CHAPTER FIVE
Shadows and Truths
Commander Seraphel walked through the gates of Silverbrook at dawn, wearing a human face.
It wasn't her preferred method of travel. Shapeshifting into mortal form felt like wearing clothes three sizes too small—everything pinched, everything constrained, everything wrong. But a High Fairy in full regalia would draw attention, and attention was the enemy of a successful search.
So she had compressed herself into this shape: a tall woman with silver-white hair and pale grey eyes, dressed in practical traveling clothes. Her wings were hidden, folded into a dimension that didn't quite exist. Her power was muted, banked like coals beneath ash.
She looked almost human. Almost.
The guards at the gate barely glanced at her. Just another traveler, another face in the endless stream of people coming and going from this bustling city. Seraphel filed away this observation—the security was lax, the guards complacent. Good for her purposes, but concerning from a tactical standpoint.
Inside the walls, she paused to get her bearings. The city sprawled in every direction, a maze of streets and alleys and buildings that all looked vaguely the same to her unaccustomed eyes. Humans lived so densely packed, so tangled together. How did they stand it?
No matter. She had a method for this.
Seraphel closed her eyes and reached out with senses that had nothing to do with sight or sound. The magic of the fairy realm left traces—subtle resonances that most beings couldn't detect, but that sang clear as bells to one who knew how to listen.
There. Faint but unmistakable. The signature she'd been following for three years, stronger here than anywhere else she'd searched.
Her Majesty was in this city. Or had been, recently.
Seraphel opened her eyes and began to walk, letting the traces guide her feet.
* * *
Orion woke to an empty bed.
This wasn't unusual—Nera often rose early, puttering around the garden or investigating whatever had caught her attention during the night. But after yesterday's unspoken tension, after the promise of a conversation they'd been avoiding, the absence felt heavier than normal.
He found her in the kitchen, human-sized, sitting at the table with a cup of tea she wasn't drinking. She was staring at nothing, her expression distant in a way he rarely saw.
"Hey," he said softly.
She startled—actually startled, which told him how deep in thought she'd been. Nera was usually aware of everything around her, alert in ways that went beyond normal senses.
"Hey." She attempted a smile. It didn't reach her eyes. "I made tea. It's probably cold now. I got distracted."
"That's fine." He sat down across from her. "We should talk."
"I know." She wrapped her hands around the cold cup, not for warmth but for something to hold onto. "I've been trying to figure out where to start."
"Start wherever you need to."
Nera was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was smaller than he'd ever heard it.
"You're changing, Orion. You've been changing for a while now, but it's getting faster. More noticeable."
"The speed thing. During the wyvern fight."
"Not just speed. Remember when you pushed that bandit? The one who flew across the room?" She met his eyes. "That wasn't normal strength. That was something else. Something that's growing."
Orion had been avoiding thinking about it. Avoiding naming it. But sitting here, in the quiet of their kitchen with his wife watching him with ancient worry in her eyes, he couldn't avoid it anymore.
"I don't know what it is," he admitted. "It just... happens. When I need it to. When I really commit to something."
"It's called Unknown Creation."
He blinked. "What?"
"The power you have." Nera set down her cup, her hands trembling slightly. "I've seen it before. Once, a very long time ago. It's... it's rare. Incredibly rare. The ability to make reality conform to your will, to accomplish whatever you truly believe you can accomplish."
"That sounds like magic."
"It's not magic. Magic has rules, limitations, costs. What you have doesn't follow any of that. It just... is." She looked away. "I should have told you sooner. I've known for a while. Since before we were married, actually."
Orion felt something cold settle in his chest. "You knew?"
"I suspected. When I found you in the forest, dying, you whispered that you wanted to live. You wanted to find someone to share your life with." Her voice cracked. "And then you didn't die. Against all odds, against everything I knew about mortal wounds, you survived. Because you wanted to."
"I thought that was because of you. Because you saved me."
"I helped. But Orion..." She finally looked at him again, and there were tears on her cheeks. "I couldn't have saved you if you hadn't already started saving yourself. Your power kept you alive long enough for me to find you. Your power called out to me across the forest."
The cold in his chest spread. "Is that why you married me? Because of what I am?"
