How the world works
Some rules cannot be wished away.
The Stillward
The NuThings come from the Stillward, a small, inhabited land gathered around a deep valley. Rain descends from its cliffs into sheltered woodland, then through gardens and a slow river. A person could spend a lifetime learning one stretch of that river without finding every crossing.
The Stillward has soil, weather, trades, arguments and things that wear out. Its residents mend leaking roofs and remember which bridge vanished in a flood. It exists independently of human dreams and feelings.
Their dawn begins when the human world enters night. Their dusk arrives with human sunrise. NuThings visit us during their day, when most human rooms have fallen quiet. During their night, they live and rest at home. This opposite rhythm belongs to the worlds; a clock cannot change it.
NuThings are small living creatures, able to sit on a human desk without covering a book. Different bodies suit different terrain. They have families, neighbours and work beyond human view.
Ordinary life
NuThings eat orchard fruit, seeds, soft roots, mushrooms and small baked cakes made from ground grain. Food is grown, traded and stored. Winter storms can spoil deliveries. They cannot live on moonlight, affection or stolen human sweets.
Their crafts are shaped by their size. They weave bark fibre, fire small clay vessels, carve fallen wood and work glass in communal furnaces. A broken pane is expensive because making another takes fuel and several skilled hands. Fine objects are repaired visibly; a good repair earns more respect than an object pretending never to have broken.
Most trade happens at the valley market through exchange and written tallies. Visitors bring useful measurements or observations from the human world, rather than whatever glittering thing they can carry. Nobody has permission to take another person's possession simply because it would look nice at home.
A year follows opening buds, high growth, seedfall and long rain. Calendars count these changes and safe crossing days. Neighbours inspect routes in the first dry spell. During long rain, the library fills with people waiting for news.
Whoever changes a map leaves the old version beside it and explains why. Travellers announce their return before telling the impressive part of their journey. Guests wash cups. At farewell, everyone knows how the other will get home.
Crossing between worlds
The oldest library route records contain crossed-out windows and later measurements written beside them. No founder's perfect map survives. The Stillward learned to cross through repeated observation, failures, rescue work and the corrections that followed.
The valley's continuing difficulty is keeping those routes dependable. During long rain, cliff paths erode, glass receivers wear and deliveries arrive late. Some neighbours want to suspend visits until every measurement has been checked; others depend on crossing work and press for new routes. Both need food, fuel and help maintaining the rainwells. The five are working residents caught in that argument, not chosen rulers. Their journeys can settle one problem while leaving another for the next season.
A crossing joins one surveyed rainwell in the Stillward to one particular window in the human world. It cannot be summoned anywhere. A window acquires a route through repeated, stable reflections: light passing over the same glass at the same angle. Physical markers can identify its receiving alignment. A pair of carved birds is one possible landmark, not a universal requirement; such ornaments have no souls or hidden powers.
At the Stillward end, a shaped glass receiver directs the rainwell's reflection. At the human end, a steady lamp or lantern completes the line through the window glass. The route can work through a closed window. Moonlight may help, but a visible moon is not required. Clouds alone do not shut every crossing.
The line must remain continuous and correctly aligned. A NuThing steps through the reflection at the water's edge and arrives at the window's receiving surface. Only small bodies and objects fit. Moving a marker does not move the route: it hides the correct alignment.
Crossing requires a clear, unobserved receiving surface. Someone watching the window directly breaks the stable reflection needed for passage. Once through, NuThings remain physically present and can be seen. They have no invisibility, memory-erasing or mind-controlling ability. If a human wakes, hiding is ordinary hiding.
Routes operate only during Stillward daylight, which is human night. Human sunrise, the Stillward's dusk, closes them until the next cycle. Missing it means sheltering safely through the human day and returning the next night. Nobody is harmed or exiled. Their family must receive word at the next crossing.
Rain, wind, a shifted lantern or water covering a marker can disturb the line. A repaired route must be tested with a small marked wooden token before anybody crosses. The token is returned from the other end to confirm the connection. A convincing-looking reflection is not enough.
NuThings cannot command weather, create light, teleport away from a closed route or repair everything by touching it. Crossing knowledge is learned work. Small errors have consequences, and asking for assistance is a normal part of competence.
Why they come here
Human rooms are full of unfamiliar scales and ingenious ordinary solutions: a hinge, a bookmark, a seed label, a drawer repaired with the wrong screw. NuThings visit to observe, learn and exchange knowledge. Some come for curiosity, some for their work, and some because a friendship began at a window.
They may move an object to protect it from immediate harm. They should leave understandable evidence: a rescued letter in a dry spot, a returned bookmark, a note. Borrowing otherwise requires permission, and returning the object is part of keeping that permission. An unattended possession is not abandoned. They do not choose human partners or cure sadness.
Humans' possessions, privacy and choices deserve respect. Children and adults contribute different knowledge; neither needs to be foolish for the other to be useful. Meeting a NuThing begins a relationship, not ownership.
