"Breathe, breathe. You can do it. Just open your mouth and pull some air in. That’s it, breathe."

Elbar’s voice was firm but soothing as I gasped, my chest heaving. Air rushed into my body, filling the void that had nearly consumed me. My lungs burned as I sucked in breath after desperate breath, my body trembling from the aftershocks of the dream I had just endured. I let out a cry so raw, so full of anguish that the world around me seemed to shudder under the weight of it. Through my tear-soaked eyes, I saw Elbar’s wings glow brighter, the metallic scent thickening in the air like iron and fire. My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the cold surface of the bridge, sobbing.

"What were you thinking, bringing him here? Not all human dreams are nice ones. This is where forgotten dreams lie for a reason. Who told you about bridges?" Elbar’s voice, now scolding, was directed at Anna and Marie.

I could hear the two young faye mumbling weakly in response, their guilt evident even though my mind was still clouded with the memory of Myia—alive, singing, only to be struck down. The after image of the dream was like a phantom in my mind, lingering, twisting like a half-remembered nightmare that refused to fade.

"Elbar," I rasped, pulling myself to my feet, using the bridge's wall to steady myself. My hands trembled uncontrollably, the shock still coursing through me. "What was that? Why was Myia in there? What is going on? Tell me!"

Elbar’s gaze softened slightly, though the lines of frustration still creased his brow. "No one was in there," he replied, his voice quieter now. "That place—it's where forgotten dreams are stored. Dreams like the one you just experienced. It’s not meant for humans. We faye only feel echoes, impressions of those dreams, but humans... you experience the full force. It’s too dangerous. Imagine if those dreams were left to float freely in the world, affecting everyone who slept. You’ve seen how damaging just one can be."

His words hit me hard, the reality of what I had just lived through settling into place. "So, Myia... she wasn’t really there?" I whispered, though I already knew the answer. My heart ached painfully, the vision of her smile still fresh, still raw. "It was all just... a dream?"

"A dream, yes. But to you, it felt real. And that’s why we store them here, locked away where they can’t harm anyone." Elbar’s wings twitched, the glow dimming slightly as he sighed. "Humans aren’t meant to enter the temple. It wasn’t made for your kind. We faye, as I said, feel only glimpses—enough to know the nature of the dream, but never the full impact. You, however, feel it all. And it can break you."

I glanced over at Anna and Marie, who stood a few paces away, their small forms shrunken with guilt. Their wings drooped, no longer vibrant but dull, wrapping around them like cloaks of sorrow. They looked like two drenched puppies, their once carefree spirits crushed by the weight of what they had unknowingly caused.

I managed a weak smile, despite the pain still gnawing at me. "Thank you, Anna. Thank you, Marie."

"You’re... you’re not mad?" Anna stammered, her voice trembling.

I chuckled softly, though it felt hollow. "No, I’m not mad. How could I be? You let me see Myia again. You let me hear her voice, see her smile... even if it was just a dream. It’s more than I ever thought I’d have." I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Thank you. I’m just... overwhelmed. It’s a human thing."

The two young faye looked at each other, their spirits visibly lifting, though the shadow of guilt still lingered. They giggled nervously, their wings slowly regaining some of their luster. It took all the strength I had to keep smiling, to hide the ache in my chest. My heart still throbbed with the memory of Myia, and the emptiness her absence left behind.

"You two run along now," Elbar said, his tone much gentler than before. "I’ll see Ragson back. And no more mischief."

"We won’t!" they replied in unison, before flitting off toward the forest, their wings fluttering behind them like autumn leaves caught in a breeze.

Elbar watched them go, his expression softening. "They didn’t know. They’re only children. But thank you—for handling that with more grace than I expected."

"They’re just kids," I said, my voice tired. "I was one myself, once." I paused, my mind still reeling from the dream. "But why did they go in there at all? What drew them to the temple?"

