I walked through the forest, the soft earth beneath my new boots making each step light and soundless. Elbis floated beside me, his wings humming faintly in the still air. The landscape was bathed in silvery moonlight, transforming the world into shades of deep blues and greys. Unlike the warmth of Villias’ domain, there was no river here, no soothing rush of water to accompany our footsteps. Instead, the night carried the gentle whispers of leaves brushing against one another, a soft and constant sound, like nature itself was breathing.
The moon hung low, casting everything in an silver glow. The trees, tall and ancient, reached skyward like blackened fingers, their leaves shimmering faintly under the pale light. The air was cool, carrying with it the fresh scent of moss and damp earth, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the day. I noticed how the shadows stretched long and twisted across the ground, flickering with every movement we made.
“I am inclined to believe your story about Villias,” Elbis began, his voice quiet yet clear in the stillness of the night. His wings fluttered gently as he spoke, the delicate light reflecting off them, giving the illusion that he was wrapped in a soft, glowing aura. “There are tales… stories that speak of something similar, or at least relatable to what you’ve told me. But the risk you pose to me and my people is too great. If you were to leave this place and tell anyone, or if someone forced you to speak, well… we’d be dead within a span.”
I stopped, the gravity of his words settling in the cool air around us. The thought of being trapped here, no matter how beautiful the surroundings, was unsettling. “What are you saying, Elbis?” I asked, a frown pulling at my face. “That I can’t leave? That I’m a prisoner here?”
“Nothing like that,” Elbis replied hastily, his wings fluttering nervously. He glanced at me with wide eyes. “We’re not like humans. We don’t kill or harm people. Absolutely not. We only wish for you to stay here, within the vale. It’s for your safety… and ours.”
“Huh.” I sighed, gazing up at the moon filtering through the treetops. “And how long would you have me stay here?”
Elbis hesitated, his small face tight with concern. “How long do humans live? It might be longer in this place… but yes, that long.”
I shot him a sidelong glance, a bitter laugh escaping me. “So I am a prisoner. Elbis, I can’t stay here for the rest of my life. I’d lose my mind. I have something I must do—something for Villias, though I don’t fully understand what it is yet.”
Elbis floated silently beside me, his expression conflicted. He clenched his tiny fists, clearly torn between protecting his people and allowing me the freedom I sought. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper under the moonlight. “Two spans… stay here for two spans, and I’ll find why our vail has been pierced. If it’s not just you, then we need to prepare..”
His words were taut with tension, his eyes pleading as they met mine. I sighed, feeling the weight of his offer. Two spans wasn’t forever, and I had no intention of rushing away just yet. There was so much to learn here—so much I didn’t understand. Who were these creatures, and why did humans seek their destruction?
“All right, Elbis,” I said softly, meeting his gaze. “I’ll stay for two spans. It would be a pleasure to learn more about you and your people. We have much to share, I think.”
The tension visibly drained from Elbis. His clenched hands relaxed, and his wings drooped slightly as his shoulders sank. The small fey even seemed to lose a few inches of height as relief washed over him. When he smiled again, it wasn’t the forced, grimacing grin he’d given earlier—it was soft, content.
“That’s wonderful news,” he said, his voice light again. “Come, we’ll find you somewhere to sleep, and I’ll introduce you to some of the elders. There are a few who will be eager to meet you. Then, of course, we’ll discuss how to arrange your departure at the end of two spans.”
I nodded, following as Elbis led me through the trees. The world was quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the night breeze. The moonlight spilled across the forest floor, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow over the ground. It felt as though the entire vale was alive under the moon’s watchful gaze.
We arrived at a small clearing where two towering oaks stood side by side. Between them, a hammock of the same finely-woven material as my new clothes had been strung. The fabric glistened faintly under the moonlight, its texture soft and inviting. Beside one of the trees lay a wooden bowl filled with water, and a small selection of fruits had been placed nearby. Folded neatly against the base of the oak were several blankets, their texture denser and softer than anything I had felt in a long time.
