The sky stretches above them, painted in hues of soft gold and pale blue. Wisps of clouds drift lazily, their edges feathered like the strokes of a delicate brush. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the canopy, scattering light in gentle pools across the forest floor. Ithiona watches in silence, her thoughts folding inward.
He is the light that shines the night… our king who brings us life, she whispers internally, her voice soft and reverent. Two birds dance in the air before her, their feathers glinting as they swoop and twist playfully against the vast sky.
Without you, the spirits would have already hunted us to extinction. However, even so, you have already done more than enough for us. There's no need for you to feel responsible for us… Her words fade beneath her breath as she stares up at the drifting clouds. She stands slowly, wings trembling slightly, then lifts into the sky, her figure disappearing into the sun-dappled expanse.
"Hmm…," Mirelith sighs with a yawn, stretching his arms wide. "Even she's tired of me, huh?" With a long stretch, he turns his gaze upward to the brilliant sun. "Well, I guess I've been in the mortal realm for a while. Once I leave, they'll be here for the remainder of the cycle…" His voice trails off as his golden eyes close, his body settling back into the embrace of the giant leaf.
—
"Wait, so you're saying you smelled something new?" A voice crackles from a lower branch. A red-haired fairy, his tangled curls wild and streaked with hints of bronze, adjusts his glasses—crafted from a twisted twig and drops of hardened water. He sighs heavily, frustration etching his delicate features. "But if it's that far up, he probably won't let us go. We have to disc—"
"No way, man!" another voice interrupts, followed by a flurry of movement. Several fairies zip through the branches, wings flashing in bursts of color.
A petite fairy with short moss-green hair, streaked with faint gold, perches on a low branch. "We should all just go and check it out. You know the king won't let us go if we ask," she says confidently.
"I'm with Blyra," a slightly larger fairy, his skin shifting from pale bark to dappled green, speaks up. His wings buzz in slow, deliberate beats, his eyes a deep, thoughtful gray. Fenric, a planner by nature, folds his arms, his expression wary but intrigued.
The redhead, still adjusting his glasses, huffs. "Fine. But when this gets us in trouble, don't say I didn't warn you."
-
"I can't believe we're doing this," Dúnadan mutters, rubbing his temples as he crouches low on the hawk's back. His large, iridescent wings twitch with discomfort, his face lined with the tight restraint of someone who's followed protocol their entire life. "We are not supposed to be doing this, Ithiona. What will His Majesty say when we return?"
Around them, dozens of fairies dart and weave through the sky ahead, a blur of glinting wings and high-pitched laughter. They're veering off into the deeper reaches of the forest—uncharted, ancient, and bathed in mist.
Ithiona gives a sheepish smile, her brow damp with sweat as she clutches the reins on the hawk's feathered harness. Her gold-and-black hair bounces in the wind, strands sticking to her cheek. "Well… I understand he might be mad, but we can't just let them go alone, can we? If it were one or two fairies, maybe… maybe we could get away with looking the other way. But it's everyone, Dúnadan. They're all going!"
Her voice wavers near the end, caught between guilt and anxiety. Her grip tightens. "We have to leave our post just in case… in case anything happens."
Dúnadan leans forward, his expression dry. "I'm only doing this because I love you, alright? You understand that we're failing our duty by not informing His Majesty?"
Before Ithiona can respond, a fwump lands behind her.
"Ughhh! You sound like an old root!" a voice groans melodramatically.
A blue-haired fairy tumbles onto the hawk's back with exaggerated flair, her thin body sprawling across Ithiona's shoulders. Her hair is wild and puffy like a cloud caught in a rainstorm, a single curl hanging between her eyes. Her wings buzz lazily as she wraps her arms around Ithiona and rests her cheek against her neck with a long, moaning whine. "Caaaaaaan't you see this poor girl's stressed out of her leafy mind?"
"Lyara—please—get off—" Ithiona tries to pry her off, only for Lyara to cling tighter with a dramatic squeak.
"Nooope. You need this. It's called 'emotional support snuggling.' Mandatory. I read it on a floating leaf once."
Dúnadan groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I should have stayed at the shrine."
"You say that, but you'd miss us," Lyara coos, fluttering her lashes before sticking her tongue out.
The hawk lets out a low, rumbling caw as it dives lower, wings slicing through the clouds. The deeper forest looms ahead—tall trees with glowing bark, vines dangling like shimmering curtains, and a strange luminescence that pulses faintly from within the moss below.
Ithiona sighs, cheeks flushed. Her voice is a little quieter now. "I just… I hope nothing really does happen. If Mirelith finds out… I don't know what he'll do."
Lyara blinks, her playfulness pausing just a second. She rests her chin gently against Ithiona's shoulder.
"Then let's make sure he doesn't have to find out."
-
A soft breeze rolls through the glade, stirring the blades of tall grass and rustling the leaves overhead in a gentle rhythm. The stream nearby hums a tranquil melody, its waters gliding over smooth stones, weaving silver patterns in the sunlight. Birds chirp in loose harmony, their songs echoing faintly between the trees like nature's lullaby.