Elbar’s face darkened. "Curiosity, mostly. The temple... it’s a place of mystery, even to us. The forgotten dreams call out, like faint echoes, and some faye, especially the young, are drawn to it. They’ve heard stories, whispers of what the dreams contain, and it’s tempting. Dangerous, but tempting." He shook his head. "But that’s why it is here in the faye realm, in Aerindell. Your kind... you feel too much, too deeply. And those dreams... they can destroy you from the inside out."

His words hung in the air, heavy and ominous, as the memory of Myia’s voice, her laughter, and the way she fell echoed in the back of my mind. I understand now. The temple wasn’t just a vault for forgotten dreams—it was a place of danger, a repository of memories too powerful, too painful to let loose into the world.

As I walked beside Elbar, my heart still ached for Myia, but I also felt a quiet sense of gratitude. I had seen her again, even if only in a dream. And for a fleeting moment, it had been enough.

I nodded toward Elbar and gave a faint smile before turning back across the bridge. Elbar followed silently behind, his wings whispering against the air like the soft rustle of wind through leaves. As I walked, I trailed my hand along the side of the bridge, marveling at its impossible construction. The bridge was vast, stretching endlessly over the still lake, and yet it had been created in mere moments by the young faye, Marie. The stone-like surface was smooth under my fingertips, cool and unyielding, but there was a strange warmth pulsing beneath it—something alive, yet not quite.

My curiosity broke through the haze of my thoughts. “Elbar, what is this bridge made of? It’s not glass, and I’ve never seen stone like this before.”

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Elbar flew up to my side, his narrow wings beating steadily as he kept pace. He was taller than Elbis, his features sharper, more defined. His black hair shimmered in the moonlight, cascading down his back like a dark river, curling just over his pointed ears—like all the Faye.

“Light,” he said simply.

I blinked, confused. “Light? What do you mean... light?”

Elbar chuckled softly, as though amused by my ignorance. “That’s what we Faye use to create. We weave light into substance. It’s why humans hunted us for so long. They wanted our magic—the ability to shape reality with light. They said we were dangerous, but really, they only wanted to use us.”

I frowned, still trying to grasp his meaning. “You’re going to have to explain it a bit simpler. Let’s pretend I’m a horse and you’re trying to explain this to me.”

He gave me a sideways glance, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “All right, I’ll make it simple. We Faye take light—moonlight, starlight, any form of it. Of course, different light has different properties, but that’s another story. We weave it like the young ones did here, shaping it into anything we want. At first, it’s just that—an illusion, shadows playing tricks on the eye. But with enough focus, we make it real.”

“I don’t understand. Light has no substance. How can you make it tangible?” I had seen light start fires with thick glass or fade the banners of a keep over years, but I’d never seen light interact with anything like this.

“I suppose it does no harm telling you.” His voice grew more thoughtful. “The Faye are nearly as old as Villias himself, far older than humans. Within each Faye is what you could call a shard of Elaris. Elaris is the name Villias gave to the universe herself. This shard is a piece of creation, and here in Aerindell, it is endless. We break away a part of this power and weave it into our constructs, binding the threads of light tightly to give them substance.”

I stared at him, trying to wrap my mind around it.

He gestured to the bridge ahead of us. “The bridge, for example, is nothing more than starlight, bound by threads of the universe itself. Given time, the light sustains itself and becomes permanent, and the shard of Elaris we lent to it returns to us. But outside, in the human world, the light is tainted. The sun burns too fiercely, and the stars are distant. Our Elaris fuses with the construct and is consumed. If we use too much, we risk losing ourselves entirely. Without that shard, we are no more.”

A cold weight settled in my chest at his words. “So that’s why the humans wanted to kill you? To force you to burn through your own life to build?”

Elbar nodded grimly. "They wanted to build their towering cities and monuments to their own power. They captured us, made us weave the light into stone, wood, and metal. The cost was too high. We were dying, withering away as we poured our lives into their creations. There used to be nearly 400,000 faye. Now, we are less than a thousand."

I shook my head, the horror of it settling in. "That’s... monstrous. I know humans can be cruel, but to do that? Was there nothing you could do to stop them?"

