The morning began, as all peaceful mornings in Luminvale do, with a soft yawn, a few sleepy stretches, and a bizarre explosion in Milo's workshop.
KA-PWOMP!
Milo stumbled out of a cloud of sparkling purple mist, his hair puffed up like cotton candy. Alma peeked over a stack of pillows and potion books, blinking.
"Milo," she asked gently, "was that the softening potion test?"
Milo coughed up a puff of lavender smoke. "Softest kaboom I've ever had. I think we're on to something."
In front of them stood a mattress that looked like a cross between a marshmallow and a daydream—light, plush, and vaguely humming a lullaby.
Luca poked his head in, holding a giant croissant. "You two okay in here? I heard a—oh." He stared at the mattress. "Why is that bed glowing?"
"Because," Milo said proudly, "I've created the ultimate comfort solution: the Soften-Up Supreme. A single drop makes any bed perfectly cloud-like. No lumps, no springs, no regrets."
Alma beamed. "You could revolutionize naps."
Luca shrugged. "Or fall asleep forever. I touched a pillow once and forgot where I was for three hours."
Milo waved off their concerns. "One drop per bed, and people will dream like never before."
He uncorked the potion, carefully measured a drop with a pipette, and let it fall onto the mattress.
The reaction was immediate.
The bed pulsed, shimmered, and let out a deep, contented sigh.
Then it bounced.
Just once. Gently.
Then again.
Then higher.
Then Milo—who had leaned a little too close—was flung straight into the rafters.
"Wheeeeeep!" he yelped as he bounced off a wooden beam and landed on his feet... then bounced again.
Luca blinked. "Did... did the bed just punt you?"
Milo, midair, flailed dramatically. "I think I added too much bounce root!"
---
Within twenty minutes, the potion's mist had crept out through the workshop vents and drifted into the village.
The first to notice were the bakery customers, who began hovering ever so slightly on their benches.
Next was the town square, where the cobblestones started giggling under people's feet.
Then, chaos.
Mayor Flanagan strode into the plaza with purpose, only to take one step and spring twenty feet into the air like an over-enthusiastic gazelle.
"By my mustache!" he cried. "The ground has betrayed us!"
Children squealed with glee as they bounced from house to house. Elderly villagers soared in rocking chairs like graceful airships. A herd of goats had turned into a synchronized aerial dance troupe.
The whole village had become a trampoline jungle.
---
Milo, Alma, and Luca stood on the roof of the workshop, trying to remain still as the shingles beneath them wobbled like jelly.
"I may have underestimated the bounce radius," Milo admitted, adjusting his goggles.
"You think?" Alma asked, watching a baker ping across the square holding a tray of midair éclairs.
Luca was reclined in a hammock tied between two suspiciously springy chimneys. "Honestly, I've had worse Tuesdays."
A scream rang out as a tea vendor launched into a cartwheel midair, landed on a hay bale, and waved cheerfully as he continued bouncing away into the distance.
Milo sighed. "I was just trying to make a comfy bed..."
Alma nodded. "And you succeeded! Maybe a little too comfy."
---
In an effort to help, Milo distributed blankets to the villagers to act as dampeners.
Unfortunately, the blankets also absorbed potion mist and became trampoline launchpads.
Children began forming teams and playing "sky tag." A group of grandmothers invented "competitive bounce knitting." A bard began performing midair concerts while strumming a lute upside down.
"It's actually... kind of fun," Alma said, bouncing gently beside a floating herb bush.
Milo looked around. "I suppose... but what happens when someone bounces into the forest?"
As if summoned by the narrative, a loud THWUMP sounded, followed by a scream of joy and a "WHOO-HOOO!" from somewhere in the woods.
"Oh, that's Timble the beekeeper," Luca said, watching a small figure fly by with bees trailing behind. "He's always wanted to fly."
---
By afternoon, the village had organized itself into teams:
Team Bouncezilla: Dedicated to extreme trampoline tricks.
Team Pillowparade: Focused on creating fashionably bouncy outfits.
Team "Help, I Can't Stop!": Just a group of villagers bouncing helplessly in circles.
Milo knew he had to act before the entire economy shifted to bounce-based currency.
"I need to brew a Neutralizer Potion," he said. "One that calms the overbounced particles."
"But how?" Alma asked. "It's in everything now—even the goats."
"Especially the goats," Luca said, ducking as a bleating blur soared overhead.
---
After referencing Grandma Willow's old notes and adding a pinch of "Calmiroot" (which had previously been used to stop gossip from spreading in potion form), Milo brewed a large vat of De-Bounce Brew.
Luca, ever the volunteer (read: unlucky target), tested the potion by tossing a biscuit soaked in it onto the trampoline mattress.
The biscuit landed... and stayed put.
"No bounce?" Alma asked.
"No bounce," Luca confirmed, poking it.
Milo grinned. "It's time."
---
They loaded the potion into Alma's old weather-dispenser contraption (which she may or may not have borrowed from the Village Fair), and began "raining" the De-Bounce Brew over rooftops, trees, and bouncing villagers.
There were some mishaps—a sheep briefly gained the ability to moonwalk, and the mayor did a triple flip into a tomato cart—but gradually, the bouncing slowed.
By sunset, the village had returned to a peaceful lull.
Benches were grounded. Goats were calm. And Milo finally got to sit on his super-soft bed without being ejected into orbit.
Mayor Flanagan dropped by the workshop that evening, brushing lettuce out of his hair.
"I must say, Milo, it was... invigorating. But please, warn me next time before you turn our village into an acrobatic wonderland."
Milo bowed. "Yes, Mayor. Next time, the potion will be... half as bouncy."
Alma added, "Maybe just a feather-fluff level."
Luca stretched. "I dunno. I kind of miss the aerial bakery experience. Croissants taste better at ten feet up."
---
That night, Milo lay on his bed—perfectly soft, finally still.
He closed his eyes and smiled.
Sure, things got out of hand. But no one was hurt (except maybe pride), and the village had enjoyed one of its most exciting days in years.
And as he drifted off, he whispered, "Note to self—next time, less bounce root."
From the roof, a lingering squirrel gave a small hop and disappeared into the night.