Mirelith lies sprawled across the curve of an arched branch, his golden hair spilling like sunlight down the bark. The canopy above flickers with light, dappling his face. He slowly opens his eyes, golden irises catching the shifting glow.
'They're going deeper into the forest…'
He exhales softly, brushing a loose leaf off his chest. But the peace fractures.
The ground rumbles.
Pebbles, droplets, and fallen leaves lift gently into the air, suspended in place as if gravity itself holds its breath. The stream stills. The hum of nature pauses.
"As long as they don't go past the border I set," Mirelith murmurs, rising onto his feet. A smooth stone beneath him lifts upward, gliding into the air to carry him above the trees. His gaze sharpens as he watches the faint trail of his people vanish beyond the dense forest's veil. "That's where the old dungeon—"
He stops himself mid-thought. A yawn slips past his lips.
With the flick of a finger, a sword of brilliant golden light shimmers into existence. Its shape is elegant, smooth, forged of pure magic rather than steel. The hilt curves like ivy. Its edge gleams like sunlight cutting through mist.
"I see… You must have something to do with this," he mutters, raising the blade slightly.
The shadows beneath him twist.
Shnk! In a blur of motion, several warped silhouettes around him split—cleanly severed.
From one, a hooded figure stumbles out, blood dripping from the folds of their coat. They tilt their head. The body dissolves into a shadow again and vanishes with a low hiss.
Mirelith doesn't pursue.
Instead, his gaze rises to a single cloud drifting above—soft, slow, almost idle in its movement.
"The king of the fairies... or soon to be king," a voice murmurs from within the cloud as it floats gently away. "I can see why the legend exists. When the sun flew overhead and the plants wept, the realms trembled... as the birth of the original Fairy King arose from the tear of the world."
The voice fades.
High above, seated cross-legged atop the drifting mist, Dae closes an old book between her hands. Her golden pupils gleam behind strands of crimson hair as she peers down at him with subtle curiosity.
"If you're this powerful in the mortal realm… just what do you become when ascending?" she whispers, tilting her head slightly.
Mirelith doesn't flinch.
"That story is not from this cycle," he replies calmly, lifting his finger. His eyes gleam faintly. "And neither is your blood."
A pulse of divine energy hums around his fingertip—gentle, but warning.
"If the gods notice you, that sword of yours will slice you in half before you take another breath."
Dae descends slowly, walking down the air itself as if it were made of glass. Her robe flutters behind her like ink spilling across the sky. "It matters not," she says, voice light. "What does matter is you being stuck in here… with me."
A barrier hums to life around them in an instant—a vast dome of dull crimson and warped silver that encases the entire stretch of forest beneath.
"You could kill me," she says as the golden sword materializes near her throat, Mirelith now behind her, arm extended. "You could… but your people will die as well. This barrier won't fall unless I release it—and if you strike me down, you will regret it."
He doesn't move.
His blade trembles slightly with power, but his gaze narrows. 'She's not lying. I recognize this barrier...'
With a deep sigh, Mirelith lowers his weapon and floats backward, settling on a rock suspended mid-air. "Explain yourself."
Dae lands with grace. Her cloak flows behind her like smoke on water. "While you were sleeping," she begins, "I set an illusion over the forest. It made it seem like your people were just near the border. In truth, they've entered the old dungeon I brought back to life."
Mirelith's jaw tightens.
"They are drinking sap from the Firstborn Blazen Tree of Frenzy. And due to your own constant emotional interference with the forest, your fairies are already vulnerable." Her eyes gleam. "Within minutes, they'll become brainless husks. Empty. Lost."
Her hand extends, calm and deliberate. "Unless you accept my offer."
Her voice dips—silken, cold, just above a whisper. "Become the dungeon boss… for them."
The silence thickens like fog.
Mirelith stares at her, unmoving. His expression doesn't shift, but something in the air does.
The leaves still mid-fall. The flow of light pauses between the trees.
Then, without sound or warning—he vanishes.
No gust, no blur. Just gone.
Crack.
A sound like shattering glass echoes through the air—not physical, but something deeper. The sky itself fractures for a blink, and the illusion breaks apart like scorched silk peeling from fire.
The Dae before him crumbles like ash, curling into threads that scatter on the wind.
The real one gasps—only once—before fingers wrap around her neck.
She's yanked midair, held effortlessly as golden light coils up her arms like living vines, binding her in radiant threads. They do not burn, but they hum with raw, ancient resonance.
Her feet dangle above the forest floor.
Mirelith holds her aloft—not in anger, not in threat—but with the same ease one might lift a leaf. His eyes, glowing like molten gold, don't blink as they meet hers.
"Illusions," he says, voice quiet and steady, "are my domain."
There's no growl in his tone. No warning.
Just fact.
His grip doesn't tighten, but the golden vines pulse once, sealing her magic in place.
"Don't insult me with borrowed tricks."
Then, just as smoothly, he lets go.