Avis’s chant faded into the stillness, her flower folding in on itself as silence settled around them. But then—a faint golden flicker in the distance caught her eye, a tiny glimmer against the darkness.
Her mouth dropped open.
Silk sprites.
Dozens of them emerged from the forest, gliding toward them as dusk laid its golden blanket on the world. Her heart pounded in her chest as their radiant, whisper-thin forms danced like strands of satin spun from moonlight.
Avis's laughter rang out. She extended her hand, and Elara watched, perplexed, as the sprites twined their tiny forms around her fingers.
“How did you coax them from the wilds?” Elara breathed, wonder filling her voice. As though drawn by her intrigue, the sprites drifted toward her, a few weaving softly through her hair.
“Ididn't lure them out.”
Elara furrowed her brow, fingers brushing the sprite nestling just behind her ear—a soft, velvety whisper against her skin. She’d only seen sprites once before, as a child, and even then, she’d convinced herself they were just a figment of her overactive imagination. Sprites belonged to another age, back when Fae and humans roamed Latheria together, side by side.
Generations of stories said these wispy creatures were the chosen heralds of the Mothers. The old tales claimed that once, long ago, the Mothers didn’t simply observe from some distant realm—they walked these very lands, their presence gracing every hill and grove, with sprites flitting in their wake.
While most dismissed such tales as mere fables, the Druids revered them as sacred truths. Every Druid child, given up by their earthly mothers, knew no warmth but that of the threegoddesses they prayed to—their only Mothers, as they’d been taught from birth.
This unwavering devotion only strengthened their bond to the ancient stories. The silk sprites were like living remnants of those tales, silent witnesses to a time long past. No one quite knew if they stayed in the mortal realm of their own accord or if something bound them here against their will. The stories said they were drawn by intense emotions, flitting between the blurred edges of joy and sorrow, captivated by the tangled passions of mortal lives.
But still… what on earth could have drawn them here, now? Surely, her own heartache wasn’t enough.
“I noticed you wearing the colors of mourning,” Avis noted softly. “Fenlin was dear to you, but it might not be wise to grieve him so openly.”
She blinked, following Avis’s gaze down to the gray folds of her dress.Oh. She nearly laughed. Beatrice had dressed her in mourning garb.
That crafty little wretch.
Elara scowled, feeling equal parts grudging respect and irritation, and leaned back against the cool grass with a tired sigh. “It wasn’t intentional. Beatrice was playing one of her games, and I walked straight into it. I didn’t realize the old bat had it in her to be so devious.”
Avis snorted. "Never underestimate her. She’s far nastier than she looks.” The surrounding air filled with quiet contemplation, only broken by the fluttering of sprites and the soft whisper of the wind. “How are you holding up?” Avis asked, her voice laced with understanding and a hint of already knowing the answer.
Elara's eyelids fluttered shut, memories pressing down heavily. “I need to understand, Avis. If you know something, please... don't keep it from me.” Her eyes snapped open, andshe tensed, anticipating mind games, manipulation—everything she had come to expect from others. But instead, Avis nodded, meeting her gaze squarely.
“I often come here to listen to the whispers of the stars and the tales of the moon,” Avis murmured softly. “They speak loudest when the night is deep.”
She extended her hand, offering a small stone. As Elara's fingers enclosed it, a surge of intense warmth shot through the stone, prompting her to jolt and toss it between her hands as if it were a glowing ember.
“This is…” Elara managed, her voice quivering from both the surprise and the temperature of the stone.
“A moonstone,” Avis said, her eyes never leaving Elara’s. “Though, not just any. This one likes to sing.”
Careful to shield her skin with the fabric of her sleeve, Elara examined the small gem. Itwasa moonstone, its surface dancing with blues and purples, a luminescent entity echoing the celestial body it was named after. She had read quite a bit about them inCelestial Alchemy: A Compendium of Astral Gemology.
But moonstones were supposed to be cold.
“What did you do to it?”
A flicker of uncertainty passed through Avis’s eyes. She looked away, the sprinkle of freckles on her nose scrunching. But as quickly as the doubt appeared, she seemed to push it aside, replacing it with a steely glint as she met Elara's gaze once more.
“There have been disturbances. The land, the sky, and even the stars whisper of unnatural forces at play. It's as if the very fabric of our realm is being twisted. Stretched thin…”
“Stretched thin?”
Avis's voice dropped to a murmur. “I’ve heard tales of shadows moving in the night, of stars blinking out of existence, only to return moments later, as if obscured by somethingunseen. It’s as if the boundaries between worlds are weakening, and something is trying to break through.”
A cold unease settled over Elara. Her gaze flickered to the sprites, their delicate dance painting golden whispers in the twilight.
