Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gang stood before a twisted, ivy-covered entrance to the forest. Birds flew overhead. There was a subtle tension in the air.

“Everyone packed?”, Frida asked.

“Got my bug catching net. And snacks. And... my headphones”, David answered, rummaging through his bag to check if he had all his stuff.

“You know we're here to find the right mushrooms to complete my trial, right?”, Frida asked. “We're not out for a calm stroll in the forest”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it”, David explained, already putting on his headphones.

Before Frida could respond, Louise interjected,
“This place gives me goosebumps. Are we sure this is the only place were those mushrooms grows?”, she said, adjusting her backpack.

“Yes, it is. And if we don't find these mushrooms before sundown I won't complete the trial. The mushrooms are called Thundertufts, they're only found deep in the forest and glow when storms are nearby”. Frida responded.

“So......what do they look like?”, David asked casually, still listening to music.

“Well, they're blue and fuzzy with silver streaks on top that kinda look like lightning. Oh, and they're sensitive to sound, if you make a loud noise near them, they explode!”, Frida answered.

“Yeah, and my mom told me that elves used dried Thundertuft powder to amplify spells during thunderstorms......and as fancy lightbulbs.”. Hilda added.

“Cool, then let's go looking for them”, David concluded, as he walked into the forest and the rest followed.

Trees arch overhead like watching giants. The Freaky Four are mid-search, pushing through ferns and underbrush. Hilda led the group, determined. Frida had her field journal out, scanning the area for the mushrooms. David was swatting at gnats with his net to add to his bug jar as Louise was taking scenic pictures of the trail on her camera.

"Thundertufts only grow near quartz-heavy soil... we’re close. The air feels charged.", Frida said, flipping through pages as the surveyed the area more thoroughly.

"Look for blue caps with silver streaks. Fuzzy, like an old troll’s beard." Hilda added, crouching and brushing moss aside. "Oh, and remember, they're dangerous so no loud noises, or they might explode"

"Why do we always have to find the dangerous ones? Can’t we hunt for, like, friendly lettuce?". David responded nervously.

"It's like they have a vendetta against us or something", David commented.

"Wait—over there. Something’s sparking!". Louise exclaimed, pointing in the distance.

They push through a thick patch of brambles and stumble into a small clearing. There—clustered around a cracked stone—are the Thundertufts, glowing faintly with silvery pulses. The group quickly rushed to pick a few and complete the trial, not noticing when the wind suddenly picked up.

"Ok I think that's enough.", Hilda said as she stood up from where she was picking the mushrooms. Suddenly, the mushrooms started glowing brightly as a steady hum could be heard emanating from the ones still on the ground. "Wait, they’re... humming?", Hilda stated, eyes wide.

"That’s not humming. That’s... a warning.", Frida stated cautiously.

One of the mushrooms lets out a tiny crack! like static. Then another. Then, the loud bang of thunder could be heard, directly above the four. Seconds later, torrents of rain descended on the quartet.

"Oh no.", Louise exclaimed.

"I knew the mushrooms had it out for us!", David shouted.

"We need shelter—now!", Hilda shouted, grabbing her bag.

The gang sprinted through increasingly dense trees. Rain soaking their clothes. Frida shielded her journal under her cloak. Twig yelped as lightning cracked above. Hilda shouted random directions that made zero sense.

"I thought you said left!", Louise panted.

"I did—your left, not your other left!", Hilda yelled randomly.

"They’re both my left when I’m panicking!", David screamed.

The rain eventually lightened, but the group slowed, soaked and exhausted.

"Where are we?", Hilda asked, inspecting her surroundings as if trying to pinpoint something familiar.

"This is just great, now we're wet, cold and hungry, just how are the supposed to get back before sundown?!", Frida vented, fists clenched in frustration.

"I'm sure we can find a way out if we walked a bit", Hilda responded, ever the optimist.

" I think I see a clearing up ahead", Louise called out from in front of them, pointing in a certain direction.

"See Frida, there's probably a path back to Trollberg from there", Hilda said, as she gestured Louise to lead the way.

The four walked along the damp forest floor, with Twig trailing a little further behind, some fur still standing on end because of the static, till they reached what looked to be a wide chasm with no visible bottom at the edge of the forest. A trail into the meadows just on the other side.

"How are we supposed to get across this?!" David shouted, pointing towards the gorge they just came across

“We can totally jump this.”, Hilda said, staring down at the gorge that separated her and the gang from a path back to Trollberg.

“You’ve lost your mind,” David blurted, backing away like the gorge might lunge at him, holding tightly to his bug jar. “That’s not a jump, that’s an open invitation to plummet.”

“She might not be completely wrong,” Frida said, squinting at the opposite ledge. “But also, she’s mostly wrong. Very wrong. Besides, we're already tired from all the running from the rain”

“Guys I think I recognize this place on the map, there should be a bridge upstream,” Louise pointed out, scrolling through her map like it personally offended her. “We could be there in about ten minutes. Alive.”

“But think of the story! ‘Young adventurers brave deadly gorge after battling a terrible storm with nothing but courage and questionable judgement!’” she quipped, bouncing on her heels like that would help physics.

“I’m thinking of the headline: ‘Teen Boy Cries Loudly While Falling Into Gorge—Rescue Unsuccessful.’” David countered.

“Alright, democracy time. All in favour of the bridge and not dying today, say Aye!”, Friday interjected.

“Aye!”, Louise and David said simultaneously, a little too eagerly. Even Twig nodded his head in agreement, and no, Hilda did not feel betrayed by that at all.

“Fine. But if the bridge snaps, I get to say I told you so while we fall.”, Hilda huffed.

As the Freaky Four were hiking along a narrow trail, the forest behind them faded into shadow, while ahead, a rickety rope bridge stretched across a deep gorge. The wind howled low and eerie. Hilda looked extremely done with everything.

“We could’ve just jumped. One solid leap. Two seconds of mild danger. No drama. We'd already be on our way home by now.”, Hilda muttered, arms folded.

“You say ‘mild danger,’ I say ‘certain death.’” Frida retorted, eyeing the hundred-foot drop.

“Also… that gorge is literally wider than my attention span. So no.”, David quipped, clutching his jar of bugs closely.

“Let’s not forget you thought a bird sneeze was a ghost last week.”, Louise responded dryly.

“It echoed!”, David exclaimed defensively, startling Twig who looked at him with a slightly annoyed expression.

"Sorry buddy", David responded sheepishly.

“We’ve all jumped worse. Remember the Stone Troll Ravine?”, Hilda remarked.

“Yes. And I also remember the sprained ankle and three hours of you denying you were limping.”, Frida retorted snarkily.

As they neared at the bridge’s edge. The wind suddenly died down. A cold stillness creeped over the path. Twig stopped in his tracks and growled defensively in the bridge's direction "What's wrong, boy?", Hilda asked with a concerned expression.

“Uh... guys?”, Louise stiffened. "What's that?"

As the others glanced towards the bridge they saw a tall, cloaked figure with antlers branching from its head like skeletal trees. Its eyes glow faint green beneath the hood. Its face was almost indistinguishable, except for a snout protruding from the darkness of its face as it stood by the bridge.

“Is that... normal? Please say it’s a very tall, misunderstood hiker?”, David said hesitantly, already backing away.

“No. That’s... Black Shuck.”, Hilda responded quietly, tense. "I've seen him before when I would explore near the sea back when I lived outside of Trollberg"

“The ghost hound of storms and death? He’s supposed to haunt coastal towns! what is he doing in the middle of a forest ”, Frida exclaimed, flipping open her spellbook, preparing for a confrontation.

"M-maybe he got lost b-because of the storm earlier", David replied, trembling nervously.

“Toll required to cross the bridge...”, Black Shuck growled in a low, guttural voice.

The ground vibrated subtly. The figure began to advance, claws scraping the wood as the shadows lengthen behind it.

"I'm starting to reconsider jumping the gorge", David muttered.

"Too late for that now", Frida responded, eyes still fixed on the figure.

“We are so not paying him, are we?”, Louise stated nervously. “Cus I'm a little short on cash”.

”No. But I’ve got a bone to pick with a spirit who picks fights on bridges.” Hilda replied, gritting her teeth and steading her hands to use her fairy magic.

"I hate how we keep getting ourselves into life or death situations", David sighed, reading himself for a fight.

"But then we wouldn't exactly be the "Freaky Four", now would we?", Louise chuckled out nervously as she also assumed a battle stance.

The Black Shuck lunged from across the bridge like a nightmare let loose, its massive form blurring with speed, antlers like twisted branches silhouetted against a strobe of lightning. The friends barely had time to react.

Key word barely.

Frida moved first.

Pages of her spellbook fluttered wildly in the wind as her fingers danced over ancient symbols, eyes sharp despite the panic.

“Lux vincit umbras!” she shouted, voice steady, her outstretched arm directed towards the creature.

A glowing sigil ignited mid-air, firing a blast of pure light straight into the creature’s chest. The Shuck recoiled, snarling, smoke curling from its fur where the light struck.

Then Hilda charged next with no hesitation.

With a running start, she slid beneath the creature as it attempted to attack again, its clawed swipe reaching for Hilda. She swiftly dodged it, her fingers brushing the mossy ground. The faint shimmer of fairy magic sparked at her fingertips. With a huff of effort, she clapped her hands together—and a burst of tiny blue sprites exploded from the forest floor, swarming the beast’s face in a flurry of wings and stings.

“That’s for scaring Twig and trying to charge us, you oversized deer-dog!”

And speaking of Twig—

The fox-deer leapt with a surprisingly vicious snarl, tiny fangs biting into the Black Shuck’s ankle. The creature howled in rage, trying to shake him off—but Twig held on like a fuzzy chainsaw, tail bristling.

Louise was already in motion.

Eyes glowing faintly, she whispered under her breath and sliced a finger across her palm. The illusion shimmered into existence beside her—a copy of herself standing tall and unbothered, eyes glowing white.

The Shuck, which now had its focus on Louise, hesitated, then turned and lunged at the illusion.

Too late.

It passed right through.

“Gotcha,” Louise whispered with a smirk, wiping the leftover blood on her trousers.

David’s hands trembled—but he reached into his bag.

“Okay. Okay. Time for the big dumb idea.”, he said, voice unsteady.

He yanked out a worn catapult, loaded with a round mushroom stone, pulled back—

“Eat this!”

Thunk

The rock smacked the Black Shuck square in the jaw. It roared in shock, more offended than hurt.

Then it turned.

Eyes locked on David.

The creature sprinted. Fast. Too fast.

David froze.

“Oh no. Nope. NOPE—”, He panicked, quickly coming back to himself.

He tried to move, to dodge or get out of the way but he was too slow.

Hilda and Frida shouted. Louise reached for him. Twig barked.

But the Black Shuck was already in the air, claws raised.

David raised his arms, bracing for pain—

And then the ground shifted.

Like a breath held too long, the earth surged up in front of him—twisting, warping, forming a wall of rock and roots. It happened in a blink. The Shuck crashed into it with a bone-jarring THUD, rebounding with a snarl of disbelief.

The others stared, wide-eyed.

Frida’s jaw dropped.

“David...?”, Frida asked cautiously.

David blinked, his vision blurred as he tried to focus on the wall in front of him "What.......?", he drawled out before he swayed—then collapsed.

The Black Shuck backed away, its form beginning to dissolve into mist and shadow. It gave one last hissing growl before vanishing into the fog, the echo of its retreat lingering like thunder.

Silence returned. The wind blowing slowly again.

Louise rushed to kneel beside the unconscious David.

“Is he breathing?!”, Hilda asked frantically.

Louise nodded, eyes wide.

“Yeah. He’s just out cold.”, she responded in a sigh of relief.

Frida looked at the earth-wall he’d conjured. Still standing.

Mist still clung to the ground like a stubborn fog blanket. The Black Shuck was gone, but its presence left a crackling silence in its wake.

David was unconscious, laying carefully on the moss and grass beneath them. His chest rose and fell—shallow, but steady.

Frida hovered nearby, flicking through her spellbook with trembling fingers.

“He’s not hurt. Not really. Just... burned out. That much magic all at once—it must’ve drained him completely.”

Hilda knelt beside them, brushing David’s soaked hair out of his face.

“He’ll be fine. We just need to get him home.”, she said determined.

Twig whined softly, nose nudging David’s hand like he was trying to will him awake.

“Then let’s move.”, Louise said firmly, eyes glowing faintly.

She stood slowly and raised her hands, whispering something under her breath. Around them, shadows began to gather and curl, forming into a hovering, gossamer illusion-sled of swirling fog and green light.

Frida added her own magic—sigils locking the shape in place, giving it a solid frame and warmth.

Hilda helped lift David onto it, gently.

“You better appreciate this when you wake up,” she muttered with a soft smile.

The illusion-sled glided across the rickety bridge, silent but glowing, David resting safely in its centre. The girls walked on either side—nervous eyes scanning the mist, still wary of any other possible threats that could make themselves known before the reached Trollberg

Below, the gorge rumbled faintly, still alive with storm water and echoes.

The bridge moaned under their weight, but held. Twig trotted ahead as lookout, ears sharp and tail up.

By the time they reached the edge of the city, the sun was close to setting as the evening pink began to colour the sky.

The illusion was beginning to flicker. Louise looked pale. Frida was yawning mid-walk.

“We’re almost there,” Hilda said, picking up pace. “His house is two streets over.”

A few moments later, they reached the entrance to David's house.

They banged on the door—loudly.

It flung open. Mrs. Ahlberg—a tired-looking woman with a bathrobe and mug of tea—froze mid-sip.

“Girls?” she blinked. “Why—?”

She cut herself short as she glanced at the drenched, tired-looking girls and then her eyes locked on David, limp and silent in Hilda’s arms.

“Oh my stars—David?!”

“He’s okay! He’s fine! Just—uh—sort of magic-shocked?”, Frida said hurriedly

“Yeah. Turns out your son’s secretly an earthbender. Also, we fought a mythological death hound. Surprise.”, Louise deadpanned.

“...Come in. All of you. Now.”, Mrs. Ahlberg said.

Later, they all gathered in the living room after Mrs. Ahlberg had offered them some food and a nice warm bath.

David lay bundled on the couch, warm under three blankets, still unconscious. Twig curled up on his stomach. The girls sat in a row on the floor like kids about to confess to stealing cookies and blowing up the bakery.

Mrs. Ahlberg paced once, then stopped.

“Start from the beginning. And I mean all of it.”

They looked at each other. Frida sighed and opened her journal. Louise rolled her eyes. Hilda took a deep breath.

“So... we were looking for mushrooms.”, Hilda started.

Inside the Ahlberg living room that evening,

The rain had stopped hours ago. The storm was just a memory humming in the silence. The only sound was the ticking of an old wooden clock.

Mrs. Ahlberg sat in her armchair, hands wrapped around her mug, staring into the steam like it held answers.

Hilda had just finished the whole story—mushrooms, illusions, Shuck, the bridge, everything.

Mrs. Ahlberg didn’t speak for a long time.

Then she finally said, with a breathy laugh—

“Well... guess I owe you all a story too.”

The girls leaned forward, their interests piqued

“Wait, you know what that was? What he did?”, Frida asked, surprised.

Mrs. Ahlberg nodded slowly.

“I come from a long line of creatures, called Druvenari. Forest spirits. Guardians of the wild—nature-touched, some people used to call us.”

Louise's eyebrows nearly vanished into her hairline.

“And you didn’t think to mention this before now?”, she asked.

“I didn’t think I had to,” she admitted. “David’s father was human. Completely ordinary. I assumed David took after him. I mean—he used to scream at butterflies.”

Hilda snorted.

“He still does sometimes.”, she commented.

“He hated mud, bugs, fresh air... He didn’t even like hiking! So I thought, alright, no point dragging the forest secrets into his life. He was happy being normal.”

She sighed, her gaze softening as she looked at David, still sleeping.

“I never imagined he’d inherit anything. And now...”

Her voice trailed off.

Then, as if on cue—

David groaned.

Twig perked up with a soft bark. Frida scooted forward. Hilda’s eyes widened.

“David?”

He blinked blearily, squinting up at the ceiling.

“Did anyone get the number of that ghost deer truck that hit me...?”, he asked groggily.

“Welcome back, Captain Coma.”, Louise beamed.

David sat up slowly. Then frowned.

“Wait—why does my whole body feel like it ran a marathon through a compost pile...?”

Mrs. Ahlberg got up and moved to kneel beside him.

She cupped his face gently, brushing hair from his forehead.

“David, sweetheart. I need to tell you something.”

His eyes widened.

“Oh no. Am I grounded?”

“No. You’re... magical.”

Beat.

“...I’m sorry, what?”, David asked in disbelief

“You have powers. Real ones. You used them today. You protected your friends. You used the forest like it was part of you.”

She hesitated. Then:

“You’re not just human. You’re part Druvenari. Like me. I just didn’t think you’d ever... awaken.”

David stared at her like she'd just told him he was half banana.

“This feels like something you could’ve, I dunno, mentioned before I almost got eaten by a walking storm beast.”

She smiled softly.

“You didn’t like nature. I figured you'd never need to know.”

David looked down at his hands. Flexed his fingers. The tips glowed faintly green.

“Huh.”, he murmured, still staring at him hands.

Then the room went quiet.

“So... how do you feel?”, Hilda asked, breaking the silence.

He paused.

"I feel like I’m gonna need a very long nap. And maybe... a plant.”

"I’ve got three in my backpack.”, Frida answered.

“One of them bites.”, Louise added.

They all laughed—even Mrs. Ahlberg, whose shoulders relaxed for the first time that night.

The weirdest part?

David smiled.

“Okay... I’m a forest wizard now. Cool. I can work with that."

Chapter Text

Two weeks had passed since the fight in the forest, and quite a lot has changed.

David, now fully initiated into the world of nature magic, had spent every afternoon since training with his mum—who, as it turned out, descended from a long line of nature spirits. The Ahlbergs’ backyard had become a private jungle of sorts, with vines that moved when spoken to and moss that glowed under moonlight. Hilda, Frida, and Louise had been doing their own research too, trying to piece together what the Black Shuck’s appearance meant—especially after Ms. Ahlberg confirmed he shouldn’t exist this far inland.

Still, the forest was quiet for now. And today? Today was just a normal day.

Or, well… as normal as a Sparrow Scout meeting can be.

In the Sparrow Scout Meeting Hall that afternoon

David was holding a clump of dirt in his hand that had sprouted a single daisy. He stared at it like it owed him an explanation.

Frida nudged him.

"You know, you could just leave the soil alone for one day?"

David responded, mock-serious: "I tried, but it likes me now. We're in a committed relationship."

Ms. Bones, the overly chipper troop leader, clapped twice and beamed.

“This week’s challenge is all about your roots! You’ll each make a ‘My Family Tree’ chart as part of "Know Your Nest" week. It can be magical, physical, metaphorical, deeply emotional—whatever fits your family!”

Hilda rolled her eyes affectionately.

"So basically… therapy on construction paper?"

"Exactly!" Ms. Bones chirped.

Around the table, everyone got to work. David drew his mum with a swirl of green vines and a doodle of Twig in a crown (because why not). Frida's chart had clean lines, colour-coded sticky notes, and at least three flowcharts.

Hilda’s had fairies, elves, trolls and even a suspiciously smug-looking wood man.

Louise, however, hadn't picked up a pen.

Hilda leaned over.

“Need help with yours?”, she asked.

“Pass.”, Louise said, shrugging.

David raised an eyebrow.

“Wait… we don’t even know who’s in your family.”, he said questioningly.

Frida blinked.

“Yeah—do you have any siblings? Parents? Guardian trolls?”

Louise shrugged again, arms crossed.

“There’s my dad......”

“You have a dad?!”, all three of them exclaimed at once.

Louise sighed, rubbing her eyes.

“Did you think I was raised by trolls or something? Why is that a plot twist?!”

"Well, I thought you were raised by foxes actually", David said jokingly.

"Hah Hah, very funny", Louise said sarcastically. "......I don't know about any other relatives though."

Hilda, already pulling out her coat:

“We have to meet him.”

“No, you don’t.”, Louise replied, all too quickly.

“ Come oooon, We've literally risked our lives together multiple times, I think we can met your Dad”, Frida retorted.

"Yeah, and how come you never thought to mention your dad", Hilda added.

“He’s not plot relevant.”, Louise responded dryly.

“He is now.”, David said decidedly.

"This is gonna be a loooong day", Louise sighed, already exasperated.

"Alright scouts, pack it up, that's all for today. We can present them next week. Goodbye everyone, and remember to be careful, weird creatures have been popping up recently.", Ms. Bones said as she bid farewell to the kids.

After the Sparrow Scout Meeting, the four followed Louise to her house. Tucked into the foggy edge of town, surrounded by gnarled trees and tilted fencing, Louise’s house looked like someone had tried to assemble it from three different blueprints and gave up halfway.

"Are those... wind chimes made of spoons?" Frida asked.

"Possibly haunted spoons," David added.

"They're not haunted," Louise muttered. "They're just dramatic."

The porch light flickered ominously as they stepped up. Hilda knocked.

The door creaked open slowly with a low squeeeeak...

Silence.

Then—a booming voice from the darkness:

“WHO DARES APPROACH THE LAIR OF THE UNSEEN?”

The gang jumped.

Frida gasped, clutching her chest.
David yelped and half-dove behind Hilda.
Hilda, stared wide-eyed.

“Okay. Nope. Not cool.”, she breathed, still shocked.

A figure walked out slowly from the shadows of the hallway. Tall, thin, dark-haired man with sharply defined cheekbones emerged, doubled over in laughter, to greet the kids.

“Kidding!", he said, wiping the tears that stung his eyes from all the laughing. "Hi. I’m Greg.....", he said, still clutching his stomach from he laughter. He continued. ".... You must be the chaos crew Louise mentioned not mentioning.”, he said after straightening himself. "It's been quite a while since she's brought guests over."

Louise, completely unfazed, walked past him and into the house.

“He does that. Every. Time.”, she huffed in annoyance.

Greg, now leaning casually on the doorframe, nodded.

“Keeps the reflexes sharp.”

David, still behind Hilda:

“I think my soul just tried to evacuate my body.”, he said shakily

Chapter Text

Inside, the house was a chaotic museum of oddities: glowing crystals, shifting portraits, a couch that growled when sat on (David found out the hard way), and a poster that read “Believe in Beetles.”

Frida examined a crystal orb that showed blurry shadow-figures dancing in a forest.

“This stuff’s legit magical. Where’d you get it?”

Greg shrugged with a faint smirk.

“Some of it I bought, some I borrowed, and some of it just… appeared. Magic’s weird like that.”

Louise, sipping juice from a “World’s Most Tired Daughter” mug:

“Translation: he hoards magical junk and then forgets where it came from.”, she said bluntly.

Hilda looked around, wide-eyed.

“So... you’re like Louise? Magic and illusions and all that?”

Greg, deadpan as he plucked a floating key from the air,

“Ah, you’ve caught me. Yes—trickster spirit, former shapeshifter, part-time illusionist. Retired now. Ish.”

David, blinking as a deck of cards shuffled itself on the table,

“Yeah, that checks out.”

Frida, nodding slowly,

“Honestly? Not that surprising.”

“You’re all so hard to impress.”, Greg said, mock-wounded.