"We fled. We hid ourselves from the world. That’s why Elbis fears the humans finding us again. If they did, they would enslave us once more, drain us until there were none left. That’s why it’s so dangerous that you can see and hear us. Even if you don’t tell anyone, humans have ways of making people talk. Ways that break even the strongest minds." His words hung heavy between us, filled with an ancient grief and fear that twisted in my stomach.

I hadn’t realized how much was at stake. My mere presence here threatened their very existence. But not all humans are like that—not me, not– “You mentioned Smoke before. The last human who could see you—he was a friend to the faye, wasn’t he?”

Elbar’s gaze shifted, his eyes losing their sharp edge as his thoughts drifted to memories long buried. "Ah, Smoke..." he murmured, his voice now carrying the weight of old, forgotten lore. "You overheard my story to the young ones earlier. They were not frightened, but on edge, so I told them an old tale to ease their minds."

He turned toward the water, his expression softening. "Smoke was more than a friend to the Faye. He was a bridge between worlds—a true ally and chosen champion of Villias himself. If not for him and Villias, Aerindell would not exist. Villias opened this sacred realm to us, veiled our existence from the eyes of men—but it was Smoke who showed us the way."

Legend has it that Villias found Smoke on a farm in Seredin, far to the east, across seas and deserts, halfway around the world. The land was gripped by a storm unlike any other, a storm laced with wild, untamed magic that tore through the skies like an angry god. Lightning fell like rain, setting everything alight. Homes, fields, trees—all burned in the fury of the storm. The village was swallowed by thick black smoke, choking the air, hiding the screams.

Villias and his sister, fierce warriors of light, had fought tirelessly to contain the storm, to beat back the darkness that had been unleashed upon the world. But it was too much, even for them. His sister pursued the heart of the storm, believing the source could be stopped if only she reached it. But Villias, keen-eyed and ever watchful, noticed something amidst the chaos—something small, something tender.

In the heart of the devastation, where the flames raged fiercest, he saw a young boy. The child was huddled over, cradling a small lamb in his arms. The creature trembled, its wool scorched and singed, yet the boy—frail and soot-covered—shielded the lamb with his own body, his back turned to the inferno, refusing to let the flames consume the helpless animal.

The fire licked at his heels, but never touched him. The wind howled, but the boy stood steadfast, his resolve stronger than the storm itself. And in that moment, Villias saw something more than just a boy. He saw purity, courage, and a kind of raw, untainted will. There, amidst destruction and death, was life and hope—embodied in this child who defied the very flames with nothing but his heart.

Moved by the boy's spirit, Villias reached out, and with a single breath, he calmed the storm. The fires died, the winds stilled, and the black smoke began to clear. He saved the boy and the lamb, and from that moment forward, he named the child ‘Smoke,’ for he had been born from the ashes of devastation and had endured.

Villias took Smoke as his ward, naming him an Outrider—one of his chosen few, tasked with protecting the realms during the last days of the Celestial Wars. Smoke stood by Villias' side as the war between gods and mortals neared its end. If only they had met sooner, perhaps the tide of the war might have been different. But those were the twilight hours of the conflict, and Smoke, though mighty, was still too young to change the course of fate. Yet he fought, and his name became legend.

It is said that Smoke was the last to see Villias before he vanished from this world. On that fateful day, Villias gave Smoke three tasks—three sacred duties to carry out in his absence. The first we know: to guide the Faye to Aerindell, to show them the way and warn them that Villias would no longer be there to guard them. He was the one who brought us to this land, hidden from the sight of men.

But the other two tasks… well, no one knows for certain. Some say they were lost to time, others believe they remain unfinished, waiting for the day when Smoke—or someone worthy of his mantle—returns to complete them. After all, Smoke vanished soon after, like a whisper carried on the wind.

Elbar's voice trailed off, his gaze distant, as though he were reliving those ancient days. His expression softened, and for a moment, the weight of the years seemed to lift from his shoulders. I stood there quietly, letting him drift into his memories. Maybe he was thinking of better times, when the world still held a glimmer of hope and the Faye were not so wary of the shadows that loomed ever nearer. I didn't want to pull him away from that, so I stopped and leaned against the side of the bridge, looking out over the lake.