“You should find everything you need here,” Elbis said, hovering just above the ground. “Elbar will take care of replenishing your food. If you need anything else, just ask him. I won’t always be around, as I have other duties that demand my attention.”
“Two spans, Elbis,” I reminded him, watching as he flew off into the moonlit forest. The light caught the edges of his wings, turning them into soft, glowing streaks before they disappeared entirely into the shadows. I liked him, truly. But there was no way I could remain here forever. At some point, I’d have to leave.
The cool breeze swept through the trees, making the leaves murmur in their own language. I settled into the hammock, the fabric cradling my body as I looked up through the canopy at the stars above. They twinkled faintly, distant pinpricks of light in an endless sea of dark blue.
With the moon hanging high above and the soft glow of the night enveloping me like a gentle blanket, I closed my eyes. The events of the past few days weighed on my mind, but the tranquility of the vale was soothing. My thoughts drifted, and soon enough, sleep took me, carrying me into the quiet embrace of the moonlit forest.
The sound of children’s laughter stirred me from my slumber. Though my eyes remained closed, I could feel the warmth of the moonlight on my face, soft and gentle like a silken caress. I stayed still, letting the peaceful sounds of the night wash over me.
“He he he.”
“Go on, poke him. He’s asleep.”
“Asleep? What do you mean ‘asleep’?”
“Humans do it, I think, every day. They lie down and dream.”
“Dreams? Like the ones we have in the temple?”
“I think so. Go on, poke him—here.”
I heard the soft flutter of wings approaching, like the delicate hum of dragonflies. Curiosity piqued, I opened one eye just enough to see a young faye hovering near me, her tiny face scrunched in concentration. She held a stick, barely two inches long, her tongue poking out of her mouth as she edged closer. The sight of her tiny wings, shimmering in the moonlight, reminded me of the ethereal glow of fireflies.
The small stick would do me no harm. I doubted it could even break the skin, so I closed my eyes again, letting the faye continue their fun. I felt a tiny prick on my cheek, nothing more than the faintest pressure.
“Do it again—harder,” another voice urged.
I felt several more tiny pokes, each one as gentle as a brush against my beard. The faye’s antics were amusing, and I let them have their fun.
“You’re not doing it right,” the second voice said, more insistent now. “Here, let me show you.”
“I am too doing it right!”
The buzzing of wings increased, now sounding like an irritated housefly circling around my head. That was a sound I had never enjoyed, not even as a child.
“What do you two want?” I asked in a low, playful voice, keeping my body still to avoid startling them. They were only children, after all.
“Are you asleep? Are you making dreams? Anna said you are,” one of them asked, her voice filled with wonder.
I opened my eyes fully and sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the hammock. The ease with which I moved took me by surprise. Had it always been this effortless to rise in the morning? I couldn’t remember the last time my body felt so light, so pain-free.
“No, I’m not asleep anymore,” I said with a smile, “but I was dreaming.”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“Like the ones in the temple?” the other faye asked eagerly.
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “What are the dreams in your temple like?”
“Let’s show him! Let’s show him!” they squealed in unison. They clapped their tiny hands together and fluttered around in circles, their excitement infectious. It reminded me of the mechanical figures that danced on the mayor’s clock back in Allensmore—those little wooden people spinning merrily on the hour.
“Okay, Ragson,” the first faye said with glee. “Marie and I will take you to the temple. But if they are the same dreams, you have to make us our very own dream. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
“One each!” Anna added quickly, as if afraid the deal would vanish before she could voice her request.
“Fine,” I said, laughing softly. “Is this temple far? Do I need to pack some food?”
“Not far, not far,” Marie chimed in, her wings glowing faintly under the moon’s soft light. “We just have to cross the Forgotten Water. But… how’s he going to cross, Anna? He doesn’t have wings.”
“Hmm… we could build a bridge! I’ve seen them in the dreams—big floors that arch over the water so humans can walk across. Let’s go! Let’s go now before—”
“Before what?” I asked, sensing mischief in her tone.