“Welcome to my life.”, Louise said, dry as ever.

“She got that from her mum. She once turned a mayor into a goose, you know. Beautiful woman.”, Greg added, smiling into the distance with a look of pride and longing.

“Wait, really?”, Frida asked, tilting her head.

“Yeah.He said it was on the news. For like... five minutes. Then everyone mysteriously forgot.”, Louise answered.

“Those were the days.”, Greg said, nostalgic.

The four were scattered around Greg’s living room, now suspiciously cozy. Hilda sat on a couch that had stopped growling, David nursed a cup of something that smelled like cinnamon and lightning, and Frida had curled up on the floor, flipping through a levitating photo album, filled with pictures of just Louise and her dad, that refused to stay still.

Frida looked up, curiosity flashing in her eyes.

“So, Greg. What exactly did you do before you, uh... semi-retired?”

“Oh, the usual. I once convinced a troll king his nose had been stolen by a squirrel. Gave a banshee voice lessons. Taught a thunderbird how to moonwalk.”, he replied, grinning.

“...Huh?”, David said, blinking in confusion.

“She had rhythm, David. And the skies were never the same.”, Greg said, leaning back, arms behind his head.

The group lounged comfortably in Greg’s cluttered but oddly charming living room. Teacups balanced on mismatched furniture. Greg, perched with impossible balance on the back of a recliner, looked over the three kids with a sly smile.

“Alright, so how’d you lot meet my daughter? Don’t tell me it was something boring like ‘school’ or ‘a tragic paper cut.’”, Greg asked, playfully squinting.

“Oh! It was a Sparrow Scout thing, actually.”, David perked up.

“Yeah, we were sent to find as many fish species in the river as possible. Harmless enough… until we got lost.”, Frida added.

“And met a merman. Not the charming, shell-combing kind either.”, Hilda continued with a sigh.

“Oh, one of those. Let me guess—flowing hair, reality-warping ego, trapped you in an aquatic death maze?”, Greg interjected.

“Close. He offered us to help us find our way back but tricked us into his undersea cave instead. He wanted to perform for us. He made us listen to his terrible jokes and awful singing.", Frida answered, mock-shuddering.

“He wanted to keep us there. Forever.”, David deadpanned.

“Monstrous.”, Greg commented, wide-eyed.

“We managed to convince him to let us leave but only if we found the right tunnel out, but they were all illusions. They all looked crazy and outrageous, we couldn't tell the fake. We were about to pick the wrong one.”, Hilda continued.

“We were rowing straight into a mirage—probably would've ended up as his audience for eternity.”, Frida added, nodding.

“I still dream of his terrible singing…”, David said dramatically.

“But then Louise noticed before we chose it, she noticed the merman would laugh when we were making a wrong choice and use her camera as a lie detector of sorts, her pictures would show the truth, and just went: ‘That one. Fake. That one. Also fake.’”, Hilda said, chuckling at David's earlier comment.

“She spotted the illusion, and we were able to go out the right tunnel.”, Frida concluded.

Greg, pausing… then beaming with pride,

“That’s my girl. Honestly, she’s got a better eye for illusion than I ever did."

“We basically owe her our freedom and not being stuck watching him remake 'The Scales of Passion: Season 98.'”, David half-joked.

“I still say that sea beast could’ve gotten an Emmy.”, Louise said, entering with a tray.

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.”, Greg said softly.

“I’m ignoring that.”, Louise said, smiling slightly as she set down the tray.

“Okay, but seriously—do you have, like, a whole family of tricksters? Or is this a solo mischief situation?”, Hilda asked.

At that, Greg paused.

The room suddenly felt… still. The hovering photo album dropped to the floor with a thud. Even the ticking-backwards clock stopped for half a second.

Greg said, voice lighter than before,

“Oh, well, you know. Old stories. Complicated bloodlines. Foggy records. Probably cursed paperwork.”

He stood abruptly and turned toward the kitchen.

“Anyone want more tea?”, he asked hurriedly, leaving before he could get a response.

"Did I say something wrong?", Hilda asked, a little worried.

“No, He always does this." Louise answered, not even looking up

“What do you mean?”, Frida asked, frowning.

“I don’t know much about our family either. It’s always jokes and riddles when I ask. I think he’s hiding something.”, Louise responded softly.

“Do you know anything about your family at all?”, David asked

Louise, quiet now, “Not much. Just Dad. Everything else is smoke and mirrors.

A beat.

Greg returned, tea tray in hand and a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Some stories aren’t safe to tell, kids. Not yet.”, he said gently.

The others exchanged glances.

He cleared his throat, his tone shifting as if trying to change the topic.

“Anyway. That’s not the mystery that’s bugging me today.”

“Then what is?”, David asked curiously.

Greg turned toward the window, his brow creased.

“The forest. Something’s wrong. Creatures turning up where they shouldn’t. The energy’s... warped. Out of tune.”

“Like what we saw with the Black Shuck?”, Frida asked, concerned.

Greg, nodding, “Exactly. And it’s not just here. The last time I passed near the fairy realm, something felt... off.”

The room stilled. Hilda sat forward.

“Wait—you’ve been to the fairy realm?”, she asked, surprised

Greg, raising a brow, said “Of course. Tricksters and fairies go way back. Both fond of riddles, illusions, dramatic exits—though they’ve always been a bit snobbier about it.”

“I thought only the fairies could travel between the realms.”, Hilda said, stunned.

“Let’s just say there are other doors. And some of us know how to knock.”, Greg responded, tapping his nose

“Okay but… has literally everyone’s family been to a secret realm but me?”, David asked, half-joking.

“Give it a week.”, Louise responded dryly.

Greg, now serious again continued, “If the fairy realm’s balance is cracking, it’s only a matter of time before the wrong things start leaking into ours.”

Hilda leaned back, her mind clearly racing.

Frida, thoughtful asked, “So what do we do?”

Greg gave a small, enigmatic smile.

“We keep our eyes open. And maybe… follow the cracks before something bigger crawls through.”

Chapter Text

The rain had mellowed to a mist as the Freaky Four stepped outside into the golden hue of a Trollberg sunset. The streetlights flickered on, glowing through the trees like little fairy beacons.

Frida, pulling up her hood, “Okay, your dad is… objectively terrifying, but also kind of a legend."

“He gave me three mini heart attacks and a pancake recipe.”, David said, rubbing his arm.

“Yeah. Now imagine living with that every single day.”, Louise added.

Hilda, a little quieter, “He said something important though. About the forest… and the fairy realm.”

They all exchanged a glance, the atmosphere heavier now than it had been when they arrived. Without saying much else, they parted ways—each lost in thought.

Inside Hilda's Living room that evening

Rain tapped gently against the windows as Hilda entered the house, shaking the chill from her coat. Tontu lounged on the sofa with a pillow over his face, Twig was taking a nap, not noticing Hilda's arrival, Alfur scribbled in his journal at the kitchen table, and Johanna stood near the stove, stirring something warm-smelling.

“There you are. How was your visit to Louise’s?”, Johanna asked.

“Surprisingly… pretty normal, considering what we've experienced. We learned a lot. About tricksters. And fairy stuff. And David’s dad jokes.”, Hilda responded.

“I’ll pretend that last part made sense.”, Johanna said.

“I, for one, would love a full transcript.”, Alfur interjected.

“Later, I need to call Aunt Astrid.”, Hilda answered, already heading for her room.

Moments later, inside Hilda's room

The soft shimmer of blue magic illuminated Hilda’s desk as she placed her hand over the crystal orb—a gift from Aunt Astrid when her training had begun.

"In case questions pop up faster than your fairy wings grow in," Astrid had said. Hilda was starting to understand just how useful that gift really was.

The orb pulsed, then flared as Aunt Astrid’s spectral form appeared inside it, glowing and just slightly transparent.

“Hilda! Still doing the fairy magic exercises I gave you? Or did you blow up another hedge again?”, she asked cheerfully.

“I’ve mostly kept the explosions to a minimum.”, Hilda responded, smiling sheepishly.

Aunt Astrid, chuckling, “Progress."

"Remember how I told you about the Black Shuck in the middle of the forest?", Hilda asked.

"Why yes, I remember saying I'd look into it, why on earth would a sea farer be in a forest", Aunt Astrid responded.

"Yeah well, you're not the only one who thought it was weird, which brings me to why I've called, I need to ask about tricksters. Have you ever heard of them?”, Hilda asked, now serious.

Astrid blinked. Her teasing expression faded.

“Now that's a name I haven't heard in a long time.....You met a trickster?”, Aunt Astrid asked.

“Louise’s dad. He said he’s been to the fairy realm. That something felt wrong, and it's causing the strange appearances”, Hilda replied, nodding.

Astrid leaned back slightly, her face dimmed by thought.

“Tricksters, they used to travel in and out of the fairy realm all the time. They’re not bound by the same rules. Wild, flashy, reckless sometimes—but brilliant. Phinium and I… we may have used one or two of those passages to sneak out when we were your age.”, she revealed.

“So what happened to them? I didn’t see any when I was there.”, Hilda questioned, frowning.

“They’re… gone, Hilda. Most of them. Something happened. A tragedy.”, Astrid answered hesitantly.

Hilda, leaning closer, “What kind of tragedy?”

Aunt Astrid, voice lower now, “I don't know for sure, but it was one that made the fairies close their gates to tricksters. Maybe for good. I don’t know if they were banished or just… faded out. But something changed. The elders would know, but I can't ask, since I was banished and all that". Astrid said, waving at nothing dismissively. "And if our realm is noticing shifts now... it might not be over.”

Hilda, murmuring, “And Louise and her dad are still here. In our world.”

“Then you may be walking alongside the last of their kind.”, Astrid said, nodding solemnly.

“Louise's Dad, Greg, thinks it’s the fairy realm that’s the problem.”, Hilda stated.

"I'll look around for anything that might give us a clue into what happened to them" Aunt Astrid said.

"Thanks, Aunt Astrid", Hilda said.

“Till then keep your eyes open, featherlight. Tricksters and fairies… we share more than we realise. If the fairy relam’s cracking, then ours might be next.”, Aunt Astrid concluded, her image fading in the crystal orb and the light went out.

Back at Louise's house that evening

Greg and Louise are tidying up the living room. Crumbs from biscuits, a mug left on the windowsill, and a half-folded blanket show signs of the gang’s visit.

"Well, that was a whirlwind. Still wrapping my head around David flinging boulders and Frida shooting light out of a book like it’s Tuesday.", Greg comments with a light chuckle as he folds a blanket.

"They’re not boring, I’ll give them that.", Louise responded while picking up empty cups.

"I’m glad you found them, y’know. Real friends. People who accept you, weirdness and all.", Greg said, grinning softly.

"Yeah... me too.", Louise replied, smiling faintly.

They pause for a second in the warm silence before Greg’s brow furrows slightly, a thought catching up to him.

"Wait. Back up. They were talking about the fairy realm like it wasn’t some old legend. How do they even know about it?", Greg questioned.

"Oh, Hilda’s part fairy.", Louise responded, blinking innocently.

Greg freezes, halfway through setting a cup down. His expression shifts into genuine shock, eyes wide.

"...What?..."

Chapter Text

One fine morning in Johanna's car

Johanna’s car hums along a quiet gravel path flanked by dense forest. A warm golden light peeks through the canopy above. She’s at the wheel, relaxed, one hand loosely on the gearstick. Hilda rides shotgun, pressed against the window in anticipation. Frida and David are squished in the backseat with Twig sprawled across their laps, his tongue flapping out the open window.

“Can’t believe it’s been this long since we were out here. Remember the mud? The screaming?”, Johanna said, smiling as she watched the forest roll by.

“And the way we had to run when it tried to web you to the ground? Good times.”, Hilda responded as she grinned.

David, suddenly alert, “Wait—what tried to web who?”

“Yeah. You’ve been real cryptic about this ‘old friend’ of yours.”, Frida said, narrowing her eyes

“He’s mellowed out a lot since then.”, Hilda answered, all too casually.

“Since then?!”, David said, panicking.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t think we’d ever be making a return visit voluntarily. But he has changed.”, Johanna added, chuckling to herself

“Okay, wait. Who exactly are we visiting?”, Frida questioned.

“You’ll see.”, Hilda answered innocently.

Frida and David exchange a worried look.

“You three usually roll with Louise on stuff like this. Why isn’t she here?”, Johanna said as she glanced at the rearview mirror.

Hilda, after a beat, “We stopped by her house earlier.”

Flashback to earlier that morning, outside if Louise's house

  The house stands slightly crooked beneath the morning clouds. Greg opens the door, blinking as if they’d interrupted a nap—or a prank he didn’t finish setting up. Hilda, Frida, David, and Twig stand expectantly on the doorstep.

Greg, squinting, “Well well well. If it isn’t the adventuring trio and.....", he glanced at Twig ".....a deerfox with better hair than me.”

“We’re heading out to the swamp to visit an old friend. Thought Louise might wanna come.”, Hilda said cheerfully.

“Wait—what kind of friend are we talking about?”, David asked Hilda, suspension heavy in his tone.

“You’ll see....”,she responded with a vague grin "....sooo is Louise here?" 

Greg, scratching the back of his neck, a flicker of tension in his posture, “Yeah, nah. She’s not here.”

“She isn’t? She literally told me to remind her. Three times.”, David asked, confused.

“Change of plans. We're having a dad-daughter day. Trickster things.”, Greg answered, hesitating just a bit.

“She didn’t mention anything yesterday…”, Frida said.

Greg’s eyes dart briefly toward Hilda. The grin falters just slightly. His tone shifts.

Greg, “Peachy. Just... not the day for certain adventures, I guess.”

He pauses, then forces the grin again, a bit too sharp.

Greg, “Anyway, tell the swamp beast I said hi. Or don’t. Never really vibed with that old eight-legged amphibian.”

David, slowly, “Wait. Swamp what now?”

“Eight-legged?”, Frida asked in surprised.

But Greg has already shut the door.

Frida and David exchange alarmed looks. Hilda just shrugs and heads for the car like everything is totally normal

Back to the Present, still in Johanna's car 

The mood is slightly quieter now. The woods are growing mistier, and a familiar hush has fallen over the road like the trees are listening.

"That's the third time these past two weeks!", Hilda said, frustrated.

“That whole thing felt off.”, Frida said quietly.

“Yeah… not bad off. Just... Greg-Off™.”, David added.

“He’s protective. Tricksters tend to be. As would any parent”, Johanna reasoned without looking away from the road.

Hilda doesn't respond, just watches the trees blur past, lips pressed into a thoughtful line.

“We’re almost there.", Johanna said.

In the outskirts of the swamp, later that morning

The blue car rumbles to a stop near a sunlit trail thick with moss and mist. Tall reeds sway gently under a breeze. The air is humid, but alive with birdsong.

Johanna switches off the engine and stretches.

“Still smells like mildew and forgotten boots.”

Hilda opens her door, smiling.

“Ah, the welcoming bouquet of the swamp. Brings back memories.”

“Why is it always the creepy places with the most important magical stuff?”, Frida said, wrinkling her nose.

David, stepping out with a confident flourish and holding his bug-catching net like a weapon,

“Because nature’s dramatic, Frida. I relate.”

Twig sniffs at the mud, his tail up at attention.

At the lake, moments later

The trees part into a sun-drenched glade. A glassy lake stretches wide, sparkling gently. At its heart stands a towering weeping willow, its massive trunk gnarled and ancient, its golden-green branches swooping low to one side like a waterfall of leaves.

Hilda blinks.

“That’s... odd. He’s usually here.”

Johanna, eyes narrowed,

“Yeah, that is odd. Let’s spread out. He may just be hiding.”

“Big, mysterious swamp creature playing hide and seek. Sounds totally normal.”, David sadi, grinning.

As they circle opposite ends of the lake, the mist thickens like rising breath. Visibility shrinks.

They fan out to continue the search.

But as they navigate around the lake’s edge, a low mist curls up suddenly, unnaturally, like something exhaled it.

There’s a moment of confusion. Frida turns back—

“Wait—Hilda?”

Silence.

She and David look around and realise

Hilda, Johanna, and Twig are gone.

"Where did they go?", Frida wondered aloud "I could have sworn they were right behind us"

“Okay okay okay. Don’t panic. But like... medium panic.”, David spirals, already panicking.

“We’ll circle back. Maybe we just took the wrong turn around the lake.”, Frida said, trying to reassure him.

As they push forward through the dense overgrowth and misty terrain, something moves.

A large shadow stirs. A wet breath escapes the mist.

Crack.

A massive shadow looms out of the fog. The creature emerges—eight massive limbs shifting through the mire. Its body was broad and humped, coated in mossy green that draped over it like a living cloak, trailing strands of muck and riverweed. Each of its jointed legs moved with the weight of centuries, squelching softly in the mud as it passed. The creature’s head stretched forward, smooth and rounded, like a boulder shaped by wind. Smaller, orb-like nodules stretched in a line behind it, glowing faintly with a warmth that felt almost watchful. Despite its size, it didn’t feel monstrous. It felt old. Older than Trollberg. Older than fairy realms or magic spells. Like something that had been here long before anyone thought to draw borders or build walls—and something that might still be here after they’re all gone.

But that didn't stop David and Frida from being absolutely terrified.

The creature snorted, it's balance unsteady, eyes unfocused.

"What is that thing?!", Frida exclaimed, part surprise, part terror.

“Don’t move. Maybe it can't see us”, David whisper-yelled 

The creature growls, lowering its stance like a predator. Staring directly at the two teens 

"Okay, I was wrong. Maybe it can see us", David said hurriedly.

In a swift motion, David waved his hand. Roots explode upward from the ground like snakes, coiling between them and the creature. The vine barrier trembles, blocking a lurching strike from the creature.

Thinking in her feet, Frida grabs David's hand as they sprint into the fog, the creature already tearing through the barrier and hot on their trail

“Frida! David?!”, Hilda shouted, calling out for her friends

"How did they get lost?, Johanna asked, puzzled. "They were right behind us."

"I'm not sure."

Then suddenly, Twig's ears perked up before Hilda and Johanna could hear screaming in the distance that was fast approaching. Before they could react Frida and David burst from the mist, the creature chasing not far behind them. Twig barks as he assumed a battle-ready stance.

Hilda runs toward it, glowing blue sparks flickering from her fingertips.

“Hey! You remember me!”

The creature halts mid-step. Breathing heavily. Eyes sharpen.

Then, it spoke;

“Ah..Hilda... the fairy. I remember.”, it said in a low, gravelly, ancient voice

“Oh! He talks. That’s—cool. And terrifying.”, Frida said, panting.

“No kidding. He almost pancaked us.”, David added, also exasperated.

The creature shifted, settling down beside the lake like a falling mountain.

“I was lost in my bones. The rot... clouds the mind.”, the creature said.

Later on, at the lake-side clearing

They sat along the lake’s edge. The willow tree’s branches sway softly over the water.

David stood knee-deep in the water, flicking his net with comical precision.

“If I catch a magic bug, I’m naming it after myself.”

Frida, cross-legged with notebook open:

“I have questions. Lots of questions.”

The creature lifts its great head.

“Where are you from?”, she starts

“From the breath between the first dawn and the second.”

“Okay. Wildly unhelpful.”, she deadpanned.

“He's always been like this. It's like he’s allergic to straight answers.”, Hilda said as she claimed a root.

“Fine. What’s your name?”, Frida tried again.

“I have had many. You could not say the first. You may call me... what you wish.”

“Okay, that’s so metal.”, David said, grinning.

Frida, scribbling:

“Spider-Frog it is.”

Hilda continued climbing up the willow.

“Don’t fall again! Remember last time!”, Johanna called up to her.

“That was one time and it was majestic!”, she responded indignantly.

Twig barks supportively.

As the dusk sets on a quiet moment,

The laughter fades into a warm silence.

The creature lies curled in the water, eyes half-closed.

“You’re quiet.”, Hilda noticed aloud.

“The weight of the world... grows heavier.”, the Spider-frog answered, cryptic as usual.

“What do you mean?”, Johanna asked, worried.

“I am an anchor. One of few that remain. My life holds the threads of this world apart from others.”, the creature explained.

“You mean like... dimensions?”, Frida inquired.

“Realms. Realms of fire and root. Of wing and breath. Yours. Theirs.”

“So what’s happening?”, David asked, frowning.

“The realm you call ‘Fairy’... withers. And I with it.”, the creature answered in a low voice.

“Can you show us?”, Hilda asked.

“Yes.”

A green pulse expands outward, and they are pulled into vision.

They stand in the Fairy Realm, but it’s not whole. Half of it glows with radiant, impossible beauty: floating trees, glowing rivers, giant mushrooms and laughing fairies.

The other half is rotting—trees crumbling into black husks, streams reduced to thick, acidic sludge. Spores hang in the air like ash.

In the sky above, a massive golden mask hovers—faceless, watching.

The ground begins to fold in on itself like crumpled paper—

Then, flash.

They all stagger as the vision ends.

“That’s not just decay... that’s collapse.”, Frida exclaims 

“It’s dying.”, Hilda adds, her voice shaken.

“And if it dies...?”, David asks apprehensively.

“The seams will split. And all will spill into all.”

“Meaning... Trollberg won’t just get weird creatures anymore.”, Johanna reasoned.

“It will become something else. Something... no longer yours.”, the Spider-frog confirms, in a grave voice.

The group sits in stunned silence.

“Then we have to find out what’s causing it. And stop it.”, Hilda whispered, voice full of determination.

In Louise's house, immediately after Greg closed the door that morning 

Greg rests his forehead briefly against the closed door, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath since Hilda showed up.

He straightens and walks down the hallway with slow, heavy steps.

In the living room, Louise sits on the couch, arms crossed, fuming quietly. A board game is still half-set up on the coffee table. She glares at it like it personally betrayed her.

Greg enters, brushing his hands together, casual—but too casual.

“Are you seriously doing this?”, Louise asked.

Greg, trying to dodge:

“Doing what?”

“Blocking me from going anywhere with my friends. Making excuses. Saying I’m ‘busy’ when I’m clearly not. You’ve been doing this since that day. I thought you wanted me to make friends that like me for who I am.”, she ranted, standing.

“I do but.....I’m protecting you.”

“From what, Dad? Hilda? David? Frida? They’ve been through everything with me.” Louise bit back.

“From the parts of them you don’t understand.”, Greg's voice was stern.

“You mean Hilda being part fairy? Because I told you that two weeks ago. And nothing’s changed since.”, Louise retorted, confused.

“Exactly. Nothing’s changed. And that’s what’s bothering me.”

Louise, voice rising:

“You say I don’t understand—but you won’t tell me anything!”

Greg’s face hardens.

“Why are you acting like this? What is it with you and the fairy realm? Every time I've brought it up since then, you shut down like someone flipped a switch.”, Louise asked, shaking her head.

“Because I’ve seen what happens when tricksters and fairies mix. And I won’t let you get pulled into it.”, Greg clipped quietly.

“So that’s it? I get grounded for someone else’s magical genetics?”

“You’re not grounded.”

“Sure feels like it.”

She paces a little, trying to contain the anger in her chest.

“You say you’re protecting me—but from what, exactly? You never tell me anything about tricksters, or about our family, or where Mom went—”

Greg goes still.

