Azalea Whitetalon was, quite simply, enchanted.

She had never, not once in all her nine years of life, seen a flutterfly as gorgeous and colorful as the one that had alighted upon the petals before her. It wasn’t just the colors of the rainbow. It was more colors than she had ever imagined existed, more than could exist in the most vivid of her dreams.

She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She was afraid that even breathing would frighten the gorgeous flutterfly away forever, and she simply could not bear the thought of never seeing such a beautiful creature again.

Around her, the weathered brick walls of her mother’s herb garden rose to her waist, even though Azalea was already nine years old. Above her, the sun dove resolutely toward the horizon, marking the time where her mother would return from her daily errands. Would the flutterfly still be in the garden by the time Mother returned? It didn’t seem possible ... yet Azalea could hope.

The flutterfly arose, and Azalea’s next breath caught in her throat. It would soon be gone, forever, and yet she dared not move for fear of hurting it, for fear of accidentally crushing the most beautiful flutterfly in all of Balarel. Yet the flutterfly alighted again on another leaf. It stayed with her.

And from behind her, a soft, almost inaudible voice whispered her mother’s pet name.

“Azy.”

Azalea spun despite her oath to remain still, seeking a voice that had come from directly behind her. An intruder in her mother’s garden! Yet there was no one in the garden with her. She had merely imagined it, misheard the rustle of leaves on the wind.

Her mother would not return from collecting crafting materials until just before the sun set, and her father ... well, she hadn’t had a father for years. Only belatedly did Azalea realize her mistake. She spun once again to seek the gorgeous, colorful flutterfly, only to find it gone.

Tears welled in her nine-year-old eyes. Such a cruel trick. Who had spoken to her and scared the flutterfly away? Who could be so impossibly mean?

“Azy, it’s me!” the tiny, almost inaudible voice said again.

Azalea turned, sniffling and angry. She would find whoever was teasing her and tell her mother. It wasn’t fair to tease her, to take the gorgeous flutterfly away. Yet again, she was alone in the garden.

“Down here,” the voice whispered.

Belatedly, Azalea glanced down. She did not look down at those who spoke very often, for she was only nine years old. She mostly looked up. Yet not this time. This time, she looked down to find her stuffed tribbit, Mister Squeaky, sitting patiently at her ankles and staring up.

And staring up.

Azalea gasped. She dropped to her knees in the garden, even though she knew that would put stains on her nice red dress. Mother hated it when Azalea stained her dress. Yet this was ... this was a miracle from the Gods!

Mister Squeaky was still Mister Squeaky, her favorite stuffed tribbit, yet he looked ... softer, somehow, if that was even possible. And now, his adorable little button nose wiggled visibly. His furry flanks rose and fell.

Mister Squeaky spoke again in his impossibly quiet voice. “Can I have a hug?”

Azalea squealed with delight. She picked up Mister Squeaky and drew him into her arms, gently so as not to crush him. He was so soft and warm, moreso than he’d ever been when he stood guard at the foot of her bed or snuggled with her beneath the covers.

“How?” Azalea whispered in wide-eyed wonder. “How are you speaking, now?”

“It was the rainbow flutterfly!” Mister Squeaky whispered. “It brought me to life!”

Despite the strangeness of this encounter, Azalea dared to believe. “How is that possible?”

Azalea knew that magic existed. She encountered magic every day in her small village of Wolfpine, both in the way Grass Sprites danced on the edges of the Safe Road and the way all the pretty gems in Tania Redwood’s Enchanting Shop gleamed when she came to visit. So what magic was this? What magic could bring her favorite stuffed tribbit to warm and breathing life?

Mister Squeaky’s button nose was cold and wet against her palm, quivering so adorably. “Would you like to see more flutterflies? Would you like to go be friends with them?”

“Yes!” Azalea whispered, as reverently as she sang in the Chapel of Celes during worship. “I would love to become friends with the magical flutterflies!”

“Then let’s go,” Mister Squeaky whispered. “Let’s go to the gates, Azy, right now!”

Azalea stood and dashed off, clutching Mister Squeaky tight to keep him safe. She dashed out of the garden. She dashed away from her house. She was almost twenty sprinting steps from her house before she slowed, stopped, gasped. “We can’t!”

“We can’t?” her favorite stuffed tribbit asked. His tiny voice sounded hopelessly confused.

Azalea so wanted to go see the magical rainbow flutterflies, to become friends with them, to dance together with them in the fields of Grassea. Yet Mother had been very clear. Azalea was never to leave the house and garden unless her mother was with her.

Azalea could not go to the gates. She could not find the magical flutterflies. Her mother would be very cross with her if she did that, but most importantly, Mother would be scared.

Azalea knew why she didn’t have a father, even though she couldn’t remember him. Her father, Jack—sometimes, Azalea still had trouble remembering his name—had died three years ago, on the Safe Road, when Vulpor, Grassea’s fearsome Elite Gloamwolf, devoured him. The great wolf tore him apart.

Azalea had been with her father that day, and only six years old. Azalea had been devoured too, that day, by Vulpor. Yet the Church of Celes had returned her once again to Balarel, given her a second chance at life, or so she had been told. Or so everyone, from Richard Deepscar to Mayor Coleman to her own mother, had told her, repeatedly.

Azalea was not yet fourteen, not yet of age to face the challenges of Balarel and Level as the Gods demanded. So she could never die, not yet, at least not for good, because the Pantheon protected her even after Vulpor ate her whole.

Still ... Azalea knew her mother missed her father very much, even after three years. She often felt guilty for no longer remembering Jack Whitetalon, her long departed father. She was also determined to be eaten again.

“Azy!” Mister Squeaky exclaimed. “I have a wonderful idea!”

Azalea looked down at her favorite stuffed tribbit, not daring to venture further from her home but not yet willing to run back. She so wanted to see the flutterflies again. “What is it?”

“What if we ask Mother to come with us to see the flutterflies?”

Azalea gasped. “But how? By the time she returns home, it will be too late!”

Everyone knew that Townsfolk like her mother were not allowed to venture outside Wolfpine’s walls after the sun set. Azalea could leave, since she was not yet Townsfolk or Adventurer, yet she would be foolish to venture outside the walls with no one to protect her. Even on the Safe Road.

“But there is only one gate out of Wolfpine!” Mister Squeaky reminded her. “So if we go there now, we’ll see Mother when she returns! Don’t you see, Azy? We can’t defy her if we find her and ask. We can wait for her at the gate—”

“—and tell her about the rainbow flutterflies when she arrives, before the sun goes down!” Azalea exclaimed. “Mister Squeaky! You’re so smart!”

Azalea once again took off at a run, eager to get to the gate and see her mother, to tell her about the magical flutterflies that brought Mister Squeaky to life and invite her to become friends with them. She was almost to the gate when she spotted the same rainbow flutterfly that had been in her mother’s garden. It had been waiting for her!

“Wait!” Azalea shouted as she ran for the gate. “Wait, Mister Flutterfly!”

Yet the flutterfly flew off before she could stop it. Azalea stopped, panting, at the gate. When she rose, she sensed eyes upon her. A Town Guard stood at the gate in his thick, dark-colored armor, staring at her with eyes hidden behind a big, thick helmet.

Town Guards were scary. Azalea knew they were there to protect her, to protect everyone and the whole town, yet they were still scary. They were so big, and faceless, and they never took off their helmets. And they never spoke, either, at least not to her.

“Look, Azy!” Mister Squeaky whispered. “Look! On the road!”

Azalea turned her gaze from the scary Town Guard to the Safe Road leading south of Wolfpine. That road stretched all the way to Evolan, their neighboring zone. Azalea’s mother stood far down the Safe Road, smiling and waving. Her mother was home.

“Mommy!” Azalea shouted. She skipped off toward her mother. “Mommy! I’m coming!”

Her mother, Debra, smiled and waved. She turned and walked, but away from Wolfpine. Why was Mother walking away from Wolfpine? The sun would go down soon. The Gods of Balarel decreed that all Townsfolk must be inside the wall by sundown, and they’d made her mother Townsfolk.

“Mommy!” Azalea shouted. She quickened her pace and held Mister Squeaky tight.

Before, Azalea had been excited to see her mother. Now, she was concerned. If Mother didn’t get back inside Wolfpine’s walls before sundown, the Gods of the Pantheon, in their Divine wisdom, would turn her mother to salt. Azalea did not want her mother to turn to salt.

She did not have a father, not any more. If she didn’t have a mother, who would cook her dinner, and read her stories, and tuck her in to bed and kiss her goodnight? Azalea loved her mother and would miss her dearly if she was gone, because when anyone fourteen years or older died in Balarel ... the Gods did not bring them back.

“Mommy!” Azalea shouted. “Mommy, come back! You have to go back inside the town!”

Yet somehow, Debra Whitetalon—Azalea’s mother—only grew further away with each step Azalea took. Where was Wolfpine? Where was the scary Town Guard? Azalea had lost all track of them, and the sun was so low now. She had to tell her mother to get back inside the town walls.

Yet the sun turned red. The sun melted into the horizon. And as Azalea dashed, sobbing and gasping, down the Safe Road, dusk fell, then night. Exhausted, Azalea fell to her knees, coughing and sobbing. Her mother was dead. Her mother was salt. What would she do without a mother?

“Azy!” Mister Squeaky whispered. “Look!”

Blinking back endless tears, Azalea looked up. She rose. She sprinted off the Safe Road as fast she could go, far beyond the Safe Stones that warded the Monsters of Balarel away, into the wilds of Grassea where any Monster could kill her or eat her or worse.

Yet she didn’t care about the Monsters. Her mother was alive and smiling, waiting with open arms just before the Deepscorn Woods. The woods were deep and dark and scary, especially at night, but Azalea would not be scared. Not with her mother alive to keep her safe.

“How?” Azalea gasped. “Mommy, how are you not salt?”

Debra Whitetalon’s smile only grew. And then, as Azalea stared in wide-eyed, tear-soaked wonder, one of the gorgeous rainbow flutterflies alighted upon her mother’s left shoulder. Debra raised one hand as another flutterfly alighted upon her upraised palm. And a third, on her other shoulder. And a fourth atop her head.

Azalea blinked past the last of her tears. Everything was so beautiful. Her Mommy was so beautiful.

Still smiling, practically beaming at her daughter, Debra Whitetalon extended one pale hand. Azalea took it, and while the hand wasn’t as soft as she remembered—it felt rough and warm, like bark—it was her mother’s hand. She knew her mother’s hand.

And so her mother lead her further into the deep, dark woods.

Mister Squeaky dropped and hopped along beside them, nose wobbling as he sniffed this and that. Azalea glanced down at her stuffed tribbit as her mother led her, still amazed to find him as alive as he’d ever been. All around them, gorgeous flutterflies flitted to and fro, diving and circling.

Azalea stared at the woods in wonder, yet she was afraid as well, just a little. They were no longer on the Safe Road. “Mommy?” Azalea whispered as they walked. “What about the Gloamwolves?”

“The Gloamwolves can’t hurt us here,” Mister Squeaky whispered.

“But what about the Moss Beasts?”

“The Moss Beasts are your friends!” Mister Squeaky insisted.

That wasn’t right. Moss Beasts were big, and scary, and challenging even for a group of Level 6 Adventurers. Moss Beasts couldn’t be her friends, could they? Yet why would Mister Squeaky lie?

The woods were darker now, the trees, bigger. Her world, quieter. Azalea looked again to her mother, yet her mother was taller now. So impossibly tall. Her mother was still her mother, yet her skin was bark and her eyes ... well, her mother didn’t have eyes any longer. No need for eyes in the forest.

And the flutterflies. The flutterflies were but leaves now, twirling on the wind as they fell from her mother’s dress onto a carpet of leaves in a forest of leaves. And Mister Squeaky ... well he was a Grass Sprite, now. But still Mister Squeaky. He would always be Mister Squeaky, to her.

Belatedly, hesitantly, perhaps too late, Azalea tugged on her mother’s hand. “Mommy?”

Her mother pulled her resolutely into the woods, impossibly strong. Never letting go.

“Mommy?” Azalea said again, now stumbling along. “Mommy, I want to go home.”

Her mother stopped. Her mother turned. Her mother smiled at her.

And deep inside her mother’s throat, beyond teeth that had grown rotten and a tongue that had grown impossibly long, a few beautiful rainbow flutterflies still struggled to escape.