The fairy who Dances with Shadows

Shadows In The Grove

The next day dawned clear, golden, and deceptively peaceful. A cool breeze rustled the boughs overhead as the Queen’s guards led the suitors Sage, Vermior, and Noctis into the sacred hunting grounds of the fae realm, a thick forest that bridged all five territories. Each beast within represented a realm: frost-wolves from Frostmere, vinecats from Blossomreach, sun-deer from Solavelle, and more.

What the suitors didn’t know was that this hunt was no ordinary test. It had been designed as a hidden trial of leadership. At some point, the guides would vanish, and the men would be left lost in the deep woods. The true test was not survival, but how they handled despair and led others through it. Rain was scheduled via weather charm at mid-hunt—enough to weigh down fairy wings, including Sage’s, and see how he might adapt without his primary advantage.

But plans rarely survived contact with treachery.

From the shadows, a former suitor spurned and bitter after being thwarted by Vermior during the selection phase watched with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t alone. At his side stood a stranger cloaked in grey, their aura shifting and unreadable, like smoke refusing to be caught. Together, they had orchestrated a cruel twist: a surprise waiting deep within the forest.

A roar split the air. Birds scattered. Then came the roar of something far larger.

The group turned just in time to see the trees burst open.

A dragon.

But not just any dragon. It was young, frantic, its wings torn and malformed from a forced, premature transformation. Its scales shimmered the deep green of Vermior’s homeland.

Vermior’s heart stopped. "That’s—That’s one of mine. A child."

The dragon snarled and charged, fire licking at the trees. The air reeked of burnt wild fire root a dragon plant used in ancient rituals to stimulate premature shifting. The implications hit Vermior like a blow to the gut.

"This is forbidden," he growled, fury darkening his voice. "They’ve taken a child—forced the shift before his sixteenth year. He’s ten at most."

The Queen’s test was one thing. This was sacrilege.

Noctis stepped forward, his eyes scanning the boy-dragon. "He’s injected with wildfire root. It overstimulates the magical glands. We use it in medicine—but only under strict conditions. Someone turned it into a weapon."

The boy lashed out wildly, tail smashing through a tree. Sage raised a shield of wind to deflect debris while Noctis took out a small vial.

Vermior, trembling, fought the shift growing beneath his skin. His jaw clenched. "I will end whoever did this."

"We will," Sage said firmly. "But not with fire and rage. Help me subdue him. Gently."

Together, the three sprang into action.

Sage flew upward, distracting the young dragon with gusts of wind that mimicked flight. Noctis darted around the boy, hurling calming spells to ease his flailing.

Vermior’s form shimmered, bones cracking as he transformed. His true dragon form emerged sleek, obsidian, regal. His eyes locked onto the boy’s.

"Young one," he rumbled in draconic, a voice ancient and thunderous. "Hear me. You are safe now. Shift back."

The boy’s nostrils flared, flames sputtering. Then he blinked recognition flickering.

"You are not alone," Vermior said, lowering his head to the boy’s level. "I will protect you. You are one of mine."

Slowly, painfully, the child began to shift. His body shrank, scales fading into skin. A moment later, a trembling boy of ten collapsed into Vermior’s arms, tears streaking soot-covered cheeks.

Noctis knelt, checking the boy’s vitals. Sage hovered protectively. But Vermior... he was shaking. Rage had not left him—it had simply condensed.

He rose, face taut with fury. "Who did this? Did the Queen know?"

He spun, wings beginning to unfurl again until Noctis moved.

In a flash, the vampire stabbed him in the neck with a small needle.

Vermior stiffened. Then... relaxed. His fury dulled.

"What... did you do?"

Noctis tucked the syringe away. "Lavender extract. I use it on furious werewolves. Apparently, it works on dragons too."

Vermior gave him a look of disbelief.

"The Queen may be many things," Noctis said, rising. "But this? A child? That doesn’t align. Something’s wrong."

Sage nodded. "We need answers. But we must tread carefully. If we burst in with accusations, this could spiral."

"Then what?" Vermior asked, still holding the unconscious child.

Sage looked toward the sky. "We appeal to her as a mother. This is a child. Show her that pain. Let her see it for what it is. Not an offense to her court but a plea for justice."

Noctis added, "And if she had nothing to do with it... she'll want vengeance just as badly."

Vermior stared down at the boy. Then nodded.

They would not start a war.

Not yet.

They would start with truth.

Lioras Pov

From the pavilion overlooking the grove, Liora stood beneath the marble awning, anxiously watching the forest edge. Rain threatened on the horizon grey clouds gathering like silent sentinels. Her mother’s weather charm would soon be released.

She clasped her hands tightly in front of her gown, hoping Noctis would return with his offering before the first drops fell.

A sudden tremor beneath her feet stole her breath.

The ground quaked.

A guttural, pained roar split the air inhuman and devastating.

Around her, the waiting ladies froze. Irisel turned sharply, golden eyes wide. "What in Vaeluna?"

Liora stepped forward, heart pounding. In the distance, trees fell in rapid succession, their trunks crushed beneath some monstrous force. A plume of fire lit the horizon.

Then they saw it.

A grotesque dragon deformed, thrashing in agony barreled into view, shrieking with rage.

"That’s not one of ours," Myrelle whispered, eyes glowing faintly.

Before anyone could respond, another form crashed through the sky—a second dragon, majestic and controlled, humming instead of roaring.

The first beast began to still, flickering with strange magic before vanishing entirely, as if undone by the other's presence.

Liora turned to her sister. Myrelle’s pupils had vanished, replaced by glowing green. A vision seized her.

When her eyes returned to normal, she gasped. Without a word, she pointed to the edge of the forest.

A moment later, the men emerged.

Noctis. Sage. Vermior his arms cradling something small, wrapped in Sage’s hunting cloak.

A child.

Liora’s breath caught.

And the storm began to fall