“You won’t even say her name.”, Louise added softly.

“This isn’t about your mother.”, Greg said quietly.

“Then what is it? Just tell me the truth for once!”

Greg stares at her. And for a moment, it seems like he might actually say something.

But instead, he mutters:

“Some stories are safer left buried.”

“So I just go through life with a gag order and a last name that nobody will explain?!”

Greg, suddenly sharper:

“Because the last time a trickster tried to rewrite their story with fairy magic, our entire race of people paid the price.”

Louise blinks. She takes a step back.

“...What?”

Greg exhales again, regret in his eyes now. Like he said too much. Like he always says too much, or not enough.

“Just... stay away from the fairy stuff, Lou. And especially from whatever’s starting to crack open again.”

“Then maybe start treating me like someone who deserves to know why.”

She turns and walks away. Greg watches her go, jaw tight.

A beat of silence.

Then, softly to himself—

“Because if you knew... you might try to fix it. And that’s what I’m most afraid of.”

The house has settled into silence, thick and uneasy. Somewhere down the hall, Louise’s bedroom door slams shut, firm and final. Greg doesn’t move right away—just stands there, staring at nothing.

Finally, with a sigh that sounds like it was pulled from his bones, he crosses the living room and opens the narrow cabinet tucked beneath the stairs. It creaks like it hasn't been touched in years.

He reaches in and pulls out a small, silver-framed photo, the edges dulled with age. The image is of him and a woman—his arm slung over her shoulders, both grinning like they’d just played a trick on the world. Her smile is bright, but her eyes are ancient. Eyes that knew things. Eyes like Louise’s.

Greg stares for a long while. Then slowly, he turns the photo over.

On the back, scrawled in delicate script:

“Alys Varricklow”

The ink is slightly smudged, like it had been held too tightly once—by someone afraid to forget it.

Greg closes his eyes.

"She always said Louise would end up just like her...”

He sets the frame back down gently, but the way he stares at it says he never truly let it go.

“Gods help us if that’s true.”

The door slams. Louise throws her backpack onto the bed and collapses into the beanbag with a growl.

“He’s so impossible,” she mutters into the air. “Every time I try to talk to him, it’s like—like he’s the only one allowed to know things. Like I’m supposed to just sit here and not ask questions about my own mum?”

She kicks off her shoes and throws a pillow across the room.

“And what even is his problem with them anyway?! Like, what—they smiled too hard and that offended his ancient trickster ego?”

She huffs, covering her face. Silence. Just her heartbeat and the low whirr of magic flickering faintly in the walls.

PING.

Louise looks up.

Her phone screen lights up from where it buzzes on the bed. The lock screen reads:

✨ Freaky Four Ever ✨

Her friends. Hilda. Frida. David.

She stares at it for a second, lips pursed… then shakes her head and ignores it. She mutters something like, “Not in the mood,” and stands.

She walks to the centre of the room and waves her hand.

A faint shimmer of light splits from her chest. It hangs in the air, twisting, stretching, and then—a perfect illusion of herself forms, seated on the beanbag, arms crossed and muttering fake complaints about Greg.

“Keep the attitude going,” she mumbles. “Wouldn’t want him to think I’m calm.”

Louise slips out the window, as quiet as mist.

In the Outer Streets and back trails of Trollberg that afternoon 

The sky is soft and grey. That kind of cloud-thick quiet that smells like rain but never delivers.

Louise walks the back roads of Trollberg, winding between crooked trees and sun-dappled fences. Past overgrown garden plots and crumbling signs with forgotten shop names. This route is familiar. Safe. But not boring.

She kicks a stone. It rolls down the path and stops at the edge of a low, mossy wall.

She sits.

Thinking.

As time passes.

Somewhere in the trees, a low sound hums—not birdsong. Something older. Like wind through hollow wood.

She looks up.

In the distance, a small, spectral light flutters across the sky. Not abnormal. Not quite. It blinks, then fades. Louise blinks with it.

“...Figures,” she mutters. “Even the weird magic’s not in the mood today.”

She continues walking absentmindedly as the scene slowly changes behind her, from the meadowed fields outside Trollberg to the hooded forest. She walked over a gentle sloping hill, think to herself on if she should be heading back when..

The breeze shifts.

It gets cold—not like evening cold.

Sharp. Wrong. Like it dropped straight out of winter and forgot to tell the trees.

Louise lifts her head.

Her eyes narrow.

The light of the surrounding area is gone.

"That can't be right, it's only afternoon", she mutters to herself.

She steps off the trail. Something’s off. The sounds are… too quiet.

A rustle. Then a sharp crack from deeper in the woods.

She whirls around, hands instinctively flexing. Her illusion magic buzzes under her skin—she’s ready.

From the fog between the trees, something emerges.

Not a beast. Not a shadow.

Something thin, bipedal, snarling, with a head too wide and eyes too many.

Its limbs stretch like insect legs, plated in greyish bone that clacks as it moves.

“Nope,” Louise breathes, already turning.

The thing leaps.

She dives, rolls under its lunge, then flings up her hand—

“SCATTER!”

Three copies of herself splinter off in all directions, sprinting into the woods.

The creature pauses. Sniffs. Roars.

It chooses one and tears after it—an illusion—but not for long. Louise scrambles up a hill, gripping branches and skidding on mud, chest heaving.

Behind her, the monster realises its mistake.

And screams.

Not a growl. Not a roar.

A piercing, static-heavy screech like a radio dying.

“Okay, so we’re skipping pleasantries,” she pants.

"That's fine with me, I wasn't exactly dying to meet you anyway

It comes again. This time, from above.

Louise looks up.

It’s crawling through the trees.

She ducks just in time. Twigs explode where her head was a second ago. Her foot catches a root—she tumbles down a short slope and crashes into a bush.

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then she slowly emerges, leaves in her hair, nose bleeding slightly.

“Alright,” she mutters, wiping her face, “time to pull a classic Louise.”

She flings both hands forward—five illusions burst from her, sprinting in five different directions.

The real Louise melts into the brush, quiet as shadow.

She doesn’t stop running until she’s halfway back to Trollberg.

The thing doesn’t follow.

But its screech lingers in her ears for the rest of the night.

Inside Louise's room later 

Chapter Text

The Registry was quiet that morning.

Not exactly the comforting kind of quiet, but more like the low, humming hush of a place where knowledge didn’t like to be disturbed.

Frida stepped through the grand oak doors of the Witches’ Registry with her satchel tucked tight to her side, boots clicking softly against the stone floor. The flickering witchlights in the chandeliers above made shadows ripple against the ancient stone walls.The building smelled of old parchment, dried herbs, and secrets,

Her favourite kind of place.

Her boots echoed softly as she passed shelves that shifted on their own—massive bookcases wheeling away or slotting into place without human hands. The place felt... watchful.

A place that had seen more....knew more, than it was willing to say.

She approached the front desk, where Mentor Elira stood like a guardian statue, pale robes swishing around her as she  annotated a floating parchment with fliks of her ringed fingers.

“Registry access is limited today. We’re still cataloguing the anomalies. Realm shifts like this have happened before—though rarely this severe. No entries into Realm Histories past Level II.”, she said, not looking up

“I’m only looking into minor realm anomalies. Just hoping to cross-reference some events with fairy realm records. Something to help my friends understand what we’re walking into.”, Frida responded with a practiced politeness.

Elira paused, her gaze finally flicking to Frida’s face. Her expression was unreadable.

“Fine. Level I and II are open. But nothing from the pre-Moon Accord years unless you have written approval from the High Circle.”, she answered.

With a wave, she summoned a black token marked with twisting silver glyphs.

“This will let you into stacks five through nine. Watch the shelves. Some of the older tomes don’t like to be touched.”

Frida gave a tight nod and turned away, clutching the token. As she passed under the archway into the deeper stacks, she whispered,

“Moon Accord? Gotta look that up later…”

Later in stacks 7-9 of the Registry,

The deeper shelves were quieter still.

No sound but the occasional flutter of pages turning themselves, or the mechanical shfft of enchanted ladders sliding along the walls.

She’d been at it for an hour. Nothing but dry diplomatic logs, vague fairy census records, and several overly poetic essays on “inter-realm harmony and decorum.”

She scanned volumes with titles like

“Realm Weather & Crosswinds”

“Fluctuation Reports of Interdimensional Zones”

“Fairy Diplomatic Relations: A Timeline”

She was hoping for a pattern, a hint, even a misplaced footnote—but the fairy texts were sterile. Beautifully written, immaculately kept, and completely empty of anything she didn’t already know.

“Where are the weird books?”, she said in a frustrated whisper.

She paused near the very back of Stack 9. Something tugged at her attention— Her fingers brushed a book that didn’t look like the rest. It had a scuffed green leather cover, gold inlay half-faded, and was crammed crookedly between two volumes that practically radiated bureaucratic boredom. It didn’t glow or whisper like enchanted tomes usually did. If anything, it felt like it wasn’t supposed to be there.

She slid it out. The spine read

“Misc. Observations – Cross-Realm Interactions | Undated”

The moment her hand touched it, the air cooled.

Frida opened it slowly, careful not to snap the brittle spine. Inside was cramped handwriting, water-stained sketches, notes scrawled in the margins. It looked less like a book and more like someone’s field journal. It looked forgotten. Hidden.

She flipped through until she found a passage that made her freeze.

“…While most of the realm’s inhabitants maintain little patience for Tricksters, their presence remains tolerated. Mostly seen near wild zones. Never during Court events, per Queen’s decree.”

Frida read it again.

Tricksters?

The illustration beside it was rough—figures with long limbs and odd, spiraling masks. A few sat on tree limbs, one danced midair, and others stood beside fairies in what looked like casual conversation. Some had features uncannily similar to someone she knew.

Louise.

No modern text she’d ever read mentioned Tricksters in the fairy realm.

She kept reading, but the rest of the page had been damaged, was it deliberately?, the ink blurred, edges burnt. Someone didn’t want this remembered.

“Why were they erased?”, she said under her breath.

Grabbing her satchel, she stuffed the book inside and turned sharply. She wasn’t done.

She spent the next hour hunting more books from the same period, anything older than the Moon Accord. Most were dusty, handwritten, with broken bindings and smudged diagrams—but scattered across them was a pattern:

Tricksters attended early realm gatherings.

They lived near border zones.

They had their own magic system, separate from fairy enchantments.

Something referred to only as “The Breaking of the Bridge.”

And then... nothing.

“Where did they all go?”, she said quietly to herself 

Every time Tricksters came up, they vanished just as fast, as if they were cut off mid-page, scratched out, or absent in the next volume.

It wasn’t just forgotten history. It was removed.

Frida sat back in the creaking leather chair, heart racing a little.

“What happened to them…?”, she thought to herself.

The answer wasn’t in the books. But the silence was loud enough to make her skin crawl.

Something had happened. Something no one wanted remembered.

~lil brek~

David's Backyard that Morning,

Warm, golden light filtered through the trees behind David’s home. His backyard garden was wild in a way most gardens weren’t—deliberate chaos. Flowers tangled with vines, stones sat in perfect spirals, and glowing mushrooms pulsed under the shade of a crooked willow.

David stood barefoot in the grass, arms out, eyes closed. A breeze stirred the air around him, not natural wind, but something that moved in sync with his breath.

From the porch, his mum watched with quiet pride, sipping from a chipped mug with “#1 Plant Mum” on the side.

“Don’t force it! Feel the current like water. Don’t punch it, float with it.”, she called out to him.

David exhaled. A thin green thread of energy unspooled from his palm and coiled upward, twisting like ivy. He grinned. This part didn’t scare him anymore.

“What if I want to punch it?”, he replied snarkily.

“Then you’ll explode a cactus again, and I’m still finding needles from last week.”, she laughed in response.

He focused again. The energy shifted into a small glowing orb, which sprouted leaves and slowly took shape, first a seedling, then a tiny, living flower suspended in air.

He opened his eyes and smiled.

But behind the smile, his thoughts were full of the creature from the lake. The anchor zones, the spider-frog’s warning, and the growing certainty that things were about to spiral fast.

The leafy flower still hung in the air, slowly rotating like a mobile caught in a gentle breeze. David lowered his hand, letting it drift down and land softly on a moss-covered stone beside him.

He turned toward his mother, brow furrowed with a question that had been itching at the back of his mind for days.

“Hey… Mum?”, he started.

“Mm?”, she answered, still sipping her tea.

“All these weird things happening lately—cracks, creatures showing up where they shouldn’t be. Do you feel it too? Like... something big’s shifting?”

She lowered her mug, expression suddenly more serious. She took a slow breath before answering, eyes flicking to the treetops.

“Yes. I feel it. The land’s breathing differently. It's heavier. Older magic is stirring that hasn’t moved in years.”, she said carefully.

David stepped closer, his voice dropping.

“But if you feel it… why can’t we stop it? Isn’t that—wasn’t that—our whole thing? The Druvenari… we’re supposed to be guardians, right?”

His mum smiled softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was weight behind her next words.

“We were. Once.”

She gestured to the wild garden, to the strange, natural harmony of the place.

“The Druvenari were born of the land itself. Our line could see the seams between realms, nudge the gates open, or seal them shut. But that kind of magic… it’s old. And like all old things, it’s been worn down.”

David blinked. This wasn’t the kind of story she usually told.

“What happened?”

“Thirty years ago, there was a shift. A tear somewhere. Not in our realm—between them. The balance fractured. Our powers didn’t vanish… but they dulled. Like a bell that had been cracked.”, she said after a long pause.

She ran her hand gently over the bark of a nearby tree. It responded, subtly, but David noticed the twitch of its leaves.

“Since then, we’ve been watchers, not guardians. We tend, we feel. But the gates? The anchors? Those are… beyond us now.”

"Was it a creature? Or some kind of realm storm?”

“No. It wasn’t natural. It was a war.”, she said quietly.

David froze.

“A war?”

She nodded slowly, eyes distant, clearly remembering something she’d never told him.

“Not a war of humans. Not even of Druvenari. A realm conflict. We weren’t in the center of it, but… we felt the aftershocks.”

“Between who?”

His mum didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, she knelt and traced a circle in the dirt with her finger, an ancient symbol David recognised from his lessons.

“That... I never learned. All I know is that something....someone came through that weren’t meant to. And something else was lost trying to stop it.”

David stared down at the symbol. His heart was beating a little faster.

“...Is that why everything feels like it’s breaking now?”

“Maybe. Or maybe what broke back then was just never truly fixed.”, she said after a beat.

She gave him a soft, tired smile.

“That’s why I’m training you. Not because I think you’ll fix everything. But because I think you’ll have to stand in what comes next.”

David didn’t answer. Not right away.

He looked back toward the woods, where the wind rustled through the leaves, and the air felt charged with something unseen, like the earth itself was waiting.

~another lil brek~

In Hilda's bedroom, late that morning 

Hilda shot upright in bed, heart hammering like it was trying to escape her chest.

Another nightmare.

She pressed a hand to her forehead damp with sweat, and tried to steady her breathing.

Another dream.

No… not just a dream. A vision. A barrage of flashes, a sky split by violet fire, a field littered with wings and cracked masks. Cries in a language she didn’t understand. Whispers layered over whispers, like hundreds of people all speaking at once, desperate to be heard.

It happened again. Ever since they’d visited the lake… ever since they met the Spider-Frog… her nights had turned to noise and shadows.

Something about a weapon. Something powerful. Something final.

And yet none of it made sense. Just fragments, the twisted roots of a memory that didn’t belong to her. Didn’t belong anywhere.

She swung her legs over the bed, rubbing her eyes. The dream clung to her skin like cobwebs.

She didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. Not even with Mum.

But later that morning, as she sat at the breakfast table, still distant,  and still a little shaken, she finally asked, carefully

“Mum… have you ever had nightmares that feel… too real?”

Johanna paused mid-sip of her tea.

Then slowly set the mug down.

“I have,” she said after a long beat. Her voice was quiet. “Lately, actually. They're... strange. Loud. Not mine.”

Hilda stared at her. “Me too....

The… plans. The screaming. It felt like… I was there.”

Johanna sighed shakily. “Me too. I thought maybe I was just remembering old stories. Just fairy magic stuff, y'know. But they’re getting louder, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Hilda said, sitting beside her. “And I think… they’re not dreams. I think they’re memories. Or… warnings.”

They locked eyes across the table. Neither of them said the word “magic.” They didn’t need to.

But something was waking up.

And neither of them could ignore it anymore.

~lil break no.3 😏~

It had been about a week since the whole Spider-Frog fiasco, and since Louise had snapped at her dad. They hadn’t spoken about it, not even once. Greg acted like it never happened, like the whole night had been a weird dream he’d already forgotten. But to Louise’s surprise, he’d started letting her see her friends again, so maybe it wasn’t all bad. Still, something didn’t sit right. There was this nagging feeling in her gut, like Greg was keeping something locked away, he'd already revealed something to her during the argument but everytime she tried to talk to him since then he's avoided the topic like the plague. She didn’t show it, though and everything had been quiet......

Until today....

The front door clicked shut. The silence that followed was thick, not peaceful, but charged.

Louise waited a beat.

Then two.

Then she moved.

She padded softly out of her room, eyes flicking to the hallway mirror, her illusion-self flickered faintly, still posed on her bed, fake-reading a book. Just in case Greg forgot his keys again.

But he wouldn’t. He never did.

He was always careful.

Which is exactly what worried her.

She had spent too long brushing off his behaviour as stress, grief, overprotectiveness. But after last night’s argument, after everything, something in her had snapped.

She was tired of half-truths. Of being shielded. Of walking on eggshells around answers.

Louise had never dared step foot in Greg’s office before—he’d always made it clear it was off-limits. But after the group’s revelations and that strange sigil in the locket, the door had become less of a boundary and more of a challenge. There was an old riddle carved into the wooden trim in a barely visible script,

“I am keeper of memory, silent as snow.

I unlock with what only blood and time know.

Speak not my name, but name what is true—

The last word she said when she vanished from view.”

—a riddle she’d always thought was just decorative until recently. She’d gone over it again and again, pacing her room at night, mouthing the words like a code.

For days, Louise turned it over in her head. “She” had to mean Alys, her mother. But what had she said before she disappeared? Greg never talked about it, but Louise remembered something faint, a dream, maybe, or a story from when she was little. One word that echoed in her mind over and over lately: “Stay.”

She’d stood in front of the door that morning, whispered it, tentatively at first, then louder:

“Stay.”

A shimmer passed over the wood like frost melting. A lock she’d never even noticed gave a soft click. The air shifted. She hadn’t even touched the knob yet, but Louise knew.

Today, she was going in.

The door opened with a soft click. She exhaled.

Inside, the room smelled like paper, dust, and the faintest whiff of dried herbs, old ones. Her eyes scanned the shelves and desk. Neat, precise, obsessively so. Like someone trying to control their own chaos.

Louise opened drawers, flipped through notebooks, tapped on the back of books looking for false compartments. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing—

Until she tugged open the bottom drawer.

There, wrapped in worn velvet, was a small, tarnished locket.

She popped it open, expecting a photo.

And yes. There it was. A picture of a much younger Greg, his arms around a tired but beautiful woman with sharp, trickster-like eyes that mirrored Louise’s own. Her mother.

But behind them, almost hidden in the filigree of the locket’s hinge, was a sigil.

Etched so subtly into the metal, it shimmered faintly when caught in the light.

Louise’s breath caught.

It wasn’t just a keepsake. It was a key, or a lock, or something else entirely.

She leaned in, about to trace it with her finger

Louise spun the locket between her fingers, the soft metal warm from her touch. The sigil shimmered faintly as if reacting to her heartbeat. She didn’t know what it was, only that it wasn’t something her dad had ever wanted her to see.

She heard a chirp, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She tugged it out, screen lighting up with a familiar notification

✨ Freaky Four Ever ✨

🍄 FaeWeatherAdventurer:

“Hey. Anyone free today? Kinda need to talk. Like... really talk.”

-10:02 AM

🐛Bugged_Out_Boy:

“Same. Got something weird I wanna bring up too. Really, really weird.”

-10:03 AM

🧙‍♀️ Hexcellent_Frida:

“Weird is becoming our brand. Count me in.”

-10:04 AM

🎭 Not_An_Illusion:

“Let me guess. Nobody’s slept properly in days?”

-10:05 AM

🍄 FaeWeatherAdventurer:

“So our usual spot? Noon?”

-10:05 AM

🐛Bugged_Out_Boy:

 “I’ll bring my net for emotional stability”

-10:06 AM

🧙‍♀️ Hexcellent_Frida:

“And I’ll bring snacks and a completely legal grimoire”

-10:06 AM

🎭 Not_An_Illusion:

“kay”

-10:07 AM

Louise smiled faintly despite herself.

No one had said what they needed to talk about, but that was the thing. They didn’t have to. They all just knew. Something strange was stirring in the background of their lives, and they’d each felt it pulling at the seams in different ways.

She slipped the locket into her jacket pocket and glanced at the clock.

There were still a few hours before noon.

Plenty of time to dig up more secrets.

Or get dragged into new ones.

The four of them sat in their usual spot, a flat stone circle surrounded by reeds, a place that had once been just for exploring bugs and sharing sandwiches. Now it felt like a war table.

It’s quiet. Heavy. Like the air is waiting for them to say something wrong.

Frida hugs her satchel to her chest, glancing at the others. “Should we... start with what we’ve found?”

Hilda draws in a breath. “Okay, I’ll go first. I’ve been having dreams. Not the normal, wandering-through-soup kind. These are… vivid. Loud. Like I’m inside someone else. Someone powerful. There’s a council, a decision, and a—weapon? Something ancient. Something... dangerous.”

David tilts his head. “What kind of weapon?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know who they are. But they’re afraid of it. And angry. And I wake up terrified. Like something’s about to happen and I’m already too late.”

She swallows. “My mum’s having nightmares too. Not the same ones, but it can’t be coincidence. Right?”

David folds his arms. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

He glances at Frida, then back at the lake. “So... my turn. I asked my mum about my visions,  the ones that come when I use magic sometimes. And apparently, she’s had them too. Before she sealed her powers. She said they’re ancestral memories. Warnings passed through bloodlines.”

He picks up a stone and tosses it into the lake. “There was a war. But she doesn't know who started it. Or who was in it. But it fractured the realm. Left something unfinished. And that unfinished thing is leaking back in.”

Frida nods slowly, like she’s confirming a theory. Then she unzips her satchel and pulls out a dusty book with a library stamp from like three systems ago.

“I’ve been deep in the archive graveyard,” she says. “Old records, half-burned scrolls, notes that don’t exist anymore. And I found something weird. Like really weird.”

She opens to a dog-eared page. 

“Did you guys know... the Tricksters used to live in the fairy realm?”

Louise straightens a little too quickly. Frida notices but continues, slower now.

“They weren’t just visitors. They had homes. Families. Entire bloodlines. But somewhere along the way, something... wiped them out of the narrative. You can still find traces, if you dig deep, but most of it’s censored, like someone went in and edited history.”

Frida fidgets with the edge of a page.

“There’s mention of an ‘event’, something huge that wiped them out, but no clear records of what happened. Just these fragmented references to old families that... vanished. One of them keeps coming up.”

Louise blinks. “Wait, what?”

She turns the book around, showing faded blacked-out sections and bits that look like they were torn from the page.

