(POV Grogher)
Poor Aileen… that hit her harrrd.
What in the world happened to our Dorrrcha?
"Maybe… maybe try calling your frrriend again," I say gently. "Now that we're here… she might answer."
She looks brrroken. Completely drained.
And yet… she gives me the faintest smile.
Then she trrries again.
(POV Aileen)
"Aileen…? Is that really you?"
Fayrin!
I did it—it's her.
"Fayrin! Fayrin—yes, it's me, it's really me! I'm in your realm! There's a fairy here—she needs help, she's dying! How do I reach you?"
"Focus on my face, little one. Hold onto the memory. You'll be here in a single wingbeat."
Right.
As if that's easy…
But wait—didn't Aeltiàfisar say that Aer…
…Okay.
I'll try.
I move closer to the fairy draped across Sidae's back and hold her as carefully as I can. Then I motion the others in.
"Stay close. As close as possible. And think of Fayrin—really think of her. We're going to her."
"We've neverrr seen her…" Grogher points out.
He's right.
I lift my hand. Her image flickers into existence before us—clear, steady.
They nod.
And then—
We're gone.
…
We reappear inside a room. Not large… but beautiful.
Soft. Carefully arranged. It smells clean—warm, familiar.
The walls shift in delicate shades—from peach-pink to fresh green—lit by the trembling glow of countless candles.
And there—
"Fayrin!"
I run to her and throw my arms around her. She holds me just as tightly.
She smells the same.
Home.
She pulls back, studying me—eyes wide.
"You're… grown. How is that possible?"
"It's a long story. I promise I'll tell you everything. But please—help her first."
I turn, showing her the fairy lying limp across Sidae's back.
Fayrin exhales softly. Sadness. Recognition.
She rises, floating up beside the winged lion, gathers the girl into her arms and brushes her hair back with trembling care.
"Another one… without wings…"
She lowers to the ground, still holding her.
"Come with me."
We follow.
She leads us into a library—quiet, candlelit.
Why here…?
I glance at her, confused.
Fayrin steps toward a mirror.
Touches it.
The surface ripples.
A door.
She walks through without hesitation.
We exchange a look—then follow.
A long corridor stretches before us, dimly lit by scattered torches.
The air feels colder.
We walk.
And walk.
Until—
Another door.
She pushes it open.
And—
The room beyond is vast. Endless rows of beds, each one painted in soft colors.
And on every single one…
A young fairy.
Asleep.
All of them.
Wingless.
A silent rhythm of movement fills the room—adult fairies tending to them, moving between beds with quiet urgency.
Grogher and I look at each other.
Speechless.
One of the fairies approaches Fayrin, gently takes the girl from her arms and lays her onto an empty bed.
Fayrin places her hands over the child's eyes.
The girl sinks deeper into sleep.
Her face softens. The pain… gone.
They all sleep like that.
All of them.
"What is this…?" I whisper, my voice unsteady. "Fayrin… please. Tell me what's happening."
She looks at me.
I've never seen her like this.
So tired.
"No one knows…" she says quietly. "One day, every tree in the Realm began to die. Within hours, a never-ending night fell over us."
She pauses.
"We are Fairies of the Sun. Not the Night. Without light… we fall ill. Our magic weakens."
Her gaze drifts to the candles.
"So we tried to recreate it. Artificially. Light… made, not given. But it drains us. Constantly."
Grogher nods.
"We saw the candles…"
"When we're too weak, we rely on enchanted flames—fed by fragments of captured sunlight. But even that… isn't enough. The darkness has cut us off from every other Realm."
"How is that even possible?" I ask.
She exhales slowly.
"I don't know, little one. But after a few days… it got worse."
Her voice lowers.
"In every lake… every river… every stream… the water turned to Fairy blood."
My breath catches.
"To survive, we have to purify it. Force it back into water with magic."
"Th-that's terrrible…" Grogher whispers.
It is.
It really is.
But Fayrin isn't finished.
"There's more. Since the sun vanished… they appeared."
"Them?" I ask.
"The Olc Fairies."
"Who are they?"
"Beautiful. Ethereal. Almost unreal. But their eyes…"
She shakes her head.
"Cold. Cruel. Empty."
She swallows.
"We thought dark fairies existed only in legends. We were wrong."
"Are they… that dangerous?"
Her gaze drifts somewhere far away.
"No. That's not the worst part."
Silence.
"One day, I saw one attack a group of little fairies. Children. I intervened."
Her hands tighten slightly.
"She was strong. Stronger than I expected. I was losing. Others came to help me. Many were injured…"
Her voice falters.
"But we destroyed her. Burned her to ash."
A pause.
"And only afterward… we understood who she was."
She goes pale.
I step closer. Place a hand on her shoulder.