"No!" The word came out fierce, almost angry. "No. I married you because you were kind. Because you talked to me like I was a person, not a spirit or a creature or a thing to be used. Because when I helped you, you said thank you, and you meant it." She was crying openly now. "I married you because I love you. The power was just... it was a coincidence. A terrible, complicated coincidence."
Orion sat with that for a moment. Processing. Trying to fit this new information into the shape of his life.
"You said you've seen this power before," he said slowly. "Once. A long time ago. Who else had it?"
Nera wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Someone I knew. Someone from... from before."
"Before what?"
She didn't answer. But the way she looked at him—the weight of years in her eyes, the depth of secrets unspoken—told him there was more. So much more that she wasn't saying.
"Nera." He reached across the table and took her hands. "I'm not angry. I'm confused and a little scared, but I'm not angry. Whatever you're hiding, whatever you're afraid to tell me—it won't change how I feel about you."
"You don't know that."
"I do." He squeezed her hands. "You're my wife. You're my home. Whatever else you are, whatever else I am, that doesn't change."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she laughed—a wet, broken sound that was halfway to a sob.
"You're impossible," she whispered. "You should be demanding answers. You should be angry that I kept secrets."
"I've always known you had secrets." He shrugged. "Everyone does. You'll tell me when you're ready."
"What if I'm never ready?"
"Then you're never ready. I'll still be here."
Nera pulled her hands free—but only so she could move around the table and climb into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. She was shaking.
"I don't deserve you," she said, muffled against his shirt.
"Probably not. I'm very impressive."
She laughed again, less broken this time. "When did you get funny?"
"I've always been funny. You just never appreciated my humor."
"Your humor is very dry."
"Like a fine wine."
"Like a desert."
They held each other for a while, the morning light growing stronger through the window. Outside, the city was waking up, the sounds of commerce and life filtering through the walls. Inside, there was just the two of them and the weight of words spoken and unspoken.
"There's something else," Nera said eventually. "Something I need to tell you."
"Okay."
"That old man. Thistle. The way he looked at me..." She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "He saw through my disguise. I don't know how, but he did. And if he could see, others might be able to as well."
"Others like who?"
Nera hesitated. Then: "I told you once that people might be looking for me. That I left something behind when I chose to be with you."
"You said you left your kingdom." Orion had assumed she meant something metaphorical—her homeland, her family, the place she'd grown up. "The fairy kingdom."
"Yes. And the people I left behind... they haven't stopped searching. They won't stop until they find me." She took a shaky breath. "We should leave Silverbrook. Soon. Before they track me here."
The words hit Orion like a physical blow. Leave Silverbrook. Leave the house they'd just made into a home, the garden Nera had started, the people they'd begun to know.
Leave Pip, who looked at him like he held the answers to the universe.
Leave Vex and Denna, who had somehow become something like friends.
Leave Mira and her quietly appreciative acceptance of their paperwork and flowers.
"Where would we go?" he asked.
"Anywhere. The coast, maybe. Or the southern territories. Somewhere far enough that the trail goes cold."
"And then?"
"And then we start over. Again." Her voice was tired. "I'm sorry. I know we just got settled. I know you were starting to like it here."
"I was starting to like it here because you were happy here," Orion said. "If leaving keeps you safe, we leave."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Nera stared at him like he'd said something miraculous. "Most people would have questions. Demands. They'd want to know what they were running from."
"I do want to know. But I want you safe more." He tucked a strand of green hair behind her ear. "We can talk about the rest later. On the road. You can tell me everything or nothing, whatever you need. But if you say we have to go, we go."
"Tomorrow," she said. "We should leave tomorrow. I'll handle the guild paperwork, close out our registration. You can talk to the landlord."
"And Pip?"
Nera's expression crumpled. "I don't know. I don't know how to say goodbye to Pip."
"We'll figure it out." Orion held her tighter. "We'll figure all of it out. Together."
"Together," she repeated, like a prayer. "Okay. Together."
* * *
Commander Seraphel had been searching for three hours when she found the market.
Not just any market—a sprawling, chaotic mess of stalls and vendors that seemed to have sprouted organically in one of the city's main squares. Humans and other races haggled over prices, children ran between legs, and the noise was overwhelming to senses accustomed to the quiet of fairy forests.