She takes a breath. “The Eldren family.”

Louise stiffens. “Eldren...?”

Frida looks at her. “You know it?”

Louise shakes her head. “No. I mean, maybe? I think I've heard it before. Somewhere. It might be in one of our old books, but... I don’t know. It’s familiar.”

Her hand unconsciously goes to her pocket, where the locket rests, hidden but present.

Frida frowns. “It’s the only name that wasn’t totally scrubbed. Which is suspicious, honestly. Almost like someone wanted it to be found.”

David raises a brow. “Eldren. Sounds old, and regal.”

Louise looks down. The name tugs at something inside her chest like a splinter in memory. She doesn’t say anything else, not yet.

The conversation had gone quiet for a beat—each of them lost in their own thoughts.

David rubbed the back of his neck.

“Honestly? I think we need more than just our guesses. I’ll ask my mum. She might know how to help us track the anomalies better. She senses them before I do sometimes.”

Hilda nodded. “I’ll ask Aunt Astrid. She’s connected to the fairy realm in ways even she avoids talking about. If anyone knows how to detect dimensional breaches, it’s probably her.”

Frida was already flipping through her notebook, muttering under her breath. “I’ll bring it up to the mentors. Carefully. The anomalies appear to be problem that they're talking about it too, they might let me poke around the spell libraries. Or at least let me look at the restricted indices.”

David chuckled. “I still can’t believe you have restricted indices.”

“I can’t believe you don’t,” Frida quipped with a smirk.

Louise leaned back on her hands, still clutching the locket in her pocket. She said nothing, but her eyes stayed distant, troubled.

Hilda noticed. “You okay?”

Louise forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just... got stuff I need to figure out at home.”

With that, the meeting slowly dissolved. They said their goodbyes, waved off plans to hang out longer, and one by one, left.

Later that afternoon...

The house was quiet when Louise let herself in.

Too quiet.

No Greg humming in the kitchen. No off-tune whistling. No pancake experiments or practical joke mechanisms lying around. Just a note on the counter

“Working late. Don’t wait up. - Dad.”

Louise exhaled, staring down the hallway. Her mind was still spinning with what Frida had said.

The Eldren family.

She’d seen that name before. She knew she had.

She bit her lip, looked toward her dad’s office—and slipped inside.

The air still smelled faintly of ink and iron. His old magical trinkets were scattered across shelves, dusty but humming faintly with latent energy. She carefully scanned the room, fingertips grazing book spines, drawer handles, even the back of the desk.

Nothing.

The locket in her pocket pulsed ever so slightly. Almost like it was waiting.

She slumped in the chair, defeated. “Come on… there’s gotta be something.”

But then, her eyes drifted to the far wall.

Something felt... off.

The wallpaper didn’t match perfectly at the seams, only slightly, like it had been magically blended. The shadows around that area felt strange, too clean, too staged.

Louise slowly stood, stepped closer, and tentatively reached out.

Her fingers passed through the wall.

Her breath caught. “No way.”

The illusion shimmered like water as her hand pushed through the false surface, revealing a small inset alcove. And in it: a sleek, black-metal safe with a shimmering enchantment seal carved into the door. A Trickster glyph.

Louise’s heart pounded.

She reached into her jacket for the locket, maybe the glyph on it could mean something, but just then—

CLACK.

The front door lock turned.

Panic surged. She dropped the locket back into her pocket, swiped her arm across the desk to clear any trace she’d been searching, shoved the chair back, and slammed the illusion back into place.

She sprinted into the hallway just as the front door creaked open.

“Hey, starling,” Greg called casually. “You home?”

Louise poked her head out of her room, feigning a yawn. “Mhm. Just reading.”

Greg held up a greasy bag of takeaway. “I got fried dumplings. And I didn’t even accidentally order ghost pepper ones this time.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Cool. I’ll be down in a bit.”

She shut her door and leaned against it, heart still racing.

There was a safe. There were secret glyphs. And her dad had definitely hidden something big.

She slipped the locket out of her pocket and turned it over in her palm.

“Just what are you hiding from me?”

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight drifted lazily through the curtains of David’s living room, casting faint golden pools on the wooden floors. The room smelled faintly of eucalyptus and dried herbs, his mum’s usual magical prepping. David sat at the kitchen table, a half-eaten slice of toast growing cold in front of him., hands jittering with equal parts excitement and nerves.

“Mum… you know how you said our family was tied to something old? Guardians or whatever? Well...the Gang and I wanna try and track them, to discover a pattern that could lead us to where these 'cracks' originate. But we need your help......”

“So…” he contiuned, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “if I wanted to track a magical disruption...like a ripple in the air or something…how would I even begin?”

His mum, Elinora, arched an eyebrow from across the room. She was tending to a set of glowing jars floating in midair, preserved flora samples from the swamp. “Are you finally taking your guardian work seriously?” she teased, but her smile softened. “You’ve felt the fluctuations too, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” David nodded. “It’s like…pulses. Weird...like I’m hearing the trees breathe differently.”

His mum didn’t answer immediately. Elinora tilted her head thoughtfully, then she got up, when to a locked drawer, unlocked it, and returned with a curved wooden pendant inlaid with a green crystal. It pulsed gently with green light, a small wooden amulet carved with twisting vines.

“This belonged to my mother. It's called a rootcharm. It tunes to natural disruptions. Think of it like… a magical compass. You’ll feel a pull whenever something ancient stirs.

Oh and hold it over any soil that’s been affected. It’ll glow brighter and vibrate if the connection to the realm is thinning.””, Elinora said, pressing the amulet into his palm. 

David stared. “It vibrates? Like a phone?”

“Like a panic attack from Mother Earth,” she replied. “Handle it with respect.”

David gave a small grin. “You got it.”

David blinked. “Wait. You’ve had this in the kitchen this whole time?”

“It was next to the nutmeg,” she said dryly. “Good luck.”

Elsewhere, Hilda sat cross-legged on her bed, a thick blanket draped over her shoulders. The lights were dimmed, the air quiet. In front of her on the floor sat a crystal orb, humming with quiet power. It flickered, then sharpened into the hazy form of Aunt Astrid’s face.

“Aunt Astrid?” Hilda leaned forward.

“Hilda. You look pale. You eating properly?” Astrid asked, squinting as though she could peer into the room.

“Sort of, listen, I wanted to ask you something. There’ve been a lot of magical creature sightings lately. In anchor zones.”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “Anchor zones, you say? That’s...concerning.”

“They’re not random. The anomalies. They’re aligned with something deeper. David, Frida and I—we met with the Spider-frog, he confirmed its tied to the fairy realm. Or its collapse. We want to try tracking the anomalies before things get worse.”

Astrid went quiet for a moment, then said, “This is dangerous work, Hilda.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Astrid's eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve already been in contact with several, haven’t you?”

Hilda nodded. “They’re getting stronger. And... stranger.”

There was a beat of silence.

Astrid sighed.

She goes out of view, rummaging through what Hilda thinks is the locked chest near the fireplace from when she last visited, and a moment later,  she returned

“Fine.  But you’ll need this.” 

She produces a shimmering silver ring with a faintly glowing opal.

“This ring once belonged to a Watcher from one of the old Lighthouses. It’s attuned to disturbances in the veil between worlds. You won’t see cracks—but you’ll feel them.”

It hovered, then phased through the orb and dropped into Hilda’s lap, pulsing softly with pale blue light.

Hilda slipped it on. A flicker of movement blurs at the edge of her vision before disappearing. She sucks in a breath.

“Thank you, Aunt Astrid.”

Back at the Witch’s Registry, the atmosphere was more chaotic than usual. Magical sigils flared across wall maps. Papers flew on their own. Magical anomalies reports were pouring in by the hour.

Frida stood near the entrance hall, watching as her mentor, Kaisa, and a few other witches of the Registry, Mira, Wren, and old Verna, pored over incident reports.

“They’re multiplying faster than we expected,” Wren muttered.

“Why are they appearing in places we already stabilised?” Kaisa snapped.

Frida hesitated before stepping forward. “I—I think I might know why.”

The mentors turned. Wren raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Magical creatures have been appearing, too many, too fast. They’re tied to the fairy anchor zones, I’m sure of it.”

The witches glance at each other. One, Mira, stern and silver-haired, spoke

“Anchor zones? Those haven’t been studied in centuries.”

“That’s the point. They’re returning. I think something’s happening to the anchors. Maybe even… because the Tricksters used to be there.”, Frida replied firmly.

Instant stillness. The mentors stared at her, mouths slightly open.

Verna scoffed. “The fairies? That’s impossible. Fairies never tolerated outsiders in their realm. Least of all the Tricksters. They're barely any tricksters around anyways”

“I didn’t believe it either,” Frida said quickly, “but there’s this journal, I found it. It talks about a Trickster-Fairy war. That they lived together once. Before everything fell apart.”

“Do you have this journal?” Mira asked, her tone suddenly sharp.

Frida hesitated. The book was still in her bag, wrapped in old velvet. She pulled it out slowly and handed it to them, her fingers reluctant to let go.

The witches began to flip through the pages. At first, they wore expressions of professional doubt. Then confusion. Then—shock. One gasped. Another sat down. A third muttered a quiet incantation that caused the pages to shimmer, verifying its authenticity.

Verna’s hands trembled. “This journal...” She whispered. “It’s ancient. And these markings... they’re definitely fairy runes. Mixed with Trickster sigils?”

Frida nodded, voice a little more confident now. “If I could compare this to the old records... I might find more. Patterns. Mentions of this kind of alliance, or exile, or... something. Can I get access to the older parts of the Registry?”

“You’ve done well, apprentice,” Wren said finally. “Permission granted. Find everything you can. Cross-reference it with the anomalies and report back. Quickly.”

"But Frida, this might go deeper than any of us can imagine. So proceed with caution.””, Kaisa added.

Frida clutched the book back to her chest. Her mind buzzed with urgency, and questions. “I will.”

Louise watches her father Greg from behind a staircase banister. He’s walking slowly from room to room, lifting couch cushions, looking behind paintings, opening drawers—then closing them, unsatisfied.

Ever since she found the locket, Greg had been acting differently. Not panicked, not angry, but distracted. His eyes darted around corners when he thought no one was looking. He rummaged through drawers, overturned coat pockets, and once muttered to himself about whether or not he left 'it' lying somewhere while combing through their upside-down bookshelf 

“Looking for something?”, she asked casually over breakfast.

Greg jumped slightly, turned with an uneasy smile but he didn’t meet her eyes

“Ah, nothing major. Just something from work. You know how things get lost in this crazy house.”

Louise’s eyes narrow. “You never lose things.”

“Well, maybe it’s just my age catching up with me.”, he replied, chuckling nervously and ducked into his office.

But as she watches him walk off, Louise reaches into her pocket and fingers the locket. It was warm.. Something told her what he was looking for wasn’t a document. And it was closer to her than he realised.

The forest felt like it had forgotten how to breathe.

Branches hung still, limp and exhausted, as though the wind had passed it by. Sunlight filtered through the thinning canopy in dull patches, muted and colourless. The leaves weren’t dead, not in the crumbling, brown way autumn brings—but lifeless in spirit, like paper pressed between the pages of a closed book. Their trunks stretched impossibly tall, and their branches arched over the trail like rib bones. A dull haze hung in the air—neither fog nor smoke, just a persistent heaviness that pressed on the lungs and dimmed the light. Birds didn’t chirp. No bugs buzzed. Even Twig stayed unnervingly close to Hilda’s feet.

The Freaky Four had stopped talking about fifteen minutes ago.

Twig walked close to Hilda’s boots, nose twitching, but silent. This place wasn’t like any other part of the forest.

It wasn’t corrupted.

It was forgotten.

“This doesn't look like any part of the Trollberg woods I’ve ever seen, are you sure this is the right way?” Frida asked, adjusting her shoulder bag with her spellbook peeking out. Her voice was a whisper, like she didn’t want to disturb something. "Are we even sure this is the anomaly we picked up on?"

Hilda pulled the opal pendant from beneath her scarf, holding it up as it caught a flicker of grey light. “Pretty sure. Astrid said the opal would glow if we got close to old magic.” She tilted the gem. It shimmered faintly. “This counts.”

David kept walking, boots crunching against soft earth. “It’s not vibrant like the others… no animals, no plants blooming. It’s not rotting, it’s just-”

“-drained,” Louise finished.

As they stepped into a clearing framed by pale barked trees and scattered moss, still silent and on guard for any anomalies that might jump out at them.

David, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet, paused beside a wide oak. His fingers grazed the bark—and suddenly, he froze.

His breath caught. His eyes unfocused. And he staggered back a step before going completely still.

"David?" Hilda asked, stepping toward him, alarm flashing across her face.

But he wasn’t there. Not fully.

The forest transformed around him—like blinking and stepping into a different century.

The dull air was gone, replaced by a sharp, living clarity. Trees were thick with emerald leaves and twisted roots that hummed with power beneath his feet. Vines danced gently in a magical breeze. The sun was golden and strong here. The birdsong was everywhere. He could feel the presence of life vibrating in the soil.

Druvenari stood among the trees.

Their clothes were made from layered green-dyed fabrics stitched with living threads, vines, moss, and such idk plants, that shifted as they moved, never quite still. Worn boots were caked with soil and glowing spores, and some wore cloaks patched with hexagonal leaves that shimmered like beetle shells under the forest light.

Their skin wasn’t bark or stone, but it glowed, lightly freckled with pollen dust or delicate fungal markings like tattoos that pulsed in time with the trees. Necklaces strung with amber seeds, tiny bones, and thorned charms clicked gently as they worked. Their hair, tied up in braids or ponytails, was streaked with vibrant greens or earthy reds, not dyed, but grown that way.

They didn’t move like soldiers. They moved like caretakers, people who had lived side by side with the land for so long, they didn’t need orders. They felt what was needed.

Some were standing guard beside great standing stones. Others tended to strange plants that pulsed with slow magic.

David wasn’t really there, just watching, his heartbeat syncing to the slow rhythm of the forest.

A new figure came sprinting down a hill, cloak fluttering behind him. “There’s no time!” he called. “We need to send everyone we’ve got. The gate has to hold!”

Several others turned to him, alarmed.

“What happened?”

“They’re pushing through from the other side. We have refugees crossing. Families. Elders. Children. If we don’t hold the gate from our side, they won’t make it across.”

A woman stepped forward, her face older, marked with green ink like runes. “Where is this happening?”

The messenger took a shaky breath. "At the Elder Gate"

“Swa spræc se wind, swa hæfde we to gehyranne.” , the older woman replied, hearing this some of the other Druvenari immediately got up to help, following the messenger into the deep forest.

David’s chest tightened. The moment he heard the phrase-he knew it. Somewhere deep, carved into his bones. Something vital lived in those words.

“As the wind speaks, so we have to listen.”

The vision shattered.

David reeled back with a gasp, stumbling as if someone had shoved him. He caught himself on a root.

“Whoa, whoa! You good?” Hilda was at his side in a second.

“Vision,” David breathed. “It was a memory of sorts, I think. From this forest. But… before it became this.”

“What did you see?” Frida asked, already pulling out her journal.

“Druvenari,” he said slowly, rubbing his temple. “This place… it was alive. Glowing with magic. They were protecting something, a gate. And they were sending everyone they could to help hold it open. They said it was for refugees trying to pass through.”

“Where were they going?” Louise asked.

David’s brows pinched together. “I knew the name just a moment ago. It was… it was…” His eyes narrowed, straining to remember. “I had it.”

A sudden shriek shattered the clearing.

From the far edge of the glade, a blur of motion lunged into view, crashing through branches with unnatural speed.

Before he could speak, the underbrush exploded.

From the gray gloom, a creature of nightmare lunged. Its limbs were gaunt and elongated; its fur hung in ragged tufts. Its eyes were hollow lanterns, and its maw opened impossibly wide, revealing rows of broken, melting antlers instead of teeth. A low, bone-chilling howl rolled through the trees.

David flicked his wrist, roots erupting to trip the beast. It skidded, snarling.

Frida snapped her journal shut and gripped her spellbook.

“Ignis Arcus!”

A ribbon of flame shot from her fingertip, slicing through the air. The Wendigo yelped, its fur smoking, but it vaulted through, unharmed.

As the creature lunged, claws slicing through the dead air, Hilda exhaled sharply and gripped the opal crystal at her chest. It flared, he soft blue bleeding into gold.

‘Luméa fernwyn!’ she shouted, eyes flashing, and the grass erupted beneath the creature’s feet, tangling into glowing hands pulling it back into the earth. The air shimmered with the crackle of fairy magic.

The Wendigo charged them, claws gouging the earth. Louise leapt to one side, conjuring an illusionary double of Frida that dashed left and tripped the monster’s hind leg. It crashed, tearing up ferns.

David, voice steady, whispered the ancient words taught by his mum.

"Eorþgrip hældan!"

From the forest floor sprang hundreds of green shoots, thorned vines that wrapped the Wendigo’s legs and chest. It howled, thrashing, tearing at the vines.

Frida seized the moment

“Tempus Haltus!”

Time itself seemed to jerk, the Wendigo’s flailing slowed as if underwater. Its head lolled, eyes bewildered.

Louise stepped forward, illusion crackling in her palm. “Hey, Ugly. Wanna chase something shinier?”

"Ashes to echoes, shades to spades", she whispered under her breath while flicking her wrist,

She threw a second Hilda sprinting into the trees.

The creature lunged after it, and slammed face-first into a tree trunk.

“Classic,” Louise muttered.

David charged, flinging a stone he’d enchanted with his net at the creature’s hind leg—it exploded in green light, making the thing stumble again. But it wasn’t weakening. 

Then it turned

And ran.

“Go! Don’t let it get away!” Hilda called.

They chased it through the brush, ducking branches, tripping over roots. Just when they thought they were gaining—

It stopped.

Dead still in a field of mushrooms. A fairy ring. Its body trembled.

And then, without sound or warning, it collapsed.

Its body quivered. Steam hissed from its joints. And slowly, horribly, it crumbled, its flesh dissolving into inky mud that sizzled as it soaked into the forest floor.

They stared.

Horrified.

“What… was that?” Frida whispered.

Louise knelt by the spot where the creature had vanished. The grass hadn’t even been scorched. “It’s like it was never here.”

They gathered in a semi-circle, panting. Dirt-smudged. Frida’s journal open in her lap as she scanned her notes.

“Why do they come?” she asked aloud. “Are they searching for something? Hunting?”

Hilda shook her head. “Or being summoned.”

Frida scribbled a few final thoughts in her field journal, muttering, “So that’s… three creatures now. The one we fought at the bridge a few weeks ago, the one that ambushed Louise… and this thing.” She tapped the page with the butt of her pen. “All of them appeared suddenly, and then vanished into nothing.”

David gave a small nod, brushing dirt from the strap of his satchel. “Yeah. And we haven’t heard anything about them showing up again, anywhere. No rumors. No sightings. Not even a weird bug report.”

Louise furrowed her brow, hugging her coat tighter as if the idea unsettled her. “It’s like they’re one-offs. Like… they show up, cause havoc, then disappear forever.”

“Or worse,” Hilda said quietly. “They’re being… recycled. One creature appears here, then something else pops up in another anchor zone. Same energy. Same purpose. Different shape.”

David gave a thoughtful hum. “You think they’re linked? That they’re part of the same… force?”

“Or symptoms of the same sickness,” Frida offered, closing her journal with a soft snap. “If the fairy realm really is decaying, and if those anchor zones are connected—then maybe these things are like… magical flare-ups. Bursts of instability.”

“They’re not natural,” Louise said flatly. “Whatever they are, they don’t belong here. I could feel it when I fought that insect-thing. Its energy… it felt wrong. Like it didn’t even understand what it was doing here.”

“Then we need to figure out what’s pulling them through.” Hilda looked up, eyes sharp and clear. “Before more things come that we can’t fight.”

Chapter Text

The rain had finally let up by the time the group gathered again in Hilda’s cozy living room. Frida had just returned from another long research session at the Registry, still clutching a notebook full of scribbles. David was tending to a stubborn vine in a chipped ceramic pot he’d brought along, muttering gently to it under his breath. Hilda was curled up on the floor with Twig, a scatter of faded maps and ink-smudged notes spread across the coffee table in front of her. The room smelled faintly of tea and old paper, lit by the golden glow of the reading lamp beside the armchair where Alfur sat, flipping through a thick, dusty book with meticulous focus. Tontu was lounging upside-down on the ceiling beams, humming an off-key tune and occasionally dropping crumbs from a half-eaten biscuit. Johanna was out running errands, leaving the kids to their strange and growing mystery.

“We need to get organized. All these things we’ve seen, the monsters, spells, visions, it’s starting to become too much to just wing it.”, Frida started.

“Agreed.", Hilda responded. "Here’s what we know... 

They fell into a semi-organized back-and-forth, trying to lay out everything they knew so far:

• There were zones—anchor zones—where magic seemed denser, and where monsters appeared more frequently
• The fairy realm was decaying. The anomalies—creatures from myth of lands far away—were likely bleeding in through the cracks.
• Tricksters were connected somehow. Most records about them had been erased, especially ones involving the some sort of War.
• The registry(?) covered up something big. Frida’s uncovered fragments hinted at a conflict no one remembered.
• Every major anomaly seemed to echo with that same warping energy they felt near the spider frog and disappear after a short period of time.

“Don’t forget the attacks. The one at the bridge. The forest monster. The wierd bug creature. All different—but wrong in the same way.”, David added.

“You guys mentioned a vision when you met the spider-frog thing? Golden mask in the sky? What was that about again?”, Louise asked.

“That’s the thing. It wasn’t just a hallucination. We all saw it, same time, same image. A cracked sky, a golden mask peering through... like something watching us.”

“We thought it might be symbolic at first, but what if it wasn’t? What if the Spider Frog knew something—or was trying to show us something?”

“I say we ask it again. This time, with Louise.”, David suggested.

“You think it’ll say something different with me around?”, Louise inquired.

“You are a Trickster. That has to mean something.”,  Frida answered.

They agreed. Johanna, though wary, offered to drive them to the swamp again. The air was heavier than last time, like the humidity was pressing secrets against their skin. Even the trees bent differently, branches curling like they were listening.

The swamp was darker now, patches of unnatural black rot stretching out like a bruise. The Spider Frog’s cave was sagging more than before, draped in cobwebs that trembled without any wind. When they approached, it took a long time for the creature to slither out of the shadows.

Its multiple eyes blinked at them in slow recognition. It was weaker now, sluggish and wheezing slightly, but it still held that strange, ancient presence.

“Back again, children of the tethered line,” it rasped, voice sticky like honey in a dying jar. “Come to poke at the ruins of memory?”

Frida stepped forward. “Last time, you showed us something—something big. You mentioned the decay. You knew the mask. What was that?”

The Spider Frog shifted uncomfortably. “Memory is not a hallway you walk through twice the same.”

Hilda added gently, “You said something about the anchors weakening. And… the creatures. Are they all coming from the same place?”

“Some,” it croaked. “Some are drawn here. Some are pushed through. Others… leak.”

David looked at the webs lining the cave. “And the mask?”

The Spider Frog froze. “The mask watches. The mask was lost. The mask remembers even what we were made to forget.”

The air turned colder.

