Trees loomed over the column, dark and foreboding.

Alex kept a steady hand on the bridle of his moa, in an attempt to keep the animal calm. They were riding along the edge of the ancient forest of Alveria, upon a road that seemed to have been carved out from under the forest’s grasp upon the southern bank of the river Spell, whose churning waters and rushing rapids kept it free of boats. The sun hung low on the horizon behind them, hiding the depths of the forest within deep shadows and a gray dusk. Supposedly, Nydawin’s southern border was actually located a few miles inside the forest, far beyond the line of trees, but to Alex it felt like they were already in someone else's lands, and they were not invited guests, but trespassers. Though, it wasn’t fear that made him cautiously eye the heavy branches, but the tug of fate upon his heart.

For the soldiers ahead of him, however, it was most certainly fear that had jumping at the smallest sound, and kept their gazes darting through the shadows. Fear of dark forces hidden among the trees, or perhaps, the simple the fear of the unknown. Alex didn’t care either way, he doubted there was anything especially dangerous within the forest, and he didn’t put any stock in the rumors and legends the soldiers had told around the campfire the night before. Tales of shadowy creatures stalking the night, and of beautiful women luring men into the forest’s dark depths to steal their souls—and their manhoods.

The moa chattered and Alex put a hand on its neck. He might not fear the dark, but his mount did, and it would not do to have it freak. “Don’t worry,” he said softly as he patted the bird. “There’s nothing to fear.” The words themselves did not matter, but the tone of his voice helped calm the moa. "I do wonder though,” he mused to himself, for there was magic in the air. It wasn’t dark or fearful, but a jovial magic, curious, and perhaps just a smidge mischievous. It hung over them like a fog, permeating the forest and anyone who passed through. Not a heavy fog that obscured ones vision, but a wispy light one that danced between branches and people alike. Alex couldn’t help but note the stark contrast between the feel of the magic, and the atmosphere the forest created without it. He also knew that few—even among those who would call themselves mages—would be able to tell. The conclusion was clear; someone wants to be left alone, Alex thought.

He looked forward along the column of soldiers, towards the front where Charles and Elliott rode upon their black and purple moas. They’d left Blackstead two days prior, but as they had spent most of those two days on in the saddle, with Alex at one end and Charles at the other, they hadn’t had much opportunity to speak. Not that Alex was sure he wanted to speak with the commander. The conversation he had overheard in the inn was still fresh in his mind. He had woken up early the day after, to get some shopping done before the royal troop passed through Blackstead. He’d found new robes and tunics of a lighter material, and several supplies he had missed: like his own bedroll and a proper rucksack. He’d also tried to sniff out more information on the political situation of the nation, and he’d purchased a quite handy map for a ridiculous six silver. He would have haggled it down at least a few copper, if the royal troop hadn’t entered the town just as he’d found the merchant.

He hadn’t learned much from the merchants and early risers of Blackstead. Most were farmers and peasants, too far removed from any sort of politics—beyond the occasional gossip regarding the local lord—to care about the bigger picture. Which meant he was no closer to knowing what to do when they reached Spellhedge. Not that he knew what he could do, especially without magic. He was good with the sword, but was he good enough to beat thirty-some professional soldiers? He doubted it.

Alex sighed. He didn’t want to condemn someone based on hearsay, but neither did he want a child—princess or no—to be forced into a position of political marriage, against both her will and the nation’s traditions. For there was one thing he had learned, if in a roundabout way. The nation of Nydawin was a matrilineal one, and had been for a long time—longer than anyone could remember.

“There’s always been a queen,” a confused merchant had said, after Alex had asked why the queen held the power. “She’s the one who rules. The kingdom to the south has a king, but we have a queen.”

Alex had thanked him and bought a shaving-kit, something he sorely needed since his dried up source meant he couldn’t shave with magic. He wondered if he still knew how to use a shaving knife. It had been over half a century since he’d last used one, after all. He rubbed his chin, it was strange, feeling a stubble after staying clean-shaven for so long, but he supposed it wasn’t entirely bad. He might even try a full beard, he knew he could grow one, for he had grown one, back in his youth. But that was before he had truly met Emily, and she had made one thing very clear: either both of them shaved, or neither of them did. His choice had been quite a simple one.

The call of a trumpet from the front of the column, sounding over the rushing water and the whistling trees, brought him out of his thoughts. They had reached a green, where the trees had been cleared away to make room for travelers along the road. It signaled to stop for the day, and the soldiers before him immediately set about setting up camp, despite their apparent unease at their surroundings; another testament to their discipline. Alex dismounted his moa and lead it through the clamor to a corner where a few soldiers were taking care of the animals. Inspecting their legs and feet, and feeding them. Alex handed the stirrups to one of the soldiers, and the moa chirping softly at the handover. Alex gave it a short pat on the side before it was led away. Though he knew it was only a temporary accord, he’d grown quite attached to the bird, and he’d be sad to leave it when his travels with the troop ended.

Then he made his way to the center of the camp, where cooking fires were already flaring, and from which the scent of food wafted over the green. Since there were no villages along the road to Spellhedge, they had stocked up on food before crossing the river Spell that morning where the river was calm enough for a barge to bring them across. It had taken three rounds to get the entire company across the wide but calm river. Alex had crossed with the last group, as was his role as a title-less civilian, a role he was still adapting to. It was harder than he had first thought, going from being the second most powerful man in the world on paper, and the most powerful man in practice, to being a nobody. Still, he didn’t mind the lack of people asking him for his opinion on the tiniest details, or the fact that he hadn’t had to administrate troop movements or supply lines since climbing the holy mountain.

He accepted a bowl of soup from the soldier on canteen duty with a nod, and walked a few paces away. The prince didn’t like when he sat to close to the fires, or when he accepted food from the soldiers, but he didn’t seem to have enough influence in the troop to stop them. But Alex didn’t want to intentionally make life more difficult for himself or anyone else, so he sat a little further away.

The soup tasted well enough for something made on the road in a communal cauldron, with large bits of meat, potatoes, and a variety of vegetables floating in a thick broth. After he’d eaten and washed the bowl in the river, there was not much else to do, for him or most of the soldiers, and he quickly retired to his bedroll. Finding a good spot took a moment, but he found one without rocks or roots, and laid down. The muted conversations, occasional soft chirping, and rushing waters created a soothing atmosphere, and it didn’t take long for Alex to doze off.

***

Alex sat up with a start, his dream fading quickly now that he was awake. He tried to hold onto the last fleeting image. A memory, not just an illusion; a memory of his wife, of Emily, from before the war had started, before they had known what they truly were, what they had to do. They had been in his room at the top of the magicians' tower in the old capital of Gra’Tinit, many years before the city was leveled by the All-Father.

He could still remember her face, her eyes, the smell of her hair and the feel of her body pressed against his. They had spent countless nights together in his room—penthouse really—after he had become the archmage of the empire. It had been a happy time—the happiest time, in fact. He felt a tear slowly sliding down his cheek, and he dried it with the back of his hand. He hadn't realized how much he missed her, how much he wanted to drop everything and go find her. But he couldn't. He knew the rules, knew they couldn't be together till fate deemed it so.

He sighed and rolled over. In his bout of melancholy he hadn’t realized why he’d awoken, but as he lay on his bedroll trying to not forget the sound of Emily’s voice, he felt it again. A tug on his heart, and a great one at that, greater than fate could do on its own. Meaning someone or something important was close, and whatever it was, it was calling him. He made his choice, if he even had one to make, and stashed away his wistfulness in the deepest corners of his mind.

Then he got up off his bedroll, and looked around. The fires still crackled behind him, throwing the forest into undulating shadows. In the dark sky, upon a canvas of stars, only the small, second moon had risen, and its meager light barely lit the ground, yet he kept a low profile as he crept towards the edge of the green. Past the many snoring soldiers, aiming for a part of the forest far away from the moas, for he wasn’t sure how sensitive the animals were to strangers in the dark. At the edge of the forest, where thick undergrowth formed a barrier between the green and the forest proper, he stopped.

“Ho, stranger,” a voice called out from the dark, afore a soldier appeared out of the shadows, his armor darkened, as to not be revealed by glinting metal. He’d been sitting with his back to the fires to preserve his night vision as he kept guard upon the trees. “Where might you be heading in the darkest hours of the night?”

Alex made a snap decision, telling the full truth at a time like this was pointless, and would only slow him down. “I felt like taking a midnight stroll,” he said in a lighthearted tone. “Thought I’d take a look at all those monsters that lurk beneath the trees.”

The soldier looked at him curios gaze. “You are a peculiar man, stranger, and a powerful one, so I will not attempt to stop you. But heed my warning: There are foul creatures lurking within the shadows of those trees, and not all are made up to scare children into bed.”

“I’ll gladly accept your warning, but there’s no need for you to worry for my sake. I’ll be back by morning, riding at the back of the column as before.”

The soldier nodded. “I’d recommend you come back early. We won’t stay beside the forest longer than necessary, and we won’t wait for stragglers.” He turned, as to return to his post, but stopped. “One more thing,” he said, and unbuckled his belt, removing his sheath and sword. “Here, take this. No, don’t argue. We have extra swords, and it’s a damn shame one hasn’t been given to you earlier, after what you did for us. Take it, and heed my warning.”

With that, the soldier returned back to his post, leaving Alex to buckle the sheath around his own waist. He wouldn’t complain about having the weapon, though he feared more for the soldier’s wellbeing when he was found without his, than his own in the forest. With one last glance around, Alex took the last step off the green, and into the forest. At first he had to force his way through the undergrowth. Thickly growing bushes covered in thorns and tall nestles barred his way. But soon they gave way to softer ferns, and eventually nothing but moss and flowers. He didn’t know where he needed to go, only that his destination was beneath the branches and further into the forest. So he picked a direction, which happened to be roughly south-southwest, and began walking.

***

The forest was tranquil. The night suffused by a calm and quiet that let Alex empty his mind and focus on nothing. The forest floor had quickly turned open and free of undergrowth, managed by the many animals he kept noticing on the edge of his awareness, stalking his movements, but not fearing his presence. The only animals to break the silence were the occasional small nocturnal hunter. He didn’t fear those hunters; the cats, foxes, badgers, and owls, nor did he fear the dark, or the secrets that it held. It was a fear he had never had, for he had been born in the dark, and lived there for most of his childhood. As he walked through the forest his thoughts turned to his mother. He had found a few years earlier, that he could no longer remember her face, and as time had slipped by, he had forgotten the sound of her voice, and the feel of her embrace.

It bothered him more than he cared to admit, and it scared him. Not the part about forgetting his mother, no, she had only been a part of his life for a few short years before the inevitable had happened to her—just as it eventually did all whores in Gra’Tinit—she had been killed. If by a drunkard, whoremonger, thief, or zealot, he would never know. But he would never forget the moment he found her. The blood stained bed, the heavy scent of perfume mixing with the smell of iron and excrement. Her body, blue and stained by bruises.

None of it bothered him, not anymore, it had been too long. No, what bothered him was that one day he might forget others, others that were more important to him than his mother had ever been. People like Reginald, and Joseph, his roommate at the academy. Like Odette, the secretary that held the empire together like a linchpin during the war, or Yvette, the old innkeeper who had taken him in when he was nothing but a starving street-boy, expecting nothing in return for her kindness; whose funeral—despite her social standing—had been a thing of beauty, and whose inn had been the most popular in the city, he had seen to that. Like Emily, his one and only love.

He shuddered at the thought of forgetting her; forgetting her face, her voice, or the feel of her embrace. That would be a life worse than death: to know that he could not remember what was most precious to him. Climbing over a fallen tree he shook the thoughts from his mind. Such dark notions were better left unconsidered, and either way, it had taken him more than half a century to forget his mother, meaning Emily would be safe for at least another few decades.

A sudden forceful pull on his heart made him stop and take in his surroundings. It was closer know, much closer, and his skin tingled as the air practically buzzed with magic. He had stopped in a small glade, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, at least not on the normal plane of existence. Dark trees barely illuminated by beams of silvery light from the large second moon, which had risen during his walk. The forest floor was covered in green leaves and flowers, some of which glittered like tiny stars in the moonlight. Seven stones stood erect around the outskirts of the glade. Like sentries of the past, each taller than a man, if barely wider. Though weathered by ages of wind and rain strange runes were still visible, engraved into the rock.

Alex had a feeling that the planes beyond the visible were teeming with activity, but with his source drained, he couldn’t see the beyond. Instead he sat down, careful to not crush any glittering flowers he crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. For a moment, serenity ruled, then he felt the magic in the air peak and the world turned inside out.

Instantly he opened his eyes, and witness night turn to day as countless balls of light exploded into the glade, each one glowing in its own unique color, all circling him in a wild dance, lighting the glade like fireflies in a jar. Chittering and chattering like tiny birds, singing a song only they could understand, filling the air with an otherworldly melody, yet one that reminded him home. A heavy scent of nature followed the lights, of damp moss, gooseberries, and daisies.

Alex rose slowly, and stood as a pillar within the turmoil. He knew the lights and the voices that sang a song long forgotten. Of the boundless energy and the cheery but mischievous magic. Fey, the immortal spirits of the wild: the guardians of nature and eternal pullers’ of pranks. He held out his hand and after a moment, a single light broke off from the swirl. It approached him, hesitantly at first, but then a beat surged through the swirl, and the light turned daring. Shining a golden pink it hovered above his palm for a moment, and Alex’ skin tingled from its magic. Then it exploded in a cascade of glittering lights, and a pixie appeared from within the shower.

It was tiny, perhaps four and a half inch in total, barely taller than Alex’ thumb. Its delicate features were feminine. Long hair, shining the same golden pink as the light had, hung free down her shoulders, and her soft-green skin was covered by a misty white dress. Two pairs of dragonfly wings extended from her back, swirling into haze as they worked to keep her afloat. Alex smiled, it had been long since he’d seen one of they fay. The pixie, slowed its wings, and dainty feet soon touched his palm as she landed. He wouldn’t have felt her standing there—she was so light—if not for a tingle of magic.

As on cue, the swirl of lights stopped and exploded in cascading lights. No longer was he surrounded by lights, but by curios pixies, many more than he could count. The air around him buzzed, and not just with magic, but with the beat of hundreds of wings. They approached him as the first had, swirling closer, growing braver as they saw no malice within him. They swarmed about him like insects, landing wherever there was space and pulling at anything that would move. Soon his head, shoulders, and arms were covered by the small creatures, sitting or standing on top of him, one even tried to land on his nose, but found it too steep for her liking. All whilst chattering away in their high-pitched tones, filling the air with a strange cacophony of noise.

The pixies cheerful behavior and jovial magic soon infected Alex, and he found himself grinning like a child at the Midwinter festival; one who’d spied a stall of caramel apples with a distracted attendant. But unlike a child at the festival of the winter equinox, he could not let himself be distracted by sweets and presents, he still had something important to do; someone important to meet. Luckily, he didn’t need to wait for long.

A sudden breeze blew through the glade, carrying a scent of roses, and a strange voice. It sang a song in a language forgotten by the living, a song that echoed through the forest, taking on a life of its own. The pixies settled, their wings slowing as they landed wherever there was space, be it on Alex, on branches, or on the ground, and their chattering quieted. The song grew in volume, its words unmistakably dwarven, yet Alex could not understand what it said. A light erupted before him, just outside the glade. Purple and gold, it shone through the trees, casting strange shadows along the ground. The flowers that had glittered in the moonlight shone like stars as the ethereal light broke upon them, and their leaves vibrated in tune with the song. Magic, ancient and powerful came with the light, pushing at Alex, probing him. He let it, did not try to fight it, for as powerful as it was, he felt no ill intent behind the force.

The light entered the glade, and the song reached onto a crescendo as a shape materialized within the scintillating colors. With a cascade that dwarfed the ones of the pixies, a fairy appeared from within the light. She could have been a human, if not for the large gold and purple butterfly wings extending from her back, beating slowly as magic kept her afloat, and her glowing skin. Despite the alien feature, she was beautiful, if such a label could be attached to something as inhuman as a fairy. She had a thin face of delicate features, framed by flowing locks of glittering white hair. It fell over bare shoulders, and ended well below her waist. A misty dress, reminiscent of the ones worn by the pixies, clothed a lithe figure, leaving her arms and most of her legs bare.

She landed soundlessly, naked feet barely disturbing the flowers as her wings came to a rest. With light steps she approached, studying Alex with eyes bluer and sharper than glacier ice. He bowed his head slightly, careful to not jostle the pixies, but he needn’t worry, for they grabbed his hair to stay put, and they were not careful about it. He suppressed a grimace, and waited in silence for the fairy to speak.

She had stopped a scant pace from Alex, looking at him with her sharp eyes narrowed, looking through him, seeing everything he was. She smelled faintly of pine, was all he could think, and she was shorter than she had first appeared, thanks to the wings that extended a good foot and a half above her head. Without them, she barely came up to his chest. Yet her height seemed the proper one, and he felt it was he that was too tall.

“Who are you?” The fairy asked suddenly. Though she spoke in the common tongue, her voice seemed to fill the glade, and when it quieted, the world was lesser for it. “You are a stranger to this land; to this star. Within you flows curios magic seemingly without end, and a star within you, that—though dim—is more powerful than those in the heavens. You are mortal, yet you have memories that extend far beyond the reach of your kind. And though your hands are stained by immortal blood, your soul remains pure, blistering with light... Who are you?”

Alex bowed his head again. “I am Alexander Blackwood,” he said. “A warrior of fate.”