But the magical traces were stronger here. Recent.
Seraphel moved through the crowd, ignoring the calls of merchants trying to sell her everything from fresh bread to suspicious potions. She was hunting, and nothing would distract her from the trail.
There—a flower stall. The traces were concentrated around it, recent enough that she could almost taste them.
She approached the vendor, an elderly human woman with kind eyes and dirt-stained hands.
"Excuse me," Seraphel said, forcing her voice into pleasant neutrality. "I'm looking for someone. A small woman, perhaps? With green hair? She might have bought flowers here recently."
The vendor's face lit up with recognition. "Oh! You mean the little pixie lady! The one who comes with that tall fellow? Lovely couple, those two. She's always bringing flowers to people."
Seraphel's heart stopped. Pixie. A pixie form. Of course—Her Majesty would have disguised herself, hidden her true nature behind the appearance of a lesser fae. It was clever. It was exactly the kind of thing Neradok would do.
"Yes," Seraphel managed. "The pixie lady. Do you know where she lives?"
"Can't say exactly, but I've seen them heading toward the eastern edge of the city. By the old walls. Nice quiet area out there." The vendor smiled. "Are you a friend of theirs?"
"Something like that."
"Well, you should catch them today if you can. I heard they're leaving soon—the guild posted notice that they're transferring to another city. Shame, really. They were just starting to feel like regulars."
Leaving. They were leaving.
Seraphel forced herself to thank the vendor, to maintain the facade of casual interest. But inside, her mind was racing. Her Majesty was here, had been here this whole time, and was about to slip away again.
Three years of searching. Three years of following cold trails and dead ends. And now, finally, she was close—and she might lose her again.
No. Not this time.
Seraphel turned east and began to walk faster.
* * *
"I'll miss the garden most, I think."
Nera stood in the small patch of earth behind their house, looking at the plants she'd coaxed into growing over the past weeks. The magic seed from the sprites had sprouted into a small tree, its leaves silver-green and shimmering. It shouldn't have been possible—that kind of growth took months, years. But it had happened anyway, because Nera had wanted it to.
"We can make another garden," Orion said from the doorway. "Wherever we end up."
"It won't be the same."
"No. It'll be different. Maybe better."
She turned to look at him, a sad smile on her face. "You're trying very hard to make this easier."
"Is it working?"
"A little." She crossed to him, shrinking as she walked until she was pixie-sized again, landing on his shoulder with practiced ease. "We should go into town. Say our goodbyes. Pick up supplies for the road."
"The guild first?"
"The guild first. Then we can find Pip."
Orion's chest tightened at the thought. Telling Pip they were leaving felt like kicking a puppy. A very earnest, excitable puppy who had just started to believe in something.
"Maybe we don't tell Pip we're leaving," he said. "Maybe we just... go."
"That's worse. That's so much worse." Nera tugged his ear gently. "We have to tell them. They deserve that much."
"I know. I just don't want to see their face when we do."
"Neither do I." She was quiet for a moment. "But we're not abandoning them. We're just... moving on. Adventurers do that. It's part of the life."
"Pip doesn't know that yet. Pip still thinks relationships are permanent."
"Pip will learn. Everyone does." There was old sadness in her voice—the sadness of someone who had learned that lesson too many times. "Come on. Let's get this over with."
* * *
Seraphel found the house.
It was modest—small, human, utterly unremarkable. A whitewashed cottage at the edge of the city, with a wooden fence and a garden that practically glowed with residual magic.
She stood across the street, watching from the shadow of a building, her disguise holding steady despite the pounding of her heart.
Three years. Three years of searching, and here she was. Standing outside the home of her missing queen.
What now?
She could go to the door. Knock. Reveal herself and demand answers. That was her duty, wasn't it? To find Her Majesty and bring her home?
But the flower vendor's words echoed in her mind. "Lovely couple." "Always bringing flowers to people." "Nice quiet area."
Her Majesty had built a life here. A simple, mortal life with a human partner. She was buying flowers and making friends and living in a cottage with a garden. She was happy—or at least, she seemed to be.
Did Seraphel have the right to end that?