“Oh, nothing! Come, follow us!” Anna called, darting off between the trees with Marie close behind.
Shaking my head with amusement, I rose to my feet and followed the two little faye. Their giggles echoed through the forest as they flitted from tree to tree, their wings glowing faintly in the moonlight like miniature lanterns leading the way. I couldn’t help but smile at their antics, though it wasn’t long before I suspected they were leading me in circles.
For what felt like hours, we trekked through the moonlit forest. The trees seemed endless, their branches stretching high above like dark silhouettes against the night sky. I was just about to call out, to accuse them of tricking me, when the trees parted at last.
Before me, a vast, still lake stretched out under the moon, its surface like a polished mirror reflecting the light of the heavens. The edges of the lake were shrouded in mist, giving it an almost otherworldly appearance. The air here felt different—heavier, as if the water itself held ancient secrets.
“There!” Marie cried, pointing toward the lake. “That’s the Forgotten Water!”
“It doesn’t look forgotten,” I said, marveling at the beauty of the scene. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the surface, making it appear as though two moons hung in the sky—one above and one below.
“We have to get you across,” Anna said, glancing at me with a mischievous grin. “No wings, remember?”
I looked at the vast expanse of water. There were no boats, no bridges—nothing that could easily carry me to the other side.
“All right, little ones,” I said, crossing my arms. “How do you suggest I cross?”
The two faye exchanged excited glances, their wings fluttering faster as they whispered to each other. Whatever they were planning, I could tell it would be interesting.
“We are not allowed to touch the Forgotten Water,” Anna explained, her tone suddenly serious. “But don’t worry—we’ll make a bridge so you don’t have to touch it either.”
Without waiting for a response, she darted forward and hovered at the edge of the lake, her wings fluttering softly in the still night air. As she extended her hand over the water, her entire form began to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. It started in her chest, a small light pulsing like a heartbeat, spreading outward until her entire body and wings were illuminated by a soft, silver-blue radiance. The glow intensified, gathering in strength as it spread to her purple and orange wings, which now shimmered like stained glass under the moonlight. The colors deepened, becoming so bright that I had to shield my eyes as the intensity of the light grew.
A gust of wind suddenly whipped through the trees, swirling around us like a miniature cyclone. The leaves rustled, their movements echoing with an unnatural energy. The air changed—it became sharp, almost metallic, like the scent of a freshly forged sword, cold and pure. The wind carried with it faint, whispered words—Sylraen, Draithar, Nyriel—foreign and ancient, not spoken but felt, resonating in my bones.
The glow from Anna’s wings flared brighter still, reaching an almost unbearable brilliance. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, as if time itself hesitated to intrude on this act of creation. Then, in a burst of light, her wings flared outward, sending radiant arcs of energy across the lake. The light coalesced, solidifying as it stretched over the still, glass-like water, forming a translucent, shimmering bridge that arched gracefully into the distance, its end hidden by the mist that curled lazily off the surface of the lake.
“All done!” Anna said, her voice bright and cheerful again, as if what she had just done was the most natural thing in the world. “Now you can cross without touching the Forgotten Water—easy peasy!” She twirled in the air, clearly pleased with herself, her wings trailing afterimages of glowing color as she flew in excited circles.
I stared at the bridge in awe. It wasn’t just an ordinary structure—it was a marvel of magic and moonlight, something both real and unreal at once. The surface of the bridge shimmered like the windows of an Acient temple, with hues of deep indigo and pale gold shifting across it like the dance of the night sky. It looked like stone, but when I touched it, it felt warm—alive, almost—as if the very starlight had been woven into its core.
I stepped onto the bridge, feeling the subtle hum of energy beneath my feet, and began walking. Each step felt like walking through a dream—solid and yet ethereal. The bridge arched elegantly over the lake, its surface rippling slightly underfoot as though it were alive, responding to my presence.
After only a few hundred paces, I began to make out the temple on the far side. It rose impossibly high, piercing the sky like the spires of an ancient, forgotten city. The towers were made of the same shimmering material as the bridge, but here, the colors were more vibrant—alive with movement, as though the very walls of the temple were breathing with the night. The towers soared so high into the sky that I couldn’t see their tops; they disappeared into the endless darkness above, defying all logic and reason.
“This is the Temple of Forgotten Dreams,” Marie said, zooming ahead of us with a laugh. “It’s my favorite place ever!” Her voice was full of excitement as she darted toward the towering structure, leaving me and Anna behind.
As we drew closer, the sheer scale of the temple became more overwhelming. Even what I had thought were smaller towers were in fact colossal, each one larger than anything I had ever seen. The temple’s walls stretched far into the horizon, so massive that they seemed to curve with the world itself. The structure defied all the laws of nature—how it stood under its own weight was a mystery I couldn’t begin to unravel.
Finally, we reached the base of the temple. The door—or rather, the gate—was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. It was ancient, made from a weathered wood that had long since greyed with age, like the last remnant of a forgotten past. It was slightly ajar, revealing only a void of blackness within.
“Come on!” Anna urged, already slipping through the small opening. “If we don’t hurry, Marie will get all the good dreams! You don’t want to miss out!”
I smiled to myself. Even here, in this strange, magical place, children—or faye—were the same. Always full of excitement, always in a rush to get to the next adventure. With a final glance at the enormous gate, I followed Anna through the opening.
The haunting melody echoed through the fields of Vermulia, as if the very air itself was woven with music. Myia’s voice soared, pure and sweet, rising and falling like the gentle breeze that carried it. She was alive, dancing across the familiar field next to our home, her movements light and graceful. Each step seemed to stir the flowers, their petals catching the moonlight, casting silvery reflections into the night.
“In the fields of Vermulia, the flowers bloom bright,
Villas watches from the heavens, all through the quiet night.
He whispers to the chosen, come take your father’s hand,
Guiding all through shadows, across the sacred land.”
Her voice was a balm to my soul, each note filling me with warmth and light. It wasn’t just her singing—it was her very presence. My veins pulsed with the rhythm of the song, the melody replacing the blood in my body. My heart beat in time with the verse, driven by the beauty of her voice. If she stopped, I knew with a terrible certainty that the music would fade, and I would cease to exist.
“Oh, Villas, Villas, the light we see,
In the heart of darkness, Saviour carry me.
With hope in your heart, and power to save,
We walk with you always, the path is yours to pave.”
Myia’s smile was radiant, her joy infectious as she twirled, the yellow flowers around her blooming in harmony with her song. I couldn’t help but watch her, transfixed. I wanted to run to her, to hold her, to tell her I was here. But I was rooted in place, paralyzed by the beauty of the moment.
Then, out of the shadows, a tall figure emerged. A man clad in dark armor, his movements deliberate, his presence suffocating the light. My heart skipped a beat, hitting a discordant note, out of tune with the rhythm of the song. Panic seized me, but no sound escaped my lips. I tried to scream, to warn her, but my lungs were filled with syncopation, my breath nothing but a jumble of broken beats.
The man raised his sword, his shadow looming over Myia as she bent down to pick a single yellow flower, its soft petals glistening in the moonlight. She lifted it to her face, her smile still unwavering, her eyes filled with the joy of life. My heart faltered, pounding out of rhythm. Time seemed to slow.
“When the skies grow dark, and the winds turn cold,
Villas leads the chosen one, like stories of old...”
Her voice faltered, the final note cracking as the man’s sword sliced through the air. In one swift motion, it cleaved through her body, severing the harmony. The yellow flower slipped from her grasp, falling silently to the ground, its fragrance never to be tasted. Myia’s smile lingered for the briefest of moments, even as the light in her eyes dimmed.
And then everything shattered.
I was thrown violently from the dream, hurled back into the cold reality of the moonlit bridge outside the temple. Gasping for air, I clawed at my chest, trying to force my lungs to work. Tears streamed down my face, burning like fire as they carved their way across my skin. My heart was in pieces, the melody that had sustained me now silenced forever.
All she had wanted was to smell the yellow flower.