I follow the path I'm most familiar with to reach the spots where the Night Candles should be growing most abundant. It takes me a little while to get there, as I'm moving more slowly than an my previous trips. In all likelihood, I'll be out here a little longer tonight, but I don't mind. Not right now at least. I might end up regretting my lack of sleep later tomorrow though.

Never mind! I'll worry about the worries and regrets of another day on another day! Right now I need to focus on every single step anyway. Only when the moon peeks out from the clouds every once in a while do I speed up a little, to make the best use of what little light it provides.

Eventually I reach the meadows that are my destination and I start harvesting the faintly glowing flowers. As before I take care not to over harvest in any one spot, although I probably don't have to worry. If anything they are growing even more abundant now than on my previous trips.

I gather more this time around as well, as I don't intend to dry them. No, this time I will try to extract an oil, and possibly the glowing substance from the flowers. I need more for that. Thus I pack the basket tightly until it is almost overflowing with the harvested, faintly glowing flowers.

Absorbed in the task as I am, I almost miss the changes on the meadows and the nearby groves. In my defense, they are pretty subtle, at least at first.

The grass gets a little greener and the glow of the Night Candles a little brighter. The smell of the meadow changes subtly as well. It is, as if it suddenly became somehow more alive. Well, at least that is the best description I can come up with then and there.

That isn't all though. No, not by far.

My breath catches, as I look around in alarm and my gaze lands upon the burned down glade where the corrupted pixies made their home not too long ago.

There is a figure, a young man, walking through the sad remains of the glade. Tall and beautiful. Glorious and captivating. It isn't just a young man though, of that I'm certain, despite my eyes' and brain's attempts to convince me otherwise.

His skin is just too smooth. His chiseled muscles are too perfect. The smile on his lips is simply too inviting!

And all the while a little voice at the back of my mind whispers sweet soothing nothings in an attempt to make me ignore the things that don't match the image of a perfectly harmless young man, as I would expect it.

The faint glow of the skin, not entirely like the flowers I'm collecting. The fact that he is too tall to be human although he seems to look human.

And of course there are the glorious antlers sprouting from his head. Antlers that I can only see out of the corner of my eyes when I don't look directly at him. Antlers that are branching out more and more, again and again, when I try to follow their curves, without ever reaching a tip.

It is a fractal pattern, I realize as I recall a lesson from one of the teachers at the academy. Except, unlike the ferns she used as an example, there truly seems to be no end to the ever branching antlers of this figure.

What is possibly worse is, that the young man seems to have taken notice of me as well.

Fresh grass and even new trees seem to be sprouting, impossibly fast, wherever his feet touch the ashes of the burnt ground.

My feet give out under me and I drop down into the grass.

Fey! And not just any fey either. This one is not a pixie or even just a dryad or something like that. No, this is one of the fair folk. This one is fairy nobility of sorts.

I screw my eyes shut tight, as they can't quite show me what is real right now anyway. As I do, the insistent little voice at the back of my mind quietens a little as well and the sudden headache that has started to build abates as well.

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“Most curious.”

His voice is like the rest of him. Full, both throaty and sweet at the same time and overall impossible. Yet, I have no trouble hearing, and more importantly understanding him, as reality bends to his will.

“You are not Iwona. Yet you are blood of her blood.”

“You … you knew my grandmother?”

It takes just about all the strength I can muster to ask even just this one question.

For a moment there is silence. Then the fey prince speaks again.

“Yes. Yes, I knew her. I knew her better than most mortals. We would dance every once in a while during the midsummer night. She was fun. It is too bad that she is beyond spring's reach now.”

My breath catches in my throat. Try as I might I can't utter another word. It takes tremendous effort just to steady my breathing.

After a moment the fey speaks up again.

“There were pixies living here. Do you know what happened to them? This used to be a place full of life. Now it is ashes and all I can feel are echoes of hunger, anger and pain.”

It takes tremendous effort to form the words, but it is like I'm under a compulsion to answer the question posed to me.

“Corruption. They began to hunger for flesh and blood.”

By now there are tears in my eyes, and although I keep my eyes shut tightly, I don't even try to hold back the tears.

Maybe I'm not the only one crying either. I feel a warm drop of something land upon my skin, but I don't dare look.

Finally he speaks up again.

“I see.”

The words are free of judgment but not entirely free of pain.

“Others will take their place. Eventually.”

He pulls me back onto my feet and twirls me around once. From one moment to the other he seems to have all but forgotten about the pixies and their sad fate.

“Maybe I can dance with you like I used to dance with Iwona. Shall we find out? Shall we meet to dance during the midsummer night?”

My breath catches in my throat. What am I supposed to say? Can I accept an invitation like that? Should I for that matter? Is it even possible to safely turn an invitation like that down? I'm not quite sure.

Supposedly the fey, especially the powerful ones, do not take well to being told no. And given the very nature of this unexpected visitor I might even get drawn into fey politics. I'm not quite sure I'm up to an adventure like that. On the other hand, if I agree to a dance I might be able to avoid worse. I'm really torn about this.

Finally I manage to find my voice again.

“Are you sure? It is the midsummer night, not the spring equinox. The summer queen might take exception.”

He laughs a laugh that sounds like a hundred delicate silver bells.

“Never mind the summer queen. Just let me worry about her instead. Now what do you say? Will you accept my last dance for this year?”

Oh, damn! Not just any dance, but his last dance for this year. Meaning, that once we danced this dance it would be summer for good. And if I don't agree, we might end up having a year without a proper summer. My mind is a whirl. Gods and goddesses! Why would he want to dance that dance with me?

Despite the heavy burden, I try not to let it discourage me. Finally I nod.

“Fine. The last dance during the midsummer night. Just that one though!”

He clasps my hands tightly within his own.

[You have agreed to a dance during the midsummer night festivities! You have made a deal with the Fey! This is considered a binding vow! The Spring Prince is your witness and gifts you 4 points for the Wheel of Fortune Arcana and 3 points for the Fool Arcana as a reward.]

“Very well! We have an agreement! I look forward to it!”

And with these words his presence fades. The regrown glade where only ash was just a little while ago remains though. There are no full grown trees or the like, but saplings that would have otherwise taken a year, or maybe two, to grow this tall.

And of course the divine whisper is still echoing around my mind. Seven points of karma in one go? That is downright unheard of. Outside of epics and fairy tales at least. Although, the reward is spread out across two Arcana. Despite that it still is quite grand.

It is the other implications that worry me more though.

My knees give out again. I don't even make an attempt to catch myself. Instead I just lie there in the grass for a little while. Oh, gods and goddesses! What have I gotten myself into?

I lie still for a little longer, staring up into the cloudy night sky, but there is no answer. Of course there is no answer. I have gotten myself into trouble. Now I have to get out of it myself as well. Maybe I'll be rewarded with another divine whisper if I manage to do it though. That is well within the realm of the possible. The thought is tempting, but I really shouldn't count my chicken before they are hatched.

Eventually I get back onto my feet, shaky as they might still be. I grab the full basket and head back home, still in a daze. I probably have to make preparations. You can't just go to a dance just like that after all. Right?