Louise stepped forward now, hesitant. “What were you made to forget?”

The creature didn’t respond. Not immediately. Its gaze slid past her—as if she wasn’t there at all. “The children of light. The queens of order. The elders who wrote the rules in stone then buried the stones.”

Frida glanced at Hilda, confused.

Then the Spider Frog suddenly blinked—violently, all eyes snapping to Louise like a magnet had switched on.

“You…!” it gasped. Its entire body recoiled like a struck harp. “Trickster-blood. I smell trickster-blood. You shouldn’t be here.”

Louise stepped back, confused and slightly alarmed. “Why not?”

“I haven’t seen one of you since…” it paused, shaking. “Since the Incident. Since they made us forget.”

“Who?” Hilda pressed, stepping forward now.

The Spider Frog whimpered. “The Queen. The Elders. The spell was cast to "protect" the realm—to erase the war. To erase your kind.”

“Erase who? The tricksters? But why?!” Frida asked.

The creature curled into itself, legs twitching.

“My memory… it’s broken. Like rotted wood. But one name remains....

Eldren.”

Time stopped.

The four exchanged glances like a chain reaction.

Frida spoke first, almost breathless. "That was the name in the journal I found. The one from the Registry archives. Eldren. It was scrawled next to notes on Trickster bloodlines. The only name that wasn't completely scrapped."

"You know who they are?" Hilda asked the frog. "Eldren? What do you remember?"

The creature shuddered, voice quieter now.

"Only fragments. They were... a family. A bloodline bound in jest and war. Chiefs among the Tricksters. Feared. Loved. Buried."

Louise's eyes darkened. "You said the queen made you forget. That the elders wiped your memories. Why? What happened?"

The spider frog sagged again. "I wish I knew. My soul has holes where truth once rested. But... you, Trickster girl, carry echoes of a storm. Maybe your presence will wake what I have lost."

The blue pulse in its chest flickered faintly.

Frida stepped back, breath shaky.

"We need to find out who these Eldren really were. Because if the frog remembers that name even through magical amnesia... they're not just a footnote. They’re central."

David nodded grimly. "This changes everything."

Louise didn’t speak. She just stared at the Spider-frog, like something buried inside her was slowly beginning to rise.

As the sun barely began to lighten the sky, Louise slipped out of bed and padded barefoot across the cold floor, her mind buzzing. The encounter with the spider frog still clung to her thoughts like mist. When it finally noticed her—really noticed her—it had shifted. Its voice changed, heavier, older. And that name. Eldren. She hadn’t even known it meant anything until she saw the others react. Now she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Eldren. A family. Trickster chiefs, according to the Spider-frog. Why did that sound so heavy? Like it was woven into her bones?

She sat by her desk and opened her notebook, flipping to a page she had scrawled with random threads from their investigation. Anchor zones. Fairy realm decay. Scrapped trickster records. Attacks getting worse. And now? Eldren.

Louise chewed on the edge of her pen, eyes drifting to the wall where Greg’s old map of the northern regions still hung, the one littered with tiny red pins from his earlier work. She remembered the worn leather of the journals in his office, the dust caked on top of books no one had touched since she was little.

She needed to go back in there. Not just to try to find any missing pieces about the Eldren, but maybe... maybe understand her family’s part in all this. If that name was connected to her parents—or worse, if they were hiding something about it—then it was time to stop walking on eggshells.

***

The Varricklow house, nestled between twisted trees and a garden that always looked slightly off-season, stood in eerie silence. The kind of silence that made the ticking of clocks sound accusatory. Louise stood in the corridor outside her father's office. She'd lost count of how many times she'd passed that door in the last week.

Every time Greg stepped out, she watched him with eyes narrowed, memorizing every shift in his posture, every delay in his answers. Ever since the incident with the locket, ever since the safe, he’d been different. Not more guarded (he’d always been guarded), but distracted. Like he was searching for something and couldn’t remember where he’d left it.

Today, though, Louise had planned ahead. Greg had left for work an hour ago, mumbling something about a Council report and needing to stop by a client’s place. He wouldn’t be back for at least five hours. And this time, Louise was ready.

She stepped into the office like it was enemy territory.

The scent of cinnamon and cedar hit her first, her father’s preferred illusion fragrance. Next came the heat shimmer of subtle glamours layered over bookshelves, old maps pinned to walls that weren’t actually walls, and paintings that might have been portals. The place was a magical funhouse of misdirection.

But Louise wasn’t here to play.

She crossed the room to the far wall and placed a hand on the spot where she had, last time, dispelled the illusion. The sigils from the first encounter had already faded from memory, but she remembered the shape of her magic as it unfolded, like unfurling ribbon from a spool. Her fingers glowed faint blue as she whispered,

"Reveal."

The wall shimmered, peeled, and faded.

The safe, iron-bound and ringed with ancient carvings, sat cold and immovable.

She stepped closer.

Louise knew better than to expect a simple keyhole. Her father didn’t do simple.

Above the center of the safe, engraved in faint glowing text, was a riddle:

"Born from truth, yet feeds on lies. Shows you others, hides your eyes. Speak my name to break the seal. Tell me, child, what am I?"

Louise stared. "Ugh. Seriously?"

A classic. Her father’s taste in trickster riddles was ancient, dramatic, and occasionally infuriating.

She muttered, "A mirror. You’re a mirror."

The safe clicked once.

Then a second line of glowing text appeared:

"Closer, yes—but now go deeper. The mirror is surface, not the keeper. Behind reflection, secrets stay. What leads you home and lights the way?"

Louise blinked. Now that one was trickier.

She sat down cross-legged on the office rug and tapped her chin. “What leads you home… lights the way…”

Was it "truth"? No. Too abstract. "Hope"? Too poetic. Her mind drifted from topic to topic, trying to remember anything her dad had said or done that could give her a hint to the answer, eventually she thought to her dad’s bedtime stories, the ones about his adventures before he semi-retired, the only time he talked about her mom. The line he used to whisper when tucking her in: No matter where you go, remember what we follow.

“What we follow,” she repeated under her breath.

Then it hit her.

“Stars.”

The safe gave a low, satisfied hum, as if pleased with her answer. But it didn’t open. Instead, a glyph emerged on the surface, an ancient trickster mark shaped like an abstract hourglass, curling at the ends like vines.

Louise gasped. She recognized that one.

It was the first glyph Greg had ever shown her. A symbol passed down through generations of tricksters. Its meaning was one word:

Family.

Her throat tightened as she raised her hand and slowly pressed her palm against the glowing symbol.

"I’m ready," she whispered.

The glyph accepted her. The sigils swirled and receded. A final lock clicked. The door of the safe creaked open.

Inside, wrapped in deep midnight-blue silk, were fragments of a story long erased. Letters. Photographs. A small box sealed with wax. A thin leather-bound book, dark with time and worn at the edges.

She reached for the book first.

There was no title. Just a sigil, Varricklow's original crest, crossed out with a jagged line.

She opened the cover.

"They never wanted us to be remembered."

Page after page held pieces of stories. Mentions of a conflict. Repeated names—Alys, Gregory, The Breaking of the Bridge.

What did this "Breaking of the Bridge"mean? What bridge? Why did it break? Why were her parents there?

Maps with territories crossed out in the book as well. Drawings of people she didn’t recognize with glyphs beside their names. The words in the pages and the notes were to distorted to make out any actual story. And over and over again, one word filled the pages:

 

Erased.

Louise sat in silence, eyes wide, heart hammering.

And then—a folded note slid between the pages.

It was written in her father's handwriting:

"If you’ve made it this far, then you’re ready. I’m sorry for keeping this from you, Lou. There are things I wish I’d told you sooner, but I was scared. This story isn’t mine alone anymore. If you want answers, find Phinium. And whatever you do, don’t let the Council get to the Hollowborn Map before you."

Louise whispered the name to herself: "Phinium…"

Who could that be.....?

She snapped the book shut and returned the contents to the safe, almost. She hesitated, then slipped the note and the book into her backpack. She didn’t trust Greg not to realize she’d been snooping. And whatever the Hollowborn Map was, she had a sinking feeling it was something important.

Just as she resealed the safe with the Family glyph, she heard the sound of the front door.

Greg was home.

How long had she been in here? He shouldn't be back by now.

Louise scrambled to her feet, crossed the room with practiced calm, and met him in the hallway.

Greg smiled. "Hey, kid. Didn’t expect you to be up so early."

"Just poking around for snacks. The usual."

His gaze lingered on her backpack, but he didn’t say anything. Just nodded.

"Well I only came back because I forgot something in my office, I'll be back later in the afternoon once I'm done. Oh, and for lunch later? I’ll make the mushroom stew you like."

"Sounds great," Louise said. She didn’t mention that the mushrooms he used were technically sentient.

As Greg walked off, Louise clenched her jaw. Something inside her had shifted.

She wasn't going to let him protect her with lies anymore.

Frida sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the soft rustle of pages and the low hum of her desk lamp filling the quiet. Her walls were plastered with hand-drawn diagrams, constellation charts, and a few fading newspaper clippings about the latest anomaly sightings. Books were stacked in towers around her—Registry texts, scribbled notes, transcriptions from memory, and now, the odd ramblings of a cryptic, semi-amphibious spider frog echoing in her thoughts. The rain tapping faintly on her window had finally stopped, but the storm in her head hadn’t let up.

She traced her finger over the word Eldren again, scrawled in bold ink at the top of one of her papers. That name, barely whispered by the spider frog and mentioned in the censored Trickster journal she’d uncovered, kept nagging at her. A family. Chiefs of the Tricksters, according to the frog. But that was all it remembered—and it had looked genuinely sorry for not knowing more. Where had the Eldren gone? Why had they been erased? And what exactly had happened to make even the magical creatures forget?

Frida leaned back, clutching the notes to her chest, and exhaled slowly. “There’s a thread here,” she muttered. “I just have to find where it starts.”

***

The high towers of the Witches Registry always felt colder than the city. Whether it was the altitude or the sense of institutional judgment hanging in the air like fog, Frida couldn’t decide. The scent of sage and ink followed her as she stepped into the main archive wing, her newly granted access sigil still warm in her pocket.

After a tense conversation with the mentors—Kaisa, Mira, Wren and Verna—they had finally allowed her restricted access to the pre-Moon Accord records. Officially, she was investigating anomaly timelines for her thesis. Unofficially, she was chasing ghosts.

The Registry's oldest wing was built like a cathedral—vaulted stone ceilings, enchanted stained-glass windows that shimmered with depictions of fairy treaties and magical oaths, and row after row of silent, towering shelves. The air here felt thick with history, and even thicker with secrets.

Frida moved methodically, scanning for older, often untouched collections. Dust clung to her fingers as she pulled down leather-bound journals and warped vellum files that crackled under light. These weren't the curated public volumes. These were the raw, pre-accord entries, messy, contradicting, incomplete.

She found what she was looking for three shelves in. An unmarked box, nested between a collapsed stack of bestiaries and a catalog of ancient enchantments. Inside: scrolls, observation notes, unverified testimonies.

And in them—there they were.

Mentions of tricksters.

Not vague accusations or myth, but actual descriptions. Families that existed openly within the Fairy Realm. Some formed alliances with certain Glimmering Courts. Others brokered passageways between planes.

And again, one name surfaced in fragments:

Eldren.

They were described as benevolent leaders, both respected and beloved by fairies and tricksters alike. Their domain, referred to in several sources as Gaia Hollowborn, was considered the trickster capital, a sovereign chiefdom nestled on the outskirts of the realm. Rich in magic, flourishing in culture, and unified under the Eldren banner.

But not all welcomed their power.

One report, barely legible through water damage, suggested growing tension: “The elders spoke against the rise of the Hollow.”

Frida’s brow furrowed. Elders?

Not fairy elders, al least not explicitly said to be fairy elders. These were mentioned with an ominous vagueness: "The elders do not forget." One record called them watchers beneath the veil. Another just noted: “They were here before the Courts. Before names.”

She scribbled furiously into her own notes.

And then—something new.

A burnt parchment. Nearly illegible, but protected with a faint preservation charm. Frida leaned closer, casting a small illumination spell.

The script wavered, ink barely clinging to the page.

“...in service of the Eldren for generations... the V—— family, warriors of the Hollow Flame... shieldbearers and oathkeepers...”

The rest was charred.

“V… what?” Frida whispered.

The letter stood alone. Just a single V, clean and distinct.

Her pulse quickened. She reached for the archival sigil in her pocket, heart racing.

Whatever they(?) had buried, whatever history had tried to forget, was still here.

And she was getting closer.

David’s room smelled faintly of pine needles and damp soil—less like a bedrom, more like a forest that refused to stay outside. A creeping vine had taken residence on his window, coiling around the curtain rod like it paid rent. Half his desk was overtaken by pressed leaves, rune sketches, and druidic glyphs copied from old books. The other half was a mess of stones that hummed when he touched them and small wooden charms his mum swore were important.

She’d been training him again.

Not with words. Not exactly.

Her training came in fragments. A single raised brow if he dared to slice a stem wrong. A sudden “stop” mid-chant when the rhythm of his voice faltered. Her silence was louder than any lecture. David had started to understand it wasn’t about casting spells or memorizing rituals—it was about listening. To the soil. To the bark. To the whisper inside a seed before it bloomed.

She would lead him to the grove behind their house at dawn, just before the birds stirred. There, she’d have him place his palm on the heartroot of an ash tree, close his eyes, and wait. Not feel. Not force. Just wait. Until the pulse beneath the bark synced with his own. Until the morning air folded around him like a cloak, and the insects stopped fleeing his breath.

“Let the forest remember you,” she said one morning, her voice a blend of pride and warning. “And then you will remember it.”

He didn’t understand the weight of her words—until now.

He’d been quieter since their second visit to the spider frog—less spooked and more thoughtful, like something had finally clicked into place. There’d been no bursts of panic, no yelps of “What is that?!”, just long silences punctuated by David jotting things down or drawing what he saw in dreams. Visions, really. Visions that were getting harder to ignore.

The spider frog hadn’t helped with clarity. Just more questions. “Memory-keepers… trickster-blooded… lost, but not gone.” Ever since that encounter, the forest began responding to David like it knew him. Trees turned slightly as he passed. Mushrooms grew in his footprints. Wind patterns followed him in spirals. Subtle. Intentional.

He couldn’t explain it, but his instincts were catching up faster than his logic.

Then parts of the forest began pulsing.

Not visibly. But when he neared them, the air changed. Denser. The moss pressed upward like it was trying to grasp him. Birds refused to sing. Even insects avoided the place.

He opened his text thread with Frida and Hilda and reread their earlier messages from that day:

Hilda: “They must’ve been important. The spider frog recognized the name like it was personal.”

Frida: “Registry records confirm that all mention of the Eldren stops after the Accord. That can’t be a coincidence. They were scrapped. Censored.”

The kind of censorship that meant someone was scared of the truth.

And the truth, apparently, had roots.

David: “I think it was. What if they were guarding something? The anchors? Or maybe even us?”

He stared at the ceiling for a long time after sending that. The idea that someone had been protecting the realms long before them, and had been erased for it, hit hard.

***

He left his house without a word. His mum didn’t ask. She just handed him a charm carved from elderwood and pressed a thumb to his brow. That was enough.

He didn't know where he was going, he just listened to the forest and let it guide him. The deeper David moved into the forest, the more it shifted.

Not in a haunted woods kind of way. This was older. A transformation of recognition. Branches bent to allow him passage. The trail he walked was not made for feet, it was shaped by memory.

The wind curled into a whisper, guiding him deeper into the woods, and the leaves underfoot formed a soft path. A low hum echoed through the moss-covered trees. Branches bent to allow him passage, roots parted beneath his boots. He didn’t walk so much as float through a dream sewn from cedar and memory.

Finally, he reached it.

The anchor zone. Marked by a half-circle of ash trees whose trunks had spiraled into spirals, bark twisted like runes. At their center: a stone monolith covered in moss.

And then, it hit him.

The forest opened.

David stumbled into a glade lit not by sun, but a deep, golden glow seeping from every leaf, every stone, every blade of grass. And as he stepped forward, the vision took him.

It wasn't like before. This wasn’t just some fleeting echo.

It was immersion.

His eyes widened. His heart slowed.

He was no longer David Ahlberg of Trolberg.

He was standing in a grove thirty years ago.

Hundreds of figures walked alongside him. Druvenari. Naturekeepers. Some tall and weathered, others small and wiry. All marked by the same sigils now fading from the world's memory. His hands weren’t his own, they were the hands of a man named Calen, clad in robes of layered moss and bark, a staff carved from petrified wood at his side.

They were guiding families, refugees, from another realm through a passage. Some chanted in languages older than sound. Others formed sanctums by pressing their hands into the soil, calling up homes grown instantly from vines and thatched bloom. The gateway shimmered between two ancient trees, their trunks wrapped in spiraling symbols that pulsed like heartbeats.

A child clutched his wrist.

“Is it true?” the child asked. “That you’ll stay behind?”

“Yes,” Calen, David, replied. “The forest must not close on its own.”

The realm the refugees came from… was that the fairy realm. 

Dies that mean that they were....the tricksters?

They came to this realm because it was safer

A realm of sanctuary.

David’s heart pounded as he walked among them. Or thought he did. None acknowledged him, but he felt their awareness. Their grief. Their unyielding purpose.

One woman knelt beside a child whose skin flickered with mirror-like sheen. She sang into a blossom, then crushed it, letting the pollen fall into the child’s mouth. Healing. Rebirth.

Another Druvenari drew a symbol in the air, a loop of three vines interwoven. The moment it was complete, the sky above parted, and starlight fell in beams, forming paths of light over the treetops.

David looked up.

The entire forest was alive with memory.

The Druvenari formed a circle, palms outstretched. Roots burst from the soil, stone pillars erupted like vertebrae from the earth, forming an anchor.

It was one of the first. One of the original anchors.

And then—fracture.

The vision shifted again.

The scene twisted. Ash rained from the sky. Screams echoed through the realms. Something dark, crawling, enormous, hungry loomed beyond the trees.

The forest burned. The Druvenari fell, one by one. Their magic drained as the realms separated. Only fragments remained, scattered through bloodlines. David felt that rupture. The pain of it.

His real body collapsed to his knees in the glade.

The forest, alive, sentient, held him.

And then it spoke, fully, finally.

"You are of the line that remembers."

David gasped.

He turned again, and this time, saw himself. Not as he was, but as he would become.

Taller. Cloaked. A staff of living bark in one hand, the other raised in a gesture of balance. Around him, voices called in many tongues

“Druvenari.”  “Waykeeper.”  “Memory-root.”

“The first crossing was not the last.” “You must remember what they chose to forget.” “Sanctuary is not safety. It is sacrifice.”

A single rune, carved into every anchor stone: preserve.

The vision ruptured. Light faded. The wind returned.

He was back.

The trees stood still. But he could hear them breathing. No longer silent. No longer indifferent.

They had shown him what he needed to know.

He didn’t understand it all.

But he knew this:

The forest remembered.

And now, so did he.

The kitchen window was open just enough to let in the scent of petrichor and the distant ringing of bells from a street vendor somewhere in the hills of Trolberg. Hilda stood at the counter with her hands wrapped around a mug of spiced tea, the warmth of it grounding her. The lights were low and golden, the house quiet but not silent. 

The rain hadn’t stopped so much as retreated. Hilda sat at her desk, window slightly cracked, letting the damp smell of moss and lightning creep in. Twig lay curled in a nest of blankets on her bed, one ear twitching at each creak of the settling house. The map of the Trolberg forests lay unfolded across her desk, a mess of circles, sketches, and notes, all tied to the anomalies.

Red pins marked the known anchor zones. Blue ones showed where creatures had appeared. One corner held a sticky note scrawled with “Spider Frog - Vision (gold mask?)” in Frida’s handwriting.

After everything, the spider frog’s second message, the vision in the sky, the truth Frida had uncovered in the Registry, Hilda couldn’t shake the feeling that something ancient was pulling at her. Something that was no longer content to stay hidden.

She got up and paced. Her room felt too small for the question clawing at her insides. Who was Eldren? What happened to them? Why did the Spider Frog react that way to Louise?

Louise. She’d tried to shrug it off, but Hilda had seen her reaction too. The way her eyes narrowed slightly, as if something about the name fit into a space she didn’t want to look at.

She walked over to the table and unrolled a map she’d borrowed from Aunt Astrid’s archives, thick with enchanted ink. Faded red lines pulsed faintly across it, etchings of ley lines and forgotten roads, paths that the mundane eye couldn’t see. She trailed her finger across a familiar anchor zone near the Black Glade, the one where the frogs had gathered, the same zone now pulsing erratically with decay.

Her breath hitched as the gold mask from the vision flared up in her memory, an image burned into her mind like a second sun. What was it? Who wore it? Why had it appeared just before the air split with that awful, static tension? She hadn't spoken of it aloud since that day, but it echoed inside her chest like it was waiting for her to remember something.

As she leaned closer to the map, the ink flickered, and for a moment, the spider frog’s cryptic voice echoed in her ears again: “Not all who guard remain whole… not all memory is mercy.”

Hilda closed her eyes. Her fairy side had been whispering more than usual. At night, her dreams shimmered with voices that didn’t belong to this world, words in languages that she didn’t speak but somehow understood.

She lit a rune candle from Astrid’s cabinet and placed it at the edge of the map. Its flame turned a pale blue, a clear sign that magic was actively concentrating nearby. Not a warning, but a response.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Let’s try this again.”

She retrieved the wooden token she had brought back from the swamp, half-symbol, half-keepsake, and placed it in the center of the map. The moment it touched parchment, a pulse rippled outward. Faint markings formed around the anchor zones. Symbols. Runes. Names.

One of them, barely visible unless viewed from the right angle, shimmered like heat in the air: Eldren.

Hilda’s hand hovered over it. There was no doubt anymore, it was the same name Frida had found in that censored journal. The same name the spider frog had said in that dreamy, half-lost tone: They were family… chiefs…

A prickling sensation ran up her spine. She could feel the realm's memory reaching for her.

Before she could stop herself, she pressed her palm flat against the name. The world tilted.

She was in a forest that wasn’t her own.

The trees towered higher, branches curling like claws and blossoms glowing with silver nectar. Small lights drifted around her like fireflies. And ahead of her stood a group—a gathering. People in robes of bark and moonlight, they looked like tricksters with eyes of mirror-glass, and in the center, a tall figure with wild hair and a crown of woven vines.

They turned toward her, as if aware.

Her breath caught.

The crown-wearer stepped forward.

"You carry echoes, child of evergreen. We remember. Do you?"

And just like that, the vision ended.

Hilda collapsed onto the rug, heart hammering, eyes wide and shining.

Twig padded over and nudged her hand.

With sudden energy, Hilda rolled up the map and tucked it under her arm. “Come on, Twig,” she said quietly.

They tiptoed past the living room, where Alfur was scribbling into a thick field journal and Tontu was upside-down under the couch, humming to a dust spirit. The soft scent of rosemary hung in the air from whatever Johanna had cooked before heading out for errands.

Hilda slipped out the front door.

The city didn’t feel dangerous. Not yet. But it felt like it was listening.

She needed air, stars, and space to think. She needed the forest.

As she walked the outer paths where moss ate at old streetlamps and troll stones stood half-buried in ivy, she kept coming back to that vision. The golden mask. The shattering sky. The voice.

And the feeling that someone, some long-forgotten someone, had tried to reach her through it.

“I don’t think it was just a warning,” she muttered, more to herself than Twig. “It felt… like a memory. Like it wanted me to see.”

But see what?

She stopped at the edge of the forest. For a moment, everything was still.

And then, a breeze.

Not like the wind that blew in from the sea. This breeze smelled like pine resin and wet stone, and it carried a whisper: not words, exactly, but something like intention.

She stepped forward.

The trees seemed to breathe as Hilda entered the forest.

Not sway. Not rustle.

Breathe.

They leaned ever so slightly toward her, the way curious strangers might glance at someone who looked oddly familiar. She didn’t feel watched, just…recognized.

She followed the moss path, letting her feet move without overthinking. Twig padded close, his ears sharp. A low mist clung to the ground, and the deeper she walked, the more it smelled like time itself had slowed down.

The trail should’ve ended after the glade, but tonight it didn’t. It curved, like the woods had grown a new direction just for her.

Hilda stepped carefully over roots that seemed to twitch when she looked away. At first she thought it was her imagination, until a vine slithered quietly out of her path like it didn’t want to be stepped on.

Then she saw the clearing.

It was circular, ringed with broken stones and low mushrooms glowing with a pale lavender light. But what took her breath was the center: an enormous tree, thick-trunked and silver-barked, with leaves like paper-thin opals that shimmered even in the dark.

And nailed to the bark—a mask.

Not gold.

Not yet.

It was dull. Half-covered in moss and time. But unmistakably the same shape as the one from her vision.

Hilda stepped closer. The air tightened. Not dangerous, just watchful.

The mask wasn’t nailed violently, like a warning or a ward. It was affixed gently, like a gravestone or a relic. She reached out without touching it. Symbols were etched into the edges, swirling loops that looked almost like fairy script, but fractured, degraded.

Not erased. Corrupted.

Twig growled once, low in his throat.

Then something shimmered in the air behind her.

She turned.

Standing at the edge of the clearing was a woman. Or maybe not a woman, her body flickered, too thin, too light-bound. Her dress was green and silver, like forest light through water. Her face was not a face, just the outline of one.

And when she opened her mouth to speak, it wasn’t sound.

It was memory.

Suddenly Hilda was somewhere else.

Not physically, her body was still standing in the clearing. But her mind was yanked through layers of air and time.

She saw a valley. She saw hundreds—maybe thousands—of people crossing through a rift in the sky. Not flying. Falling gently, like leaves that knew where to land.

The trees in the vision welcomed them. The realm welcomed them. But it felt like someone didn't—

And among the crowd, a girl with brown hair—no older than Hilda—stood at the edge, her hand on a creature that looked like a cross between a deer and a dragonfly. She wore no wings. But something in her eyes said: this is my home too.

Then—

Shatter.

The sky broke.

A scream of wind. A shadow overhead. Something unseen, massive, clawing at the rift like it wanted to seal it shut.

The girl turned and looked right at Hilda through the vision.

And she said, not aloud but through the very air

“We did not forget. They have forgotten. Make them remember”

Hilda blinked.

The vision vanished.

The forest returned.

The tree. The mask. The ghostly woman, gone.

She stood there shaking, not from fear, but from the crushing sense that she had just been handed a responsibility.

Behind her, the wind picked up. In the distance, she heard bells ringing. Not from the city.

From beneath the forest floor.

Twig pressed against her leg, fur raised. Hilda whispered to him, “I think this place is trying to tell me a story that someone buried.”

She didn’t say what she was really thinking:

That she was part of it.

That it hadn’t finished yet.

Chapter Text

The next day, in the early evening

Outside, Trolberg lay beneath a bruised violet-grey sky, swollen with the kind of tension that made even the gulls fall silent and the ferry bells sound more distant than usual. Clouds hung low and gravid above the rooftops, their edges tinged with fading orange from the sun’s last efforts before being swallowed by the oncoming dusk. A humid stillness had settled over the city like a breath held too long. The scent of damp stone and salt wind drifted through alleyways and over cobbled streets, stirred only by the occasional gust that rattled shutters and set laundry lines swaying. It was the sort of weather that tugged at old bones and older memories—the kind that set ancient oaks groaning as if sharing secrets in a language older than Trolberg itself. Even the flickering ferry lamps down by the water trembled in their glass casings, their flames fluttering like nervous thoughts. It felt as though the city was bracing for something it couldn’t quite name, something coming not with thunder, but with memory.

But inside, Hilda's house felt caught in the space between inhale and exhale, a silence stretched too tight to be peaceful and too alert to be called calm. The windows shivered intermittently, as if reacting to more than just the wind. Shadows gathered in the corners, not ominously, but with the curiosity of things listening.

In the kitchen, a kettle murmured over the flame, its hum low and steady like a lullaby sung by the forest itself. The scent of pine-needle tea drifted into the air, earthy and sharp, cutting through the gathering tension like a breath of something grounding. Overhead, the warm amber light from a crooked ceiling lamp pooled across woodgrain and parchment, casting flickering halos on the pbjects that scattered the living room.

The living room, however, bore no such stillness.

There, the table had transformed into something halfway between an archive and a messy place (sorry I couldn't think of a good synonym). Every inch was covered with the evidence of research, the kind that looked accidental but was meticulously deliberate: loose-leaf charts, some dating back several decades, their edges burnt or water-stained from their journey to this moment; half-opened scrolls inked in glowing violet, still warm with residual rune-heat; brittle compasses cracked down their spines, as if they had tried too hard to remember where they once pointed; and star maps layered with newer overlays, red strings pinned between constellations that no longer existed in modern skies. Notes filled the margins—some in Frida’s precise, slanted hand, others scrawled hastily by Hilda herself. There were scribbled questions like “FAIRY WAR?” and “Gaia Hollowborn = leyline crossing??” underlined multiple times in increasingly darker strokes.

Twig, curled in his usual corner near the hearth, lifted his head at the sound. His ears twitched once, then twice, and he gave a low chuff, not alarmed, just... aware.

The moment broke with the sharp creak of the front door.

Frida stepped in briskly, as if propelled forward by both wind and a mission. Her silhouette was stark against the blue-grey world behind her, outlined by the hallway light that flickered once before surrendering to the rain. She looked like someone who had run through a library and a storm at the same time. Her midnight-blue cloak hung heavy with water, droplets cascading from its hem and shoulders in steady streams. Her boots left muddy, rain-dark prints across the entryway as she moved without hesitation toward the living room, the satchel slung across her shoulder thumping softly against her hip with each stride.

She didn’t say a word.

Instead, her sharp eyes scanned the table with the precision of a forensic examiner—taking in the arrangement, the documents. Her expression flickered through relief, urgency, and something unreadable. Without waiting for greeting or permission, she unfastened the leather strap of her satchel and carefully drew out several thick papers and scrolls, setting them down with both hands. The parchment gave a faint glow through the protective casing.

The label was official. Stark. Black-inked on reinforced vellum: “CLASSIFIED – PRE-ACCORD TIER.”

Her fingers lingered on the words for a breath longer than necessary. Her shoulders were tight, jaw set, but her eyes betrayed the deep weariness beneath her focus. There was rain in her hair, caught like starlight in her dark curls, and her usually crisp braid had come partially undone

(For the sake of plot, she has a braid and I will probably retcon more, I'm enjoying this very much  ヾ⁠(⁠ ͝⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ͡⁠°⁠)⁠ノ⁠♪)

She finally exhaled.

Still silent, Frida peeled off her wet coat, draping it haphazardly over the nearby coat rack. She didn’t bother brushing the water from her sleeves. Her movements were too quick, too practiced, like someone with too much to say and not enough time to wrap it in pleasantries. The moment she’d walked into the house, it was as if a gear had shifted in the air. She was carrying something heavy—not just in her satchel, but in her eyes.

David arrived next.

He didn’t knock.

The front door creaked open with the weight of something more than weather, and he stood on the threshold for a moment, framed by a sky split with violet lightning, his silhouette fractured in the flicker. He looked like he had wandered out of a forest too old for maps. His hoodie was soaked through and hung off one shoulder like a half-forgotten thought. His curls were tangled with pine needles, leaves, and glistening raindrops that clung stubbornly to him, as though the storm wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Mud streaked his boots, dried and wet in mismatched patches, climbing past his knees like the forest itself had tried to hold him back. His hands trembled slightly, but it was the right one that drew the eye—a fist clenched so tightly around a smooth, palm-sized stone that the edges had left faint impressions in his skin. The stone was black-green and wet, carved with lines that shimmered faintly like they were cut by moonlight, not tools.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t have to.

His eyes—wide, wild, deeply unsettled—swept the room and locked onto Hilda first, anchoring there. They weren’t panicked, but they carried a strange intensity, the kind people only get when they’ve seen something that doesn’t fit in words. He stepped inside slowly, hesitantly, like the magic hanging thick in the air was pressing against him, questioning him. Challenging him. The scent of moss, wet bark, and synonyms followed him in and curled into the corners of the room, grounding and unsettling all at once.

He moved forward, leaving a faint trail of rain behind him, and came to rest a few steps from the edge of the table, just within the circle of light that flickered from the crooked ceiling lamp. There, he stopped, his gaze dropping to the array of papers and maps and odd, ancient things. Slowly, wordlessly, he opened his hand and placed the carved stone down on the edge of the table.

It didn’t clatter. It landed with a dull, knowing thud—like it belonged.

Hilda was already there.

She hadn’t left the house all day, but she felt as though she’d crossed more worlds than she could name. She sat like someone trying not to wake a god. Her eyes, sharp and distant, traced the tangle of red string and inked symbols and overlapping papers, but her mind was somewhere else, somewhere deeper.

In her mind, she still saw her. The girl in the mask. The voice like a bell underwater. The message that wasn’t quite a message but a pull, a beckoning, a warning dressed as a whisper. It hadn’t left her since that moment. It was with her in every breath, every blink.

Twig shifted at her side with quiet, loyal concern. He pressed close against her leg, sensing the way her breath caught and released like a tide unsure of its direction. His ears twitched to the rhythm of the compass’s subtle trembling.

The light outside faded further.

And then came Louise.

She didn’t enter like the others. She slipped in, not unnoticed, but with a strange kind of gravity, like the wind had pushed her here on purpose. The front door barely squeaked as she opened it. Her hair was braided, though the strands had begun to unravel under the weight of the storm, and water dripped steadily from the ends onto the wooden floor. Her jacket clung to her shoulders like soaked parchment, heavy and dark, and her breath fogged faintly in the room’s warmer air.

She carried something under her arm—a thick, worn book wrapped in a cracked leather cover. Her father’s journal. Its edges were warped from age and damp, but the sigil on the front still burned faintly, etched in ink that refused to fade. She held it tightly, not just protectively, but almost reverently, like a compass of her own. A guide. A ghost.

Her eyes flicked briefly to each of them. She nodded at Frida, met Hilda’s gaze for a breath too long, and then looked at David. There was something steely in her expression, not fear, not detachment, but purpose. Louise had crossed something on the way here. Some invisible line. And she didn’t look like she planned to go back.

She moved with quiet certainty across the living room, the squelch of her boots a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the patter of rain on the roof. When she reached the table, she paused, then placed the journal down with both hands, her fingers lingering on the worn leather like she was saying goodbye. She stepped back, finally letting out a breath she’d been holding since she first cracked that journal open again.

Then—silence.

The kind that wasn’t just absence of sound, but full. Full of tension, and expectation, and something bigger than all of them pooling unseen in the room’s corners. The storm growled again outside, a long, rolling groan that shuddered through the walls like an echo of some beast pacing just beyond the edge of perception.

Inside, the air was thick. Not just with warmth and rain-soaked wool and old books, but with something stranger. A current of possibility. Of recognition. As though the house itself understood what was happening.

For several moments, none of them moved.

And then Frida, standing nearest the light, broke the silence. Her voice was low. Steady. Controlled, but only just.

“Ok, we know that this...all of this....,” she said, gesturing to the table, “...is not random.”

She met each of their eyes in turn, and there was something different in her gaze now, something deeper than curiosity or fear.

“It’s all connected.....and I found two new anomalies,” Frida said, her voice clipped and deliberate, but the urgency underneath it was impossible to miss. It shook in the slight tremble of her fingers, in the way her breath shortened at the end of each sentence like she was trying to outrun the weight of what she was about to say.

She stepped forward, the wooden floor creaking beneath her boots, and gently unfurled a long parchment scroll across the table. The others leaned in, instinctively drawn closer by the energy that pulsed from it. The scroll shimmered faintly as it rolled open, its surface not quite flat, but alive, as though the ink had never truly dried. Glyphs and diagrams skittered across the parchment in soft pulses of blue and silver, shifting like constellations under glass. Words glowed briefly, then dimmed, as if reacting to the presence in the room.

“These shouldn’t exist,” Frida said, sweeping a damp curl from her face. “The entries weren’t in the Registry’s archive last week. I combed the same vault three times. But now... it’s like they’ve just appeared. Slipped into the records from nowhere. Or... from somewhen.”

She touched the edge of the scroll, fingers hovering over a section that pulsed faintly in violet ink.

“This one’s about the Eldern family. There are references to a location. A name I’ve never seen before. Gaia Hollowborn.”

The words echoed in the room, as if the very air had taken a breath with her.

“It’s not on any Trolberg map. I cross-referenced everything, the surveyor logs, the city’s deepfield scans, even the old Troll tunnel charts. Nothing. But according to this... Gaia Hollowborn wasn’t part of our world. It was in the Fairy Realm. A city. A citadel, even. Their capital.”

Frida looked up, her brows drawn tight.

“We were right, It wasn’t destroyed by accident. Someone erased it. Some sort of council of elders....”

A silence fell like frost.

She tapped another, smaller scroll rolled tight beside her and gently unfurled it next to the first. It was older, more brittle, its ink faded to an ashen grey. But at the centre was a striking seal, black and crimson, jagged in design and bold with intent.

“....This is the second anomaly,” she said. “It’s a lineage. But the records don’t list names, just a single designation. A letter.”

Her fingertip stopped over a symbol that looked more like a sigil than a letter. “V,” she said. “I couldn't find anything else about them. No surname. No Records. Just that. Warrior-class. They were loyal to the Eldrens. Like their guard.”

The others leaned in, squinting at the strange coat of arms etched below it. It was sharp, militaristic, with jagged wings wrapping a downward-pointing blade. A shield split diagonally by thorns.

It didn’t look like something born of the Fairy Realm’s typical elegance or the crude patterns of troll markings. It looked... disciplined. Strategised. Made for war.

David exhaled sharply.

Everyone turned.

“I’ve seen that before,” he said, voice quiet, but it cut through the silence like a dagger in snow.

Frida looked up, startled. “What?”

David’s eyes weren’t quite focused on the room anymore. He was staring past them, into something far older than memory. Slowly, his hand moved to his side, and he pulled something from the pocket of his soaked hoodie.

The stone.

He placed it on the table without ceremony, and as it touched the wood, a faint pulse radiated from its centre, like a heartbeat, soft and blue, then green. Then again.

A rune flickered across its surface. Delicate. Ancient. A swirling character etched so deeply into the stone it looked almost fossilised.

Frida’s breath hitched. She recognised it.

It was one of the sigils buried in the Registry’s sub-vaults, far beneath the public-facing records. Ones she had only glimpsed once, during a restricted access sweep.

“I didn’t just see something,” David said, voice low and shaken. “I lived it.”

His hands curled slightly, fingers twitching at the edges like he could still feel something burning there.

“There was a vision. It came when I touched the runestone in the woods yesterday. I was listening to the forest.”

He paused, eyes flicking to the others. Rain tapped steadily against the windowpane. The lamp above buzzed faintly.

“I was in a camp,” he said slowly, “but it wasn’t like the ones from the human wars. There were tents, huge ones, built of silk and bark, but they weren’t hiding from trolls or beasts. The people there... they were escaping the Fairy Realm itself. The war was between the fairy realm and the tricksters. The sky was wrong. The trees bent backwards. And guarding them, protecting them, were warriors. Dozens. Carrying that same banner.”

He pointed at the symbol.

“The letter V. It flew on every flag. Their armour had it carved into the chest. They were fast, but louder. More... grounded. They moved in formation. But not like soldiers bred for battle, more like.....guardians. Volunteers.”

David’s voice cracked slightly.

“I saw myself. At the camp. Not in armour but....”

He looked up again, and now there was a weight in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. The weight of recognition. Of self.

“.....Helping to lead them through open passageways in the zones. I could feel the panic, the urgency. Something was hunting them. Something inside the Fairy Realm itself.”

He swallowed. Hard.

“I think... the Druvenari, my people, we were the ones smuggling the refugees out. That’s why I don’t have any ancestry records. Why I’ve always felt...” he trailed off, unable to finish.

Hilda’s voice emerged quietly, slicing through the stillness like a silver thread.

“We’ve all felt it,” she said, her hands still resting on the table. “Like we were waiting for something to call us back. Like the stories didn’t just end too soon—they were deliberately cut off.”

Her eyes scanned the scrolls, the stone, the room.

“This isn’t just a history lesson. This is a map.”

“I had a vision earlier.”

Hilda’s voice was quiet—measured, yet oddly resolute. It wasn’t a whisper, but it cut through the buzz of theories and maps and names like a blade through mist. The kind of tone that didn't ask for attention but earned it.

Everyone turned to look at her. Twig nudged closer, sensing the shift.

“I was going through some things with Twig, using one of Aunt Astrid’s old artefacts… I don’t even know what triggered it,” she murmured, fingers flexing absently on the rim of the compass in her lap. “One second I was flipping through glyphs, and then—”

She paused, her brow knitting.

“I saw a circle. People standing in a ring of stone, tall pillars like the ones outside the Black Cliffs. There was this… figure in the centre. Wearing a crown—not gold, not regal, but old. Like bark and bone had fused with the magic. They looked at me and said—” her voice faltered briefly, “—‘They remember.’ Just that. And I felt it. That I was one of the things forgotten.”

A chill traced the edges of the room.

She inhaled deeply. “When I left to clear my head, I saw a mask. Just… floating, caught on a branch like it had been placed there. Then this girl showed up. Or maybe a ghost, I’m not sure. Pale skin, eyes like glass. She was wearing a veil or a mask too. And she said: ‘Make them remember. They forgot.’” She looked up. “But… who’s ‘they’?”

A long beat passed, filled only by the tapping of rain against the windows and the occasional crackle from the hearth. Then Louise, who had remained silent, finally spoke.

“I broke into my dad’s office.”

The way she said it—matter-of-fact, yet brittle at the edges—made the others sit up straighter. There was no apology in her voice, only resolve.

“I waited until he was away, then picked the locks. It took me weeks to find the second safe. It was enchanted, tucked behind the wall with a false panel. I cracked the spell-pattern using a mirror incantation and a disarming rune I found buried in one of his pocket notebooks.”

She withdrew the leather-bound volume from her satchel—her father’s journal. Its cover was scarred, water-warped, the corners softened by time and secrecy. Louise placed it on the desk like it weighed more than it should.

“I found references to both my parents, but the entries are scattered. Some of them look like they’ve been deliberately burned or torn out—others are smudged beyond legibility. But one thing kept repeating. A phrase: ‘The bridge is broken.’”

She opened the book, slowly flipping through the damaged pages until she found what she was looking for.

“And then there was this,” she said, lifting a folded parchment from within. She unfolded it delicately—half a map, etched in old inks and half-faded symbols. Pinned to the corner was a brittle fragment of a handwritten note. “This was tucked behind the last entry.”

The note was barely clinging to the page, the handwriting messy, panicked—almost like it had been scrawled in haste. But one name was circled again and again, the ink pressed so deeply it nearly tore the parchment.

Phinium Aldmar.

“There was also a line,” Louise added. “Something about a map I had to find before ‘the council.’ But it doesn’t say who or what this council is. Or what happens if I don’t find it.”

Her hands trembled, just slightly.

Then Hilda froze.

The name echoed like thunder in a cave.

“…Phinium Aldmar?” she repeated, her voice caught between disbelief and dawning comprehension. “That’s… that’s my grandfather.”

Frida leaned forward, her fingers tightening around the curled edge of the ancient map spread between them. Candlelight threw shifting shapes across her face, catching in the lens of her glasses and casting twin stars in her eyes. The runes shimmered softly beneath the wax-paper overlays, as if responding to her movement. David glanced up at her from where he sat beside the hearth, blinking at the sudden tension in the air.

Then Hilda spoke, quietly at first, as though unsure of what she was saying until the words had already left her mouth.

“He lives in the Fairy Realm.”

The sentence dropped into the room like a stone into still water. Ripples spread instantly—first confusion, then disbelief.

“He’s... still alive,” she said again, more firmly this time, like she needed to hear it aloud to believe it. Her voice carried a strange mixture of awe and sorrow, as if the reality had always been close but carefully hidden behind the veil of her memory. “I met him once—briefly. It was a whole adventure of its own. Frida and David helped me. We were trying to find Mum after she went missing.”

Frida gave a small nod. David didn’t speak, but his eyes were locked on Hilda now, brows knitted.

“But I never thought...” Hilda’s voice faded into a whisper.

Across the table, Louise’s expression sharpened like a blade being honed on stone.

“Your grandfather,” she said slowly, her voice low and incredulous, “is Phinium Aldmar?”

Hilda turned to her, wide-eyed. “Yes.”

Her hair, still damp from the rain, clung to her forehead. Her hands curled slightly around the enchanted compass, which continued to pulse softly beneath her fingers. “He and my grandmother have been in the Fairy Realm for years. Watching. Sometimes, when things go quiet… I catch glimpses of them. Standing at the edge of the Veil, just out of reach.”

Louise’s eyes flicked to the torn note she’d recovered from her father’s safe, to the name that had been circled with obsessive urgency. “But what would he have to do with my dad’s notes? Or the coordinates?”

“And why would my dad know him?” she continued, flipping the map over, eyes scanning the back as if it might suddenly offer answers. “He never once mentioned a connection to your family.”

Hilda rubbed her temples. “I don’t even understand why those coordinates lead to him. How long has this been going on? Was he involved in Gaia Hollowborn?”

“Okay—stop,” Frida said, sharply but not unkindly. She stood and raised her hands. “This is getting us nowhere. We’re overloaded and spiralling. Let’s just… calm down and pull apart what we do know. We have the coordinates, Greg’s notes, the map fragment, Hilda’s grandfather, there might be a link between the Fairy Realm and the here. That girl Hilda saw, maybe she’s a guardian, or a messenger. There’s a pattern here, we just need to find it.”

The room fell quiet. Louise folded her arms and nodded, slower this time. David exhaled hard and dropped back into his seat, jaw tense but listening. Hilda looked at Frida, then around at the others.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s figure this out. Together.”

Frida, recovering, unfurled her leyline overlays across the desk, sliding Gaia Hollowborn’s coordinates beneath. She adjusted the layers until the translucent pathways revealed something uncanny.

“It matches,” she murmured. “Look.”

The chart shimmered faintly under her fingertips. Energy lines intersected in a perfect starburst shape, like the one David remembered from the camps in his vision. The sanctuary fields. The web of ancient power.

David stepped forward, breath caught.

“This is where they fled to,” he whispered. “Where the Druvenari helped people escape to. Hollowborn wasn't just a city. It was the last gate.”

Louise reached into her coat pocket and produced a folded scrap, another rune, drawn in shimmering silver. An ancient symbol shaped like a crescent twisted into a blade. The same one etched into the safe she had broken into.

Frida blinked in recognition and pulled the scroll closer, revealing a matching seal among the lost magical records.

“Same magical type,” she confirmed. “Its not fairy. Something else. Possibly trickster.” Her voice dipped. “Definitely forbidden.”

David turned to Hilda. “That girl you saw… could she have been from there? From this Gaia Hollowborn?”

“I think so,” Hilda replied, eyes distant. “She didn’t look like us. Not exactly. She felt… faded. Like someone on the edge of being...forgotten”

“And now she wants us to find it,” Louise said.

“Or remember it,” Frida corrected.

There was a beat of silence, heavy and taut. Then David sat straighter, the firelight catching the worry in his eyes as his mind began to connect memories with fresh implications.

“When we first met Greg,” he said, glancing at Frida, “he mentioned secret paths into the Fairy Realm. He said he used to travel them… before the gates were sealed. Before everything locked down.”

Frida’s brow furrowed as she reached for the fragmented map. The parchment glimmered faintly where the ink had been infused with spell-stuff (Genuinely couldn't think of something better). She ran a careful finger over a spiral marking in the northern quadrant.

“If these are coordinates,” she said softly, “maybe they point to those hidden paths.”

“To the last ones left,” David added. “The ones not on any official map.”

Louise leaned back in her chair, mind racing. Her father—Gregory—had always been precise. Obsessive. He’d documented every expedition, every anomaly, every deviation in magical current like it was scripture. And yet… so much had been kept from her.

“He could’ve known about them,” she murmured. “Mapped them. If Hilda's granddad was communicating with him, maybe those journals were how they stayed in contact. Clues hidden in field reports or something. I need to go back through his archives. All of them.”

Her gaze drifted to the shattered seal on the journal’s final page, the same rune Frida had matched to one of the forbidden magical castes on the scroll.

Hilda rose slowly to her feet, her shadow cast tall against the wall behind her.

“We need to find one of those paths,” she said, voice laced with urgency now. “We need to reach the Fairy Realm. I need to speak to my grandfather. If he’s connected to this—Gaia Hollowborn, the Eldren family, the war that happened, the cracks in our realm, then he may be the one who can help us make sense of what’s happening.”

Thunder rolled outside, low and guttural, like some ancient beast turning in its sleep beneath the mountains. Rain beat harder against the roof tiles above them, drumming like fists on wood.

The four of them leaned closer over the table. Their faces lit by flame and fury and fear.

Frida's fingers spread across the map, her voice distant but focused. “If this really leads to a hidden gate, it won’t be unguarded. And it probably won’t be open for long. The energy patterns here,” she pointed to a cluster of fading ley lines, “suggest something is shifting. Like… like someone’s closing up the passage. Or destroying it from the other side.”

David’s throat tightened. “Whoever they are, they’re trying to isolate themselves.”

“From us?” Louise asked.

“Or from Gaia Hollowborn.....,” Frida answered, her voice grim.

".....or maybe even the people who used to live there", she added grimly.

Hilda swallowed. Her fingers were trembling now, but she held firm.

“Then we don’t wait. We find the path. We reach the Fairy Realm. And we ask the one person left who might know the truth.”

They didn't know much about what was happening.........

but what they did know

Something ancient was stirring.

Chapter Text

It had been several days since their last meeting, and the town had settled into a strange, uneasy quiet. The usual bustle of the market carried on, children still chased each other along teh streets, and the river still whispered beneath the old stone bridge, but beneath it all lingered a tension that people pretended not to notice. Rumours had been circulating for days now, each one stranger than the last: stories of unfamiliar creatures—twisted shapes with eyes like shards of glass, voices that didn’t belong—seen moving between the trees in the surrounding forest. Some claimed the beasts had attacked them; others swore they had heard inhuman cries echoing through the mist at dawn. The mayor, normally a man quick to dismiss such talk as drunken exaggeration, had stood before the press that morning, his voice tight as he urged citizens to stay out of the forest entirely until further notice. No one wanted to admit it aloud, but something was wrong in the hills beyond the town, and even the air seemed to taste of secrets.(mhmm~ delicious)

The rain had softened since morning (yep that's right, rain again), now a thin, silver drizzle threading down the windows of Hilda’s room. She sat cross-legged on her bed, staring out at the wet rooftops of Trollberg, absentmindedly twirling a pencil between her fingers. Her thoughts kept circling back to the meeting a few days ago—the note, the coordinates, the name that had lodged itself in her head like a splinter: Phinium Aldmar. Her grandfather. A man she’d met only once, and even then under strange, fleeting circumstances.

She sighed, tipping her head back against the wall. "I mean, I knew I wouldn’t know much about him since I only met him that one time… but still. You couldn’t just have a grandfather who lived in a completely different realm, whose name popped up in cryptic messages and half-burned maps, and not want answers.", she thought t herself. And right now, there were only two people she knew who could give her any, her mum, Johanna, and Great aunt Astrid.

She decided to start with the easier one.

~~~

The kitchen smelled faintly of spices and warm bread as Hilda padded in, her boots squeaking faintly against the linoleum. Johanna was at the counter, sleeves rolled up, kneading dough in a steady rhythm.

“Hey, Mum,” Hilda said casually, leaning against the counter.

Johanna glanced up with a warm smile. “Hello, Hilda. Hungry?”

“Not yet.” Hilda shuffled closer, watching the dough fold and stretch beneath her mother’s hands. “I was just wondering… um, can I ask you something? About Grandpa.”

Johanna’s smile softened into something smaller, more distant. “Phinium?”

“Yeah.” Hilda picked at a loose thread on her jumper, trying to sound innocent. “You’ve told me some stories before, like how he used to walk you to the edge of the forest to watch the lights in the trees, and how he made that little whistle that calls birds, but… do you remember anything else? Like… what he did for work? Or maybe hobbies?”

Her mother’s brow furrowed slightly as she thought. “Work? No… not really. I never saw him work when he was with us. He was always just… there. Present. He read a lot, but not in a way that felt like work. He liked books about plants, loved reading maps. But if you’re asking if I ever saw him leave for an office or a council meeting—no. Never.”

“So… nothing about, like, official duties or anything?” Hilda pressed.

Johanna shook her head. “Not when I was young. Maybe before I was born, but he never spoke about it much. And you know, people in the Fairy Realm… they don’t talk about ‘jobs’ the way we do here. It’s more about roles, seasons, what you contribute. And Phinium…” She trailed off, dusting flour from her hands. “He was just Dad to me.”

Hilda studied her mother for a moment. Johanna’s voice carried no trace of guardedness, but it also gave her nothing useful. The curiosity tugging at Hilda’s chest tightened, but she sensed there wasn’t more to get from her, at least, not right now.

“Right. Thanks, Mum,” Hilda said, forcing a small smile. “I was just curious.”

Johanna looked at her fondly. “It’s nice that you think of him. He’d have liked that.”

Hilda mumbled something noncommittal, then excused herself, slipping back into her room with the faintest frustration gnawing at her.

~~~

If Johanna couldn’t give her more, then Aunt Astrid was her next—and maybe best—option. Astrid had always struck her as someone who noticed things, someone who remembered details even if she didn’t share them right away.

Hilda grabbed her phone, hesitated for a beat, then hit the call button. The line rang twice before a familiar, lively voice answered.

“Hilda! How’s my favourite niece?”

Hilda smiled despite herself. “Hi, Aunt Astrid. I'm your only niece and I’m fine. How are you?”

“Oh, you know, keeping busy. And keeping out of trouble—mostly. How’s the tracking going? Any luck with the problem?”

“Yeah, actually. And thanks again for teh artefact, we managed to get another clue,” Hilda said, keeping her tone breezy. “Something about coordinates and… well, it’s all a bit tangled. But we’re getting somewhere.”

“That’s good to hear. And you’re okay? Eating properly? Sleeping? No recent anomaly attacks?”

“Yes,” Hilda said, laughing lightly. “I’m fine and no attacks. But, um…” She let the sentence trail off, aiming for just enough hesitation to sound natural, though inside, her curiosity was pressing hard. “Can I ask you something kind of random?”

“Of course,” Astrid replied, curious.

“What did Grandpa do for work? Like… before he left the Fairy Realm?”

There was a small pause on the other end. “Work? Well, he was on the Fairy Council. Youngest member they’d had in generations, actually. Very studious. Always had his nose in some book or another. But when he left the realm to take care of your mum, he stepped away from all that. Completely. Never went back.”

Hilda’s grip on the phone tightened. “Right. And… did he have any connection to the Tricksters?”

“Tricksters?” Astrid’s tone shifted to mild confusion. “No, none of us did. They’re… well, they’re not really associated with much anymore. They left the realm ages ago since the tragedy, the elders don't even know what happened or at least they don't tell us. Why?”

Hilda bit her lip. “Just curious.”

“Well,” Astrid continued, “they were never exactly trusted in council matters, but there was nothing direct between them and your grandfather. Honestly, they mostly kept to themselves. Why bring them up?”

“Something I heard,” Hilda murmured. Then, after a beat: “Do you… remember anything about the war?”

There was a long pause. “What war?” Astrid asked finally.

Hilda frowned. “The war between the Fairy Realm and the Tricksters. You know, years ago?”

“Hilda, I haven’t seen or been in a war in all my life,” Astrid said slowly, her confusion deepening. “I think I’d remember something like that.”

Hilda’s brows knit together. She knew the stories. She’d heard about the battles, the reasons the Tricksters had been forced out. Was Astrid just playing dumb, or did she genuinely not remember? The thought made her stomach twist.

“Never mind,” Hilda said quickly. “I must have mixed something up. Forget I asked.”

“All right…” Astrid sounded unconvinced, but didn’t push.

Hilda exhaled, changing the subject. “You should come visit sometime. Finally see Trollberg. Meet Louise. We could show you around.”

“That would be lovely,” Astrid said warmly. “It’s been far too long since I had a proper wander. I’ll check my schedule.”

“Great. I’ll talk to you soon, then,” Hilda said, ending the call with a polite farewell.

She set the phone down on her desk and stared at the wall. The pieces didn’t fit. If Astrid’s memory was genuine, then someone—or something—had erased the war from her mind. But why? And if Phinium had truly been a council member, then his involvement in all of this ran deeper than she’d imagined.

Outside, the drizzle thickened again, tracing restless lines down the glass. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang out, muffled by the mist. And Hilda, still perched in her room, felt that the threads of her grandfather’s story were only getting more tangled the more she tried to follow them.

It had been days since Louise last set foot near Greg’s office, but she hadn’t stopped thinking about it. The door had been different last time she passed it — locked, yes, but now layered in fresh enchantments that shimmered faintly if you looked from the corner of your eye. Not crude wards, either. These were deliberate, careful protections. That alone confirmed her suspicions. Greg knew. Maybe not the specifics, but he knew she was sniffing around his private work. And yet… nothing. No confrontation. No warning. Just silence.

That silence worried her more than anger ever could. Over the past few days, Greg had seemed… diminished. Not weaker exactly, but wearier, as if he were bracing for something inevitable, something he couldn’t quite bring himself to face. His voice carried less bite. His movements were slower. He looked less like the sharp-eyed Trickster heir and more like a man carrying the memory of a decision made years ago that refused to die.

Louise wasn’t about to wait for him to bring it up.

Tonight, she came prepared. In her pocket, the cool surface of a mirrored token glinted faintly, “borrowed” from Frida’s satchel while her friend had been too busy scribbling wards in the courtyard to notice. She’d paired it with a handful of incantations she’d half-learned from one of her dad’s old parchments, the ink still smelling faintly of cedar and iron. She’d practised them in whispers until they rolled off her tongue like a second language.

The enchantments on the door didn’t yield quietly. The mirrored token hummed against her palm, reflecting faint flashes of light as she muttered the first unlocking phrase. The runes flickered once, twice, before collapsing inward like shattered glass. She slipped inside.

The air in the room was cold. Not the kind of cold that seeped from the walls after the rain, but an unnatural chill that sat heavy on the skin, like the breath of something old pressed just behind her shoulder. Wards still lingered in the air, faint and ghostly, their shimmer distorting the room in places like heat wave turned to frost.

Louise scanned the space, instantly noting the changes. The surface of Greg’s desk, usually cluttered with a chaotic scatter of notes and charms, had been reorganised, almost looked staged. Several papers had clearly been moved recently, leaving thin outlines of dust-free wood. A ledger she’d seen before was missing. The false panel in the back wall — the one that had once hidden the journal — was gone, replaced by a tall grandfather clock she remembered from the opposite corner of the room. And there, under the far shelf, a drawer glinted faintly, sealed with a triple-lock glyph.

The sort of lock that dared you to try.

Her lips curved into the smallest smirk. Greg was still hiding something.

She dropped to her knees in front of the drawer, rolling her shoulders once before pressing her hands flat against the warm wood. Her voice was a whisper, sharp with intent, the syllables twisting as they left her tongue. She didn’t finesse this one; she tore it open, snapping each layer of protection with brute-force glyphwork. The backlash came instantly —a sharp, stinging pulse across her palms that left her fingertips tingling —but the drawer yielded with a reluctant groan.

Inside, she found them. Neatly ordered crystals, labelled by year in Greg’s careful, angular script. Some were clouded with age, their surfaces dulled from decades of storage. She brushed her thumb over the oldest one and, without hesitation, placed it in the player.

The room filled with a voice that made her pause. Her father’s, younger than she’d ever heard it, crisp and formal.

“Elder Aldmar,” Greg’s younger voice began. “I trust the Council received my last transmission.”

“Lord Gregory Eldren of the Trickster clan,” came the reply —Phinium’s voice, precise and dignified, each syllable weighed like a coin.

Louise blinked at the name. Eldren. The chief family of the Tricksters. Her mind snagged on the implication, half-forming a thought she didn’t dare finish before the conversation drew her back.

They were discussing Trickster activities, leyline manipulations and unstable crossings near Gaia Hollowborn. Phinium’s words were edged with disapproval.

Phinium’s tone sharpened. “The Elder Council has grown… concerned. They are barely tolerating Trickster independence as it is, particularly given your father’s repeated disregard for sanctioned boundaries. His decisions, Lord Eldren, undermine our stability. Order must be preserved.”

Greg’s reply was even, but Louise could hear the weight in it: “We honour the higher council, but we do not bow to it. The Tricksters have lived by our own customs for centuries. We will not concede them because a few on high find us inconvenient.”

It was like listening to history breathing in her ears. These were years before Greg had married Alys. Before she’d been born. Before any of that had even seemed possible.

The voice that emerged when Louise set another crystal into the player was sharp, taut like a drawn bowstring.

It began with Greg’s voice, clipped and formal, “What I don’t understand, Lord Aldmar, is why a member of the Lower Council is wasting his time speaking with me. You’ve made it clear the rest of your colleagues see me as… young, unseasoned. The polite word would be ‘inexperienced.’ The real one, I suspect, is ‘irrelevant.’”

Phinium’s reply was curt and absolutely without warmth, every syllable steeped in the icy cadence of fairy protocol.

“Do not flatter yourself, Trickster. I am not here out of interest in your… perspectives. This is simply a matter of duty. Unfortunately, your people’s activities have crossed into territory that now requires my attention.”

Louise could almost hear Greg frustration, “And this—”, his voice tightened, steel beneath the words, “—this right here is exactly why I can’t stand your kind. You’re all the same. Always thinking Tricksters are beneath you. Always speaking like every word is a courtesy to the lesser creatures you’d rather ignore. Tell me, Phinium, how long must we be around before we’re even tolerated by you uptight, wing-preening bureaucrats?”

The air in the room, or at least in the echo of the recording, seemed to still. Then Phinium’s voice cut through like a blade dipped in frost., “Tolerated? Tricksters are tolerated already—more than they should be. You are clever enough in your little ways, but your kind has always been reckless, undisciplined. You tamper with magic you barely understand, as though it were a game. You are not scholars. You are opportunists. Savages in colourful clothes.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Greg’s voice came back, low and controlled.

“If I’m such a savage, then I suppose I’d rather spend my time studying something worth knowing than stand here being lectured. The realm’s boundary, for instance. Far more interesting than the Council’s endless complaints.”

Phinium’s tone took on the faintest note of derision.

“The realm’s boundary is a stabilized construct. There is nothing of consequence to be gained from poking at it—unless you’re looking to unravel it entirely, which would explain much about Trickster methodology.”

“You’re wrong. My hypothesis says otherwise.”,  Greg responded curtly.

“Your hypothesis is flawed. You mistake anomalies for patterns. An amateur’s error.”, Phinium retorted.

“We’ll see. I’ll bring proof next time.”

Louise could hear the faint smirk in Phinium’s answer.

“By all means. I welcome the attempt. I am always eager to correct the overconfidence of youth.”

~~~

The next crystal picked up almost exactly where the other had left off, but the atmosphere had changed. The tension was still there, but now there was something else beneath it, energy, even playfulness.

Greg’s voice led the way, bright with satisfaction.

“Well, would you look at that, Phin. Evidence. Data logs from four separate crossings, all showing fluctuations in the exact pattern I predicted. Looks like the amateur’s error was yours this time.”

Phinium was silent for a moment, too long for it to be dismissal.

“Interesting. And what, pray tell, do you think this proves?”

“It proves the boundary isn’t stable.", Greg started "It’s moving—slightly, yes, but enough to matter. Which means there’s an external influence acting on it, which means it could be altered deliberately, which means—”

“—which means you’re overlooking the obvious. Your readings account for neither the dimensional drift caused by the seasonal arc, nor the resonance interference from the old gate in the South. Remove those factors, and your data points would be far less conclusive.”, Phinium interrupted.

Louise could hear Greg inhale slowly, probably biting down on his pride.

“…Alright. Fine. You’re right about the Southern interference. I didn’t account for the harmonics there.”

“Only about the Southern Interference?”

“Don’t push it.”

Something like a chuckle ghosted over Phinium’s next words.

“Very well. Your point still stands—partially. The instability exists, even if your explanation for it is incomplete.”

“And that’s why we investigate further. You take your measurements in the northern territories; I’ll cover the lower crossings. We compare results next week.”

“Agreed. And this time, I expect your calculations to be… cleaner.”

“This time, I expect you to admit when I’m right.”

There was a pause, then, surprisingly, Phinium’s voice came back warm with challenge.

“We shall see.”

Louise found herself leaning closer to the player without even realizing it. The hostility was still there, but now it was edged with mutual respect, the kind that only came from colliding egos slowly learning to orbit each other instead.

At that piont, Louise had been listening for hours. The office around her had grown dim, shadows stretching across the stacks of old books and work pages. The faint scent of cedar polish lingered in the air, mixed with something sharper, herbs perhaps, or dried flowers tucked away in a drawer decades ago. Outside the window, the light was shifting to the bruised colors of late afternoon, but she barely noticed. Her world had narrowed to the shimmering blue crystals lined neatly across Greg’s desk, each one faintly humming with captured voices from another time.

By the fifth or sixth crystal, the change in tone was undeniable. At first, it was subtle enough to almost miss, a lightness in the pauses, a certain familiarity in their phrasing.
“Lord Aldmar” had become simply “Phin” or “Mentor.”
The formal, slightly biting “Lord Eldren” had softened into just “Greg.”

Their early exchanges had been clipped, diplomatic in the coldest sense of the word, phrases so measured they could have been scripted for a council transcript. But now, the formality had started to crumble, giving way to conversation. They were no longer two political representatives cautiously circling one another—they were two minds colliding in curiosity.

They began to speak of theories rather than treaties. Greg’s voice carried a sharp-edged energy, almost boyish, as he described “a knot in space-time” forming at the realm’s outer boundary. Phinium’s response was immediate and speculative, suggesting the anomaly might be sentient—“or at the very least self-regulating, like a living barrier.”

From there, the conversation spiraled into the kind of debate only two people fluent in the obscure could have: metaphysical ethics, the philosophical implications of artificially altering boundaries between realms, and the absurd stubbornness of the Council when it came to anything that smelled of change.

Louise found herself leaning in closer as their words overlapped, as if she could somehow catch ideas slipping between their sentences. She imagined Greg standing at a chalkboard, sleeves rolled up, sketching diagrams in broad, impatient strokes while Phinium frowned thoughtfully, countering each wild theory with a precise observation. Somewhere in the background, the invisible Council loomed—a silent, disapproving audience neither man seemed to care about in those moments.

One crystal in particular caught her off guard. Greg’s voice was mid-explanation when there was a sharp bang followed by a low ringing hum.
A beat of silence. Then, unexpectedly—Phinium’s laugh.

It wasn’t polite or restrained. It was warm, genuine, the kind of laugh that breaks down walls.

“If the Council heard half our ideas,” Phinium joked, his voice still threaded with amusement, “they’d exile us both.”

Greg, without missing a beat, replied, “Then we’re finally doing something right.”

Louise smiled despite herself. For a moment, she could almost forget who these men were—forget the titles, the histories, the politics. She could almost believe they were simply friends, student and mentor, delighting in the shared act of discovery.

But then her fingers brushed over a crystal that felt different. Its rune was faint, as though deliberately worn down, and its date was… wrong. Older than it should have been. The label read in neat, formal script:

Hollowborn Contingency | Archive Redacted.

Louise’s stomach tightened. She set it into the player.

Phinium’s voice emerged first, clipped and brittle, stripped of all the warmth she’d just been hearing.

“They’ve decided. The Council has voted to initiate an offensive against the Trickster enclaves. They’re calling it a response to reckless destabilisation—your father’s actions were the catalyst.”

There was no pause before Greg’s reply. His voice came sharp, bristling with outrage.

“That’s absurd. My father may be eccentric, but he’s no threat to the realm. This is revenge, plain and simple. They’ve hated us since the Convergence Trials.”

Phinium’s tone softened, but not with comfort, rather with the weight of resignation, “I don’t disagree. But I am bound to the Council. This wasn’t a discussion. It was a decree.”

Greg’s voice rose again, raw and urgent, “Then I’ll tell Alys. She’ll alert her clan’s Guard. They’ll push back—”

Phinium cut him off, sudden steel in his voice, “You’ll what?”

Greg didn’t falter, “My father will find out. When he does, Alys will be involved whether you like it or not.”

The crystal caught the pause that followed, a silence that felt almost physical, pressing in from all sides. When Phinium spoke again, his voice was quieter, measured, as though weighing each word, “I understand but… tis war that the elders are declaring. Why not concede? This will just lead to pointless bloodshed. If you could convince your father to bow, then—”

Greg’s retort was immediate, almost a bark.

“Hell no! Phin, you and I both know that none of the tricksters—not my clan, not Alys’, not the people—will concede to such a statement. We will fight. That’s a given.”

This time, it was Greg who paused. When he spoke again, the heat had drained from his voice, replaced by something quieter—cooler, but no less certain, “But you’re right. This is nothing but pointless bloodshed. Besides… what does Lydia think of all this, anyway?”

Phinium hesitated. Louise could hear it, the faintest hitch of breath, the subtle shift of posture that somehow translated even through magic.

When he spoke, it was slow, almost reluctant, “I don’t know. I am yet to tell her the Council’s decision. And you know that since she is human, she does not involve herself in such matters but…”

His voice trailed off, and for several seconds there was nothing but the faint background hum of the crystal. Louise could picture him then, staring at the floor, jaw tight, debating whether to say what came next.

Finally, he spoke, “...I have made a decision. I will leave the Council. Lydia, Astrid, and I will go to the human realm. I don’t know for certain what the elders are planning, but from the talks I’ve overheard… it sounds like something big.”

Greg’s response was sharp with alarm.

“What?! What do you mean, what are they planning? Is it a weapon? A spell?”

Phinium’s reply came with the steadiness of someone who had already settled the matter in his own mind, “I don’t know for sure. But I will not involve myself in such a pointless war, nor will I endanger the ones I love because of it. I know as the heir, you cannot take the same course of action as I. But I want you to know this—I will be ready to provide any assistance necessary to help your cause. Not as your mentor, but as your friend.”

There was a faint sound—Greg exhaling, perhaps, or a quiet laugh without humor.

And then the crystal ended.

Louise reached for the next crystal, her fingers trembling despite her best attempt at composure. The faint hum in the air sharpened, and the subtle chill that had hung in Greg’s office deepened, as if the wards themselves were holding their breath. Light from the desk lamp faltered for a heartbeat, shadows sharpening in the corners of the room.

She hesitated, her pulse thudding in her ears, and pressed her thumb against the smooth, etched surface.

The crystal’s glow swelled. Voices swam through the air again, distant, half-muted, yet clear enough to piece together. She heard the formal stiffness of old diplomatic exchanges between Greg and Phinium, clipped pleasantries and careful turns of phrase. Over time, the tone softened. The words carried the ease of camaraderie, even a trace of humour, the steady rhythm of two minds learning to trust each other.

~~~

He had known the moment the wards whispered to him down the hall. He had not hurried. The sound of his own footsteps felt distant, muffled by the weight in his chest. He already knew what she had found, or, more dangerously, what she was beginning to understand.

His hand hovered over the door handle, hesitation flickering in his chest like a warning light. Slowly, he pushed the door open, the hinges barely making a sound.

Inside, the air felt colder, shadows deepening around the corners as if the room itself was bracing for what was to come.

Louise’s fingers trembled just slightly as she reached toward the next crystal. Her breath caught in her throat, pulse quickening in a rhythm that echoed the silent alarms in the room. The wards flared silently, subtle but unmistakable, like a heartbeat skipping, the light dimmed just a fraction, and the cold deepened, curling around her skin.

Then came the voice. Calm. Cold. Not angry. Not surprised. Knowing.

“What are you doing in here?”

Her body froze.

Louise straightened, her mind still spinning with the fragments she’d heard, the war, the Council, apparently, her mother, the sharp edge in Greg’s voice sapped her out of her thoughts. She wondered if she should speak first, explain, deny- but his expression stopped her.

It wasn’t a glare.

Greg stood at the door, the pale silver glow from the hallway casting sharp lines across his face. His eyes held no accusation, only exhaustion, a bone-deep tiredness carved from years of guarding truths that were never meant to be unearthed. The kind of tired that knew exactly what she’d found, and dreaded the moment when he’d have to explain why it was hidden in the first place.

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other, a silent collision of curiosity and warning.

Chapter Text

Louise’s thoughts tumbled over one another, tripping, clawing, scattering like loose pages caught in a tornado storm.

He knew. He knew about Phinium. He knew about the journals. He knew things I was never supposed to find.

The air in the office felt heavy, pressing down on her chest. She tried to make sense of it, but every possibility tangled with another, until it was impossible to tell where one fear ended and the next began.

What else does he know? What else has he hidden? Why would he keep this from me—why from me of all people?

Her stomach knotted, nausea threatening to rise. And then the sharpest thought cut through the haze her mind was in, a cold and cruel one

If he knew about Phinium… if he knew about all this… who even is he?

Her lips parted, dry and trembling, her voice stumbling out in the smallest of fragments.

“W–who… who were you?”

The words barely held together, fragile and uneven. Her gaze crawled upward to meet him, her eyes glassy with confusion that seemed to carve itself into her face.

Greg didn’t meet her. He didn’t flinch, didn’t shout, didn’t even straighten up. He kept his head bowed, staring into the dark grain of the floorboards like there was something written there only he could read. His hands shifted slightly at his sides, clenching once, releasing.

When he spoke, his voice was a weak, unsteady thing, the kind of tone that made him sound less like her father and more like a stranger she’d never met.

“I–I can’t say…”

Louise froze. And then the weight of those words, the finality of them, snapped something inside her chest.

Her confusion curdled into anger. Her breath hitched, sharper now, and her voice tore itself out before she could think to stop it.

“You can’t say? That’s all you ever do, Dad!”

The words cut the stillness of the room like glass splintering on stone.

Her hands shot out, shaking, pointing at the desk, at the shelves, at the scattered journals and crystals that had led her here.

“You keep everything locked away. Every truth, every answer,  like I don’t deserve to know anything about my own family!”

Her throat was burning now, but she pushed through it, her words spilling out faster, louder, each one jagged with months—years— of bottled frustration.

“Do you even know what it’s been like for me? To find these things on my own? To piece together scraps, riddles, half-truths, w-while you just sit there in silence?”

Her chest heaved as she stepped closer, desperation tightening her voice.

“I want to know! About us. About our family. About our history. About Mum.”

The last word cracked on her tongue. She swallowed hard, her fists clenching at her sides.

“But you—”

Her voice faltered for a breath, but the anger was too strong now, burning through the weakness. She cut him off before he could even attempt another excuse.

“You never tell me anything! Not once. Not about her, not about you. And I’m tired of it. I’m so tired of it.”

The air in the office seemed to vibrate with her words, the wards around them humming faintly as though echoing the raw edge of her anger. The silence that followed was jagged, suffocating, hanging between them like a blade waiting to drop.

"Why don't you want me to know?", Louise murmured.

"I-i do!... bu-", Greg started

Louise’s voice wavered as she cut him off,

“Then what's stopping you, Dad! Just… tell me what you know!”

Greg’s hands clenched against his knees, head bowed. His voice cracked, sharp and unguarded:

“You don’t understand, Louise. I can’t—”

He stopped himself. His shoulders stiffened, a muscle in his jaw twitching. For a moment, he almost looked like he might continue— but the words withered before they reached his lips.

“It’s too painful,” he muttered, barely audible. “Too dangerous. If I… if I said it aloud, it would undo everything.”

Greg then looked up to face her yet still not looking her in the eyes, though Louise could see his eyes pleading for her to not press any further, then he said:

"Please Louise—", he begged, "— I promise I will tell you, okay?

......just, not right now."

Louise’s breath caught. Her frustration softened into something heavier. Still, she leaned forward, whispering, desperate:

“But you will tell me, won’t you?”

Greg finally settled his eyes to her, worn and raw.

“I promise. I’ll tell you everything.”

Her chest tightened.

“When?”

Before he could answer, her phone buzzed violently in her pocket. The shrill sound shattered the fragile silence. She fumbled it out, glanced at the screen— Unknown Number.

Her heart skipped. She answered.

Silence. Then static. And buried deep in the crackle— a low, distorted voice:

“…the last gate… sealed for a reason…”

Louise froze.

“Hello? Who is this?”

The line clicked dead.

Her screen lit up again instantly l— Frida this time, the name flashing across the display. Louise’s thumb trembled as she answered.

“Louise? Are you with your dad? You need to get here right now— something’s happening!”

Louise swallowed hard, casting a glance at Greg. He hadn’t moved, but his fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles had gone white.

“Go,” he said quietly, voice flat but loaded. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

For a heartbeat, she lingered, torn between pressing him again and running to her friends. But the urgency in Frida’s voice left no room. She turned, phone still pressed to her ear, the unanswered question hanging heavy in the air.

Behind her, Greg let out a slow, shuddering breath— as if relieved by the interruption.

Hours Earlier...

The library was quiet in a way only ancient buildings could manage— not just simply silence, but a thick stillness that pressed in on every surface, every corner, as though the weight of centuries had sunk into the wood and stone(a.k.a, old as shit). Dust drifted lazily in the high beams of lamplight, disturbed only by the occasional flutter of pages as Frida turned them with fingers that were beginning to cramp.

Her desk was a battlefield of notebooks and ink-stained scraps, the remains of long hours spent trying to make sense of the fragments left behind by people who had known far more than they had ever intended to share. Scattered across the surface were diagrams half-drawn, runes half-copied, and annotations crossed through so often the paper had nearly torn.

Frida had been at it for hours.

She pulled her scarf tighter against her shoulders, glancing at the high windowpanes where the last orange smear of evening light was fading. The city outside was already dimming into blue shadow. The lamps within the library glowed with their usual soft warmth, but even they seemed tired, as if the whole place were succumbing to the same exhaustion that had settled heavy behind her eyes.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered under her breath.

“This doesn’t line up. None of it lines up…”

Every text she opened mentioned the Fairy Courts— but never directly. It was always couched in some kind of metaphor: the blood of roots, the crystal breath, the song bound to earth. The Druvenari appeared in passing, whispers of an order that supposedly once maintained tye between realms, warriors cloaked not in armour but in oaths. And that V clan David was talking about— she couldn't find anything on it, seemed like it was more rumour than history, the kind of name most archivists would dismiss as myth.

Yet she knew better. She’d seen enough now to understand that the world wasn’t made of myths— it was made of truths carefully hidden.

She leaned back in her chair and exhaled slowly, her breath ghosting in the chill. Her quill rolled from her fingers and clattered onto the wood. She stared at the jumble of words and sketches in her notes, the mess of ink that resembled thought but had no order.

Frida hated being wrong. More than that, she hated being stuck.

And tonight, she was both.

She rose, stretching stiff legs, and began pacing between the shelves. The floor creaked under her boots, the sound muffled by carpets threadbare with age. The library was like a labyrinth— corridors that folded into shadow, rows of shelves stacked so high they seemed to lean inward, conspiring. She let her hand trail along the spines of books as she walked, their surfaces smooth, cracked, or embossed with runes she couldn’t read.

It wasn’t unusual for her to lose track of time here, but something about tonight gnawed at her. She kept glancing over her shoulder, convinced she’d hear footsteps that never came, or that a book would shift when she wasn’t looking.

It was ridiculous, she told herself. The library was warded more tightly than any other place in Trollberg.

And yet…

Her fingers brushed across a spine she didn’t remember noticing before. A dark, almost oily leather. The symbol embossed on it was faint, worn smooth as though it had been touched countless times, a knot of roots twisting around a circle.

She froze.

That mark had appeared once before in her research, scratched faintly into the margins of a Druvenari scroll. She hadn’t been able to decipher its meaning.

Heart quickening, Frida pulled the book free. It came reluctantly, as if clinging to the shelf. She set it on a nearby table and eased it open. The pages gave off the faint, sharp scent of old wards. Her fingertips tingled where they brushed the edges.

The text was handwritten, cramped, the ink faded to brown. Most of it was indecipherable. But there— that word, repeated again and again in the margins, surrounded by notes and symbols:

Phinium.

Her pulse leapt. She bent closer, tracing the lines with her eyes, trying to piece together the fragments.

And then the wards stirred.

The hair on her arms lifted. A coldness slid into the air, pricking her skin. The lamps overhead flickered once, twice, before dimming to a thin glow. The silence deepened, heavy, almost viscous.

Frida’s breath hitched. She had touched dozens of warded books before, but this–this was different. This was a door creaking open.

Her hand hovered over the page. Against her better judgment, she pressed her palm flat against the ink.

The world split.

Light exploded behind her eyes— not the warm light, but cold, white, searing kind. She stumbled back, yet her vision wasn’t filled with the library, but with something far older, far deeper.

She was standing in a cavern so vast she couldn’t see the ceiling, only roots thicker than towers plunging downward into blackness. The ground shuddered beneath her feet, a slow, steady rhythm like a heartbeat.

Chains hung from above, colossal, glowing faintly as though molten at the seams. They wrapped around something — she couldn’t see what, only a shape buried beneath roots, shifting slightly, as if breathing.

A voice slithered through the cavern, low and distorted, threaded with static like a broken transmission:

“Sealed for a reason…”

Frida’s knees buckled. She staggered forward, clutching her ears, but the voice was inside her head, not around her.

“Do not unbind what has been sealed... Do not open the last gate....”

The roots pulsed with light, veins of some familiar feeling magic shining like rivers underground. She tasted metal in her mouth, sharp and coppery. Her vision blurred at the edges.

And then, just as abruptly, it ended.

She was back in the library.

Her chest heaved, her palms pressed to the table. The book lay open, faintly glowing with the echo of the vision, but all the words and symbols in it were gone. She tore her hand away as if burned, stumbling back into the shelves.

Her breath came fast and uneven. She wiped her mouth and realised her lip had split— she could taste blood.

For a long moment, she just stood there, shivering, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She couldn’t shake the image: the chains, the roots, the whisper of something alive deep beneath the earth.

She had always prided herself on being rational, the one who kept her head when everyone else was afraid. But right now, she was trembling. And she hated it.

Her whisper echoed in the stillness:

“I wasn’t supposed to see that.”

She forced herself back to her desk, though her legs felt unsteady. The book sat closed now, wards pulsing faintly. She shoved it aside, unwilling to touch it again.

Instead, she tried to bury herself in the safer notes, the sketches she’d been making before. But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Every time she bent to write, her pen scraped unevenly, leaving jagged inkblots. (I imagined it was a fountain pen or smth)

She muttered to herself, trying to steady her thoughts.

“It was just a ward backlash. Just… interference. That’s all.”

But she knew better. That hadn’t been interference. That had been a memory embedded in the wards themselves— a warning left behind.

And worse, it hadn’t felt distant. It had felt present.

Hours passed. The lamps dimmed, and the library grew colder. She huddled deeper into her scarf, determined to salvage something useful from the night.

That was when it happened again.

The wards rippled— not as violently as before, but enough that every rune carved into the library’s stone walls flared, then dimmed. The books around her shivered, their pages rustling as though stirred by an unseen hand.

On her desk, one of the journals she’d discarded earlier slid open of its own accord. The ink shifted, lines rearranging into new patterns, symbols overlaying symbols.

Frida leaned in, heart racing. For a moment, it was chaos— then the shapes resolved into an image.

A map.

Incomplete, jagged, but unmistakable. It showed the land beyond Trolberg, the forests and hills she knew so well. But near the northern reaches, where the paper had been deliberately torn away, there was a mark: a circle entwined with roots.

The same mark from the spine of the book.

She gasped, fumbling for her notebook, sketching furiously before the symbols faded. Her hand cramped, but she didn’t stop until every line was copied.

And just as suddenly as it appeared, the image bled back into nothing, leaving only the faded, meaningless text behind.

Frida sat back, exhausted. Her pen trembled in her hand.

She looked down at her sketch, it was rough, uneven, but clear enough.

A fragment of the path to Hollowborn.

She pressed her palm flat against the page, as if to reassure herself it was real. Then she closed her eyes, steadying her breath.

For the first time in hours, something sharp cut through her fear, purpose.

They were closer now. Hollowborn had a place on a map.

But the words from the vision lingered, echoing against her ribs:

"Sealed for a reason."

Frida shivered.

And when her phone buzzed on the desk— the call she would make to Louise only hours later— her fingers hovered over it, uncertain, before she finally pressed dial.

The library door swung open quietly, but not quietly enough for Frida to miss it. Her head lifted, hair slightly damp from the chill that clung to the building, and her eyes, wide and haunted, fell on Louise immediately. The door’s lock clicked shut behind her, leaving a quiet echo in the still, musty air.

Louise’s steps were hurried, almost frantic, and Frida noticed before the girl even spoke the tremor in her chest, the same way you notice a candle’s flame quiver before it goes out. Louise carried herself with a tension that hadn’t been there earlier, like someone who had been jolted awake from a nightmare but was unsure which world she now belonged to.

“You—what happened?” Louise’s voice cracked slightly, a mixture of anxiety and curiosity, but Frida held up her hand before she could ask further.

“I… just—look.” Frida’s voice was hoarse, the usual crispness of her tone softened by exhaustion. Her fingers shook as she pushed the notebook toward Louise, leaving no room for questions or objection.

Louise leaned over the table, eyes scanning the hurried sketches, ink blots that had spread across the page from Frida’s trembling hand. The map fragment dominated the page. It looked jagged, incomplete, a portion of Trolberg’s surrounding forests and hills that they knew well. Yet there was something unnerving about the markings, the way the roots and circles hinted at hidden paths, as though the land itself had been rewritten to conceal the presence of something ancient, something dangerous.

“You have to see this. I think… I think I found where the last gate is.” Frida’s words were barely audible, as if speaking too loudly might shatter her fragile composure.

Louise’s gaze flicked up. Her sharp eyes immediately caught the subtle tremor in Frida’s hands, the way she bit the inside of her cheek, her lips dry and pale.

“You—Frida, what happened?” Louise asked, her voice softer now, careful.

Frida shook her head, pressing a hand to her mouth before she could answer. Her gaze dropped to the desk, where the fragment lay waiting.

“Not now,” she whispered. “I can’t explain it. Not yet, I'll need to clear my thoughts forst. But this… this is important. You need to see it.”

Louise exhaled slowly, tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly. Her curiosity battled with the unease that had been gnawing at her ever since her father’s words— or, more precisely, his silence—had left her unsettled. But now, here was something concrete: a clue. A piece of the puzzle they’d been chasing for weeks.

Louise knelt beside Frida, her eyes scanning the fragment. Her fingers hovered over the inked lines, the jagged symbols tracing paths and roots that seemed almost alive.

“They’re… tied together,” Louise said softly. “The roots, the circles… this isn’t just a map. It’s a warning, isn’t it?”

Frida nodded once, her fingers gripping the edge of the notebook until her knuckles turned white. “I think so,” she admitted, though her voice was hesitant. “And if this is right… the last gate its— it’s… real. And it’s somewhere in these woods, or beyond them.”

Louise’s breath hitched slightly. The idea was staggering, a weight that settled deep in her chest. She could feel the pulse of history in the lines on the page, as though the ink itself carried whispers from ages past. “We need to check it,” she said finally, determination threading through her voice. “We need to see where it leads.”

Frida shook her head again, soft, exhausted. “Not yet,” she said. “We… we have to be careful. Whoever or whatever sealed it didn’t do so lightly. The wards, the symbols… they’re protective. Dangerous. And—” Her voice faltered. She swallowed hard. “I saw something. Something I… shouldn’t have.”

Louise’s brow furrowed, her curiosity flaring. “What did you see?”

Frida’s hands clutched the notebook tighter. Her gaze darted toward the windows, then back at the fragment. “I can’t,” she whispered. “Not yet. It’s… not safe. I—I need to… understand it first. And… I don’t think I’m ready to tell anyone, not even you.”

Louise’s shoulders slumped slightly, a mixture of frustration and understanding. She had known Frida to be brave, incisive, capable of cutting through nonsense with razor-sharp precision. But this… this was different. She could see it in Frida’s eyes: the weight of something she had glimpsed, something ancient and immense, pressing down on her very soul.

They sat in silence for a long moment. The only sounds were the faint rustle of paper, the creak of the wooden floor beneath their chairs, and the soft, imperceptible hum that seemed to vibrate from the very walls of the library.

Back at Louise's home, in a room cloaked in shadows and the faint scent of old paper and cedar polish, Greg sat alone. His office was small but meticulous, lined with bookshelves and filing cabinets, each drawer locked and labelled with precision. But there was one drawer, slightly worn at the edges, that he had never allowed anyone to touch.

Now, with Louise gone and the faint hum of the house settling into night, he approached it. His fingers lingered over the brass handle, and he exhaled slowly, a tremor of anticipation— or was it dread?—running through him. He opened it.

Inside lay a small collection of items, each one carefully wrapped and protected: letters yellowed with age, photographs faded at the edges, and, at the center, an insignia. One with a characteristics V at its center.

The Varricklow insignia.

Greg picked it up with deliberate care. His thumb brushed the polished metal surface, worn with time and use. The touch was both a comfort and a wound. Memories he had buried deep surfaced with the faintest pressure: a childhood spent engaged in politics, oaths of a loved one whispered under starlight missions in realms that never should have happened, and failures that had cost lives he could never name aloud.

And he would never forgive himself for.

He traced the contours, and for a moment, the office around him faded. He was back there again, standing in the hollow of a forest he had long buried in his memory, facing something immense and utterly destructive. Something that should never have been used, that could have been the end of him and everyone he held dear.

The hum of magic stirred faintly in the room, almost imperceptible at first, but then more sharply— a shimmer in the corner, so slight it could have been a trick of the light.

Greg’s gaze hardened. The shimmer coalesced into a projection, a being faint and ephemeral:

A fairy sprite, manifestations of the elders of the High Courts to do their bidding, it looked translucent and watched Greg intently. It hovered, observing him as though measuring his every thought, his every heartbeat.

“Tell your masters,” Greg said, his voice low, steady, but threaded with danger. “That they've already done enough. I won’t let Hollowborn open. So tell them to leave my daughter and her friends alone!”

The projection wavered, flickered, and vanished as if it had never existed. Silence returned, heavy and absolute. Greg sank into his chair, the insignia still in hand. The shadows in the room pressed close, wrapping around him. He didn’t move for a long time.

When he finally lifted his head, the determination on his face was tempered by exhaustion. He knew the threat was growing. He could feel it, a pulse in the earth, a disturbance in the wards he had placed and maintained for years. The Varriklow clan had failed once before. He would not fail again.

But for now, he waited. The silence of the house stretched like a thin wire across the night. And though he sat alone, he was not unobserved. Somewhere, the shimmer lingered— faint, imperceptible, watching. Waiting.

And Greg knew, with a sinking certainty, that the night was far from over. Hollowborn was stirring. And its secrets would not remain hidden forever.

Chapter Text

The morning broke bright and clear over Trolberg, the kind of morning that seemed to chase away the lingering shadows of the night before. The air was crisp, sunlight glinting off the station’s glass roof and spilling golden light across the tiled floor. The steady hiss and clatter of trains, mingled with the chatter of families and the shuffle of boots, gave the place a bustling rhythm that somehow felt alive with anticipation.

Johanna stood near the edge of the platform, her hands tucked neatly in the pockets of her coat, scanning the tracks with patient calm. Beside her, Hilda nearly bounced on her heels, eyes darting every few seconds to the schedule board as though willing the train to arrive faster.

“She’s late,” Hilda declared, clutching Twig in her arms like he might share her impatience. “Well, not late late, but late enough. Oh, I can’t wait to see her again!”

Johanna smiled faintly, though her own eyes betrayed the same anticipation. “Trains don’t run faster just because you’re excited, Hilda. She’ll be here in a moment.”

And as though summoned by those words, the platform vibrated faintly, a low rumble that built into the thunder of wheels on tracks. A sleek blue train pulled into the station, steam sighing as it slowed, and the crowd leaned forward expectantly.

The doors opened with a hiss, and there she was.

Aunt Astrid.

She stepped down with the ease of someone who belonged anywhