped as if bowed in quiet weeping. After the Fentufts appeared in Driftwise Meadow and started to spread joy wherever they went, those petals slowly took on a soft golden hue. For a long time after, blue-and-gold flowers bloomed across this land. But as more Fentufts have appeared, the Nimbis have chosen to leave for places far away from their cheery ways, where they can enjoy their sorrow. And so, having lost that aura of melancholy, the bittersweet blooms began to droop once more. Thus, they have not produced their precious dew for quite some time.

This was once the White Plateau, second in elevation to Twister Peaks, its lands blanketed in deep snow.

Beardow Woods was the only path leading to the White Plateau.

Dangerous Cubbos staggered about, their threatening growls echoing around.

Budsquires shivered as they braved the bitter wind and snow to reach the White Plateau.

For here grew a marvelous flower that had the mysterious power to make Cubbos keep their distance.

Gradually, the people of Bloomville also discovered that white flower.

At first, the Bloomville folk and the Budsquires lived on opposite sides of the flower, leaving each other undisturbed.

Slowly, they began to communicate with each other and live together on the White Plateau.

As the Melloblum performed the Dance of Blissful Bloom, the white flower blossomed against the bitter cold and whirling snow.

It was called the "whitesnow rose"–a miracle on the snow.

The miracle of a beautiful flower blooming amid a harsh and unforgiving world.

And the miracle of the Bloomville folk and Budsquires living together and helping each other.

Where the whitesnow rose grows is a shared homeland of both the Bloomville people and the Budsquire family.

Each of Tucking’s main vines contains a Vine Core, which stores the Tucking’s important memories and serves as the vines’ secondary energy source. The Tucking’s life is not brief, and the Vine Cores that carry memory and emotion will endure for far longer stretches of time. A perfumer in the Mistwoods seems to need one.