Before she could decide, the door opened.
Two figures emerged. A tall man with dark hair and tired eyes, moving with the quiet economy of someone trained to fight. And on his shoulder—
Seraphel's breath caught.
A pixie. Small, green-haired, with iridescent wings that caught the morning light. To mortal eyes, she would be just another sprite, another minor fae going about its business.
But Seraphel was not mortal. And even through the layers of disguise, even through the careful suppression of power, she could see the truth.
Neradok. Queen of All Fairies. Ruler of the Eternal Court.
Riding on a human's shoulder like a common familiar.
Seraphel's hands clenched at her sides. Part of her wanted to step forward, to call out, to end this madness. Her queen was right there, close enough to touch. All she had to do was reveal herself.
But something held her back. Maybe it was the way the human looked at the pixie—with such obvious tenderness, such careful attention. Maybe it was the way the pixie leaned against his neck, utterly at ease, utterly content.
Maybe it was the fact that, in all the years Seraphel had served the fairy court, she had never seen Neradok look so... peaceful.
The couple walked past her hiding spot, close enough that Seraphel could have reached out and touched them. Close enough that she could see the smile on the queen's tiny face, hear the quiet murmur of conversation between them.
Close enough.
Seraphel didn't move.
She watched them go, watched them walk toward the center of the city, watched until they disappeared around a corner.
Then she slumped against the wall, her disguise flickering for just a moment, and tried to understand what she had just done.
She had found her queen. She had been right there. And she had let her walk away.
"What am I doing?" she whispered to no one.
No one answered.
* * *
The guild was busy, as always. Mira presided over the reception desk with her usual efficiency, processing forms and stamping documents and generally keeping the chaos at bay.
She looked up when Orion approached, and something in her expression shifted—a flicker of something that might have been disappointment.
"I heard you're leaving," she said, before he could speak.
"News travels fast."
"It's a guild. Gossip is our secondary currency." She pulled out a stack of forms. "Transfer paperwork. I've already started filling it out. You'll need to sign in three places and specify your destination city."
"Coastal City," Nera said from Orion's shoulder. "We're thinking Coastal City."
"Good choice. Larger guild, more quest variety. Higher cost of living, but the pay scales to match." Mira's voice was professional, but there was a tightness around her eyes. "I've included recommendation letters. They should help smooth the transfer process."
Orion blinked. "You wrote us recommendations?"
"You have an exemplary record. Clean paperwork, high completion rate, no disciplinary issues." She paused. "And you bring me flowers. The office has been less depressing since you started doing that."
"I'll keep bringing you flowers!" Nera said quickly. "I'll mail them! From wherever we are! You'll have so many flowers you won't know what to do with them!"
"That's not necessary." But Mira's voice had softened, just slightly. "Just... take care of yourselves. The adventuring life is dangerous. Don't become a statistic."
"We won't," Orion said. "Thank you, Mira. For everything."
"Don't thank me. I'm just doing my job." She slid the forms across the counter. "Sign here, here, and here. And get out before I start being unprofessional."
Orion signed. When he looked up, he could have sworn he saw moisture in Mira's eyes.
But she had already turned away, attending to another adventurer, and the moment passed.
* * *
Seraphel followed them.
She told herself it was reconnaissance. Information gathering. She needed to understand the situation fully before making any decisions, didn't she? She needed to know who this human was, what kind of life Her Majesty had built, whether there were any threats or complications.
It wasn't cowardice. It wasn't.
She watched them enter the adventurer's guild. Watched them speak with a stern-looking woman at the reception desk. Watched the queen—the pixie—hand over a small flower with a gesture of obvious affection.
Adventurers. Her Majesty had become an adventurer. She was taking quests and fighting monsters and living like a common mortal.
It was absurd. It was beneath her. It was—
The queen was laughing. Even from across the street, Seraphel could see it—that bright, unrestrained joy that had always been Neradok's defining trait. The laugh that could light up an entire court.
When had Seraphel last heard that laugh in the fairy realm? When had any of them?
The queen hadn't laughed like that in centuries. Not since before the burdens of rule had settled onto her shoulders. Not since she had become responsible for everything and everyone.
But here, in this mortal city, wearing a pixie's face, she laughed like she meant it.
Seraphel's certainty cracked, just a little.
* * *
They found Pip at the training grounds behind the guild.
The young fox was practicing sword forms with their new blade, moving through the sequences with a focus that was almost meditative. They'd improved since the wyvern fight—their stance was better, their movements more fluid. They were taking this seriously.
"Pip," Orion called.
The fox's ears perked up, and their face split into a wide grin. "Mister Orion! Miss Nera! I was just practicing! Did you see? I've been working on the third form you showed me, the one with the pivot—"
"We need to talk," Orion said, and something in his tone made Pip's tail stop wagging.
"Oh." The young fox lowered their sword. "That sounds serious."
"It is." Orion glanced around, found a quiet corner away from the other practicing adventurers. "Come on."
They sat on a bench—Orion and Pip, with Nera perched on the backrest between them. Pip's amber eyes were wide, worried, their tail curled tight around their legs.
"We're leaving," Orion said. There was no gentle way to say it. "Tomorrow. We're transferring to another city."
Pip's face went through several expressions in rapid succession: confusion, denial, hurt, and finally a kind of forced acceptance that was painful to witness.
"Oh," they said again. "That's... that's okay. Adventurers move around. That's normal. I knew that." Their voice was too bright, too steady. "Where are you going? Maybe I could visit sometime?"
"Coastal City," Nera said softly. "It's pretty far."
"That's fine! I could save up! Eventually! And we could write letters!" Pip's hands were shaking where they gripped their sword. "This is fine. I'm fine. It's good that you're... that you're going somewhere new. New adventures. That's exciting, right?"
"Pip." Orion reached out and put a hand on the fox's shoulder. "You don't have to pretend this is okay."
The mask crumbled.
"But it has to be okay," Pip whispered. "Because if it's not okay, then I have to feel it, and I don't want to feel it, because I just found you and you taught me things and you believed in me and now you're leaving and—" Their voice cracked. "—and everyone always leaves eventually, don't they? That's just how it works?"
"Pip—"
"My dad left when I was little. Just walked away one day. And my older siblings all moved to different towns for work. And my best friend from the village got married and now they never have time for me anymore." Tears were streaming down Pip's furry cheeks. "I thought maybe adventurers were different. I thought maybe if I was good enough, useful enough, people would stay."
Nera flew down to hover in front of Pip's face, her tiny hands reaching out to brush away tears. "Oh, sweetheart. This isn't about you not being good enough. You're wonderful. You're so wonderful."
"Then why do people keep leaving?"
"Because life is complicated," Orion said. "Because sometimes people have to go, even when they don't want to. It's not about you, Pip. It's never been about you."
"But I'll be alone again."
"No, you won't." Orion's voice was firm. "You have your sword. You have your skills. You have Vex and Denna—they'll look out for you, in their own chaotic way. And you have Mira, who I'm going to ask to keep an eye on you."
"Mira scares me a little."
"She scares everyone a little. That's part of her charm." Orion squeezed Pip's shoulder. "You're going to be okay. You're going to become a great adventurer. And someday, when we meet again—because we will meet again—I want to hear all about it."
"You promise?" Pip's voice was small, hopeful. "You promise we'll meet again?"
Orion thought about the strange power inside him. The ability to make things true just by believing them hard enough. If he promised this—if he really meant it—would the universe bend to make it happen?
"I promise," he said. And he meant it.
Pip surged forward, wrapping their arms around Orion in a fierce hug that was more desperation than affection. Orion froze for a moment—he wasn't used to being hugged—then slowly brought his arms up to return it.
"Thank you," Pip mumbled against his chest. "For everything. For seeing me."
"You're hard to miss. You never stop talking."
Pip laughed, wet and broken. "That's true. I really don't."
Nera joined the hug, wrapping her tiny arms as far around both of them as she could reach. "We'll write," she promised. "Every week. And I'll send you pressed flowers from wherever we are."
"I'd like that," Pip said. "I'd really like that."
They stayed like that for a while, three people holding onto a moment they knew couldn't last. Outside, the city continued its business, indifferent to the small tragedy playing out in this quiet corner.
Somewhere across town, a ancient fairy commander watched the guild building and wondered what she was supposed to do next.
* * *
The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparations.
They sold what they couldn't carry. They settled accounts with the landlord, who seemed genuinely sad to see them go. They packed their meager possessions into travel bags, leaving the house they'd briefly called home as empty as they'd found it.
The magic tree in the garden, Nera refused to leave behind. With careful application of power she didn't explain, she reduced it to a seed again—a single silver-green kernel that she tucked into a pouch at her hip.
"We'll plant it again," she said. "Wherever we end up. It'll grow."
"Magic trees don't usually like being transplanted."
"This one will." There was certainty in her voice—the certainty of someone who was used to being obeyed by the natural world.
Orion didn't question it. There were a lot of things he didn't question about Nera. Maybe someday she'd explain them. Maybe she wouldn't. Either way, he'd made his peace with the mystery.
Evening found them at Grimjaw's tavern, sharing a final drink with the people they'd come to know. Vex was uncharacteristically subdued, Denna was quietly supportive, and Mira had shown up despite claiming she never socialized with adventurers.
"To the Stargrasses," Vex said, raising his mug. "May their roads be smooth and their quests be profitable."
"May they find what they're looking for," Denna added, with a meaningful look that suggested she knew there was more to this departure than simple wanderlust.
"May their paperwork always be in order," Mira said, which was probably her version of a blessing.
Pip, who had been alternating between tears and forced cheerfulness all evening, managed a watery smile. "May you come back someday. Even if it takes a while."
Orion looked around the table at these people—these strangers who had become something more without him noticing. When had that happened? When had he started caring?
It didn't matter. What mattered was that he did care, and leaving hurt, and he was going to do it anyway because keeping Nera safe was more important than his own comfort.
"Thank you," he said, lifting his own mug. "All of you. For making this place feel like home."
They drank. They talked. They laughed at Vex's stories and rolled their eyes at his exaggerations and pretended that this was just another evening, just another gathering, just another moment in an endless string of moments.
But they all knew it wasn't.
And when Orion and Nera finally walked out into the cool night air, leaving the warmth and noise behind, neither of them looked back.
Looking back made it harder to go forward.
* * *
Seraphel watched them leave the tavern.
She had spent the day observing, gathering information, trying to understand. She had watched her queen laugh with mortals, embrace a crying fox child, share drinks with rough adventurers. She had watched and wondered and questioned everything she thought she knew.
The couple walked home hand in hand—the human holding his pixie wife's tiny fingers between two of his own. It was ridiculous. It was tender. It was something Seraphel had no frame of reference for.
They were leaving tomorrow. Going to Coastal City, according to the guild records she'd managed to glimpse. If she was going to act, it had to be tonight. Now. Before they slipped away again.
Seraphel stepped out of the shadows.
And stopped.
The human had frozen mid-step, his head turning slightly, his posture shifting into something alert and ready. He couldn't have seen her—she was too far away, too well hidden. But somehow, impossibly, he knew something was wrong.
"What is it?" the queen asked, her tiny voice carrying in the quiet street.
"I don't know. Something." The human's eyes scanned the darkness, passing over Seraphel's hiding spot without recognition but lingering just a moment too long. "Let's go home. Quickly."
They walked faster, not quite running but not casual either. The human kept himself between the shadows and his wife, protective in a way that spoke of deep instinct.
Seraphel let them go.
Again. She let them go again.
What was wrong with her? This was her duty. Her purpose. She had spent three years on this search, endured hardships she would never speak of (the river, the accursed river), all to find her queen and bring her home.
And now that she'd found her, she couldn't seem to complete the mission.
Because Neradok was happy. Genuinely, simply happy in a way she had never been on the throne. And Seraphel wasn't sure she had the right to take that away.
She stood in the shadows for a long time after they disappeared, wrestling with loyalties she had never questioned before.
Tomorrow, they would leave. Tomorrow, the trail would go cold again, and she would have to decide whether to follow.
Tonight, she would think. For perhaps the first time in millennia, Commander Seraphel of the Queen's Guard would think about what she actually wanted, instead of what duty demanded.
It was terrifying.
It was also, she suspected, long overdue.
— End of Chapter Five —