"Who…?" I whisper.
Her lips tremble.
"Lanny. A five-year-old child. One of the little princesses."
My heart drops.
"She died. Do you understand?" Fayrin's voice cracks. "And I killed her…"
"You couldn't have known—"
She nods. But her eyes harden.
"How many more like her…?" she murmurs. "They take them when they're weakest. Fragile. Innocent. Easy to deceive."
Her voice sharpens.
"They lose themselves. Their minds. Their identity. And they become Olc."
I can't breathe.
"If you kill one… you kill them. But you have no choice. Because every time an Olc meets a young fairy…"
Her jaw tightens.
"They rip off her wings. Capture her. Turn her into another Olc."
A pause.
"A cycle. Endless."
Silence crashes over us.
I never imagined something like this.
"Who's behind all this?" Grogher asks. "Have you found out?"
"We don't know for certain. But someone wants our Realm destroyed."
She hesitates.
"A few days ago, my sister Narijv saw someone. A knight… clad in red armor. Riding a serpent-tailed dragon."
My pulse spikes.
"Where?"
"Not far from here. In what used to be a forest. Now… it's dead. He was giving orders to the Olc."
I feel a chill crawl down my spine.
"Aren't you afraid?" I ask. "Of being taken too? Of losing them? Will they ever heal?"
She takes my hand. Steady. Grounding.
"We're adults. Skilled in magic. Whoever is behind this… it won't be easy for them to find us. Or break us."
A pause.
"Come. Let's go back."
We turn toward the corridor.
Before stepping through, she looks back at the sleeping girls.
"Only a powerful dark magic can restore their wings," she says softly. "And the only ones capable of wielding it… are the Knights of the Golden Light."
A beat.
"Until we reach them… all we can do… is protect them. Keep them from suffering. Keep them alive."
(POV Fayrin)
Home.
"Please… sit."
We move into the living room. They sink into the sofas, exhaustion written all over them.
The lion doesn't hesitate—he claims the largest one like it's his own personal throne, curls into it… and falls asleep instantly.
Raertha settles beside him, tucking herself close, and within moments she too drifts off.
They're beyond tired.
I brush a hand over the lion's forehead—slow, gentle—then turn back to Aileen and her companion.
"My turn now," I say quietly. "There's a great deal you need to tell me."
(POV General Ceansì)
From Cloch's back, I let my gaze sweep across the vast stretch of the Crystal Shore.
My Gargoyle. My oldest ally.
There's no companion I would trust more.
He taught me the art of petrification.
More than once, he's saved my life—and the lives of my men—on battlefields that should have been our last.
Every now and then, someone below looks up. Watches us.
Hard to blame them.
Ash-gray, almost like anthracite stone. Razor fangs. Wide, unblinking eyes. Small horns. And those massive, bat-like wings.
Cloch is not easily forgotten.
I pat his back, a quiet gesture.
My friend… we've seen a lifetime of war together.
And now—another one awaits.
Everything feels the same.
Too much the same.
I had hoped… it wouldn't come to this again.
The armies of air, land, and sea are nearly assembled.
Anyone willing to fight—human or beast—has answered the call.
They're pouring in. From the Gnome Kingdom. From the Elven Realm.
Cavalry, infantry, civilians—wave after wave.
Numbers will matter.
Coordination will matter even more.
We'll hold the line across a wide front.
The land encampments have been entrusted to Baelnes.
As for me—
I will lead the Gnomes.
Fheall insisted on it.
She says I possess a rare kind of courage.
That in strategy—and in the handling of weapons—I am the only one who can stand beside her as an equal.
…Coming from her, that means something.
The Elves march under Inmus and Nalar.
Strong fighters. Both of them.
They're already sweeping across the eastern flank, riding their beasts—Baineann and Dineann.
Dilophosaurs.
Monstrous creatures. Nearly three meters tall, at least six in length. Massive heads, clawed limbs—webbed and powerful enough to cross land, water, or rock without slowing.
No terrain stops them.
Their weapon of choice?
The bite.
Lethal.
And yet… at a glance, they almost seem harmless.
Soft snouts. A crest along the skull—almost… playful. A little wild. A little rock.
Deceptive.
No one expects them to be this dangerous.
Together with my Cloch…
We are unstoppable.
(POV Adalberto)
All of us who can fight… are rising.
The Tritons and the Sirens have chosen a single commander—
Varsos.
A brilliant strategist. Once in service to Queen Selìna.
Adalgisa and Rocchino have rallied the whales.
They came in waves—an entire force joining the Army of the Sea.
Sharks followed.
Dolphins too.
And us—
The narwhals.
The sun will set soon.
We begin our ascent.
Fheall's, Aeltiàfisar's, and Baelkers' dragons are about to arrive.