The next morning, I woke early, determined to make it to the ceremony on time. Sleep still lingered in my body, but the sunlight streaming through the curtains felt more awakening than any bell or word could have been. I slipped into the first dress my hand found and hurried toward the door. As I stepped into the hallway, my gaze caught Ash's door. For a moment, I froze. The memory of the previous night—his laughter, the music, his nearness—still lingered in me like warmth that refused to fade. I shook my head. There was no time for that now.
As I rushed down the corridor, I caught sight of Lia. She was laughing, chasing a young elven maid in a game of tag, her bright giggles echoing through the marble halls. For a fleeting moment, I smiled—then my chest tightened. The memory of that day returned with a cruel vividness. I had covered her eyes before she could see our parents lying there, lifeless. Even now, I hated myself for it. I should have known something was coming. I should have been faster, stronger. The thought made my stomach twist. My breath quickened, sweat dampened my brow, and though I longed to cry, no tears came. Only anger remained—and the hollow ache of loss.
A warm hand on my shoulder pulled me out of my thoughts. I turned to see Thalion standing behind me. As always, he looked effortlessly regal—his white collared shirt and deep green vest fitting snugly across his chest, the morning light catching on his golden hair. His calm gaze met mine.
"Are you all right? Did you sleep well?" His voice was steady, gentle yet commanding.
"Yes, I'm fine," I lied quickly, then tried to steer the conversation away. "Shall we go to the ceremony?"
"Of course. This way," he said, turning with a graceful nod for me to follow.
As I walked beside him, I couldn't help but wonder how easily he spoke to me—so unguarded, almost familiar. Perhaps it was his youth. He couldn't be much older than Ash.
The ceremony took place in the palace courtyard. The garden was breathtaking: rows of rosebushes, autumn flowers in full bloom, and at its center, a towering tree—the ancient Tree of Concord. Each kingdom had one, planted as a living symbol of their unity. Legends said that the first kings had watered it with their blood, binding their realms together for eternity. Its thick roots coiled through the soil like veins of the earth itself, holding the world steady.
Eliondar, the royal advisor, was already waiting at the base of the tree. In his hands he held a great leather-bound tome, its pages etched with ancient symbols. At his feet, a circular pattern had been drawn into the ground, faintly glowing beneath the sunlight.
"Since you are one of the closest living descendants of the Fairy Kingdom," Thalion began calmly, "you will be the one upon whom the rite is performed."
"The blood of the heirs must unite, so that the call of the Crown can be heard," Eliondar added solemnly.
Thalion drew a ceremonial dagger. The blade shimmered silver as he cut a shallow line across his palm. Drops of blood fell to the earth, seeping into the soil as if the roots themselves drank them in. Then he extended the dagger toward me. I inhaled slowly and offered my hand. The cut was light, barely felt—he was careful, almost reverent. Our blood mingled as it fell upon the cold metal of the crown we held together.
A hush fell over the courtyard. Thalion's hand brushed mine, and when our eyes met, time itself seemed to still.
"Now repeat after me," Eliondar instructed, reading from the tome.
"Sanctified be my blood…"
"Sanctified be my blood," we said in unison, our voices carried away by the wind.
"Now focus on the crown. Feel the bond that ties it to you—and to each other."
I closed my eyes. The world faded into silence. In my mind, I saw the crown—radiant, ancient, alive. I reached out to it with my spirit, calling it, summoning the crown of the Fair Folk. But nothing answered. No light, no voice. Only silence.
Then, a surge of energy ripped through the ground. The air trembled. The crown grew hot in my hands—so hot I had to let go. It clattered to the earth between us.
"Well… that didn't work," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
"That's all right," Thalion replied calmly. "We'll try again tomorrow. There's still time."
But I knew he was wrong. I could feel the light in my wings fading day by day. The power of the fae was waning—and if we failed to find the crown soon, my people would vanish. We had already fled our homeland, hunted and broken, our cities reduced to ash.
As sunlight filtered through the autumn leaves, the crown lay motionless on the ground—silent and cold. And in that silence, I realized one thing: something far greater had awakened… and this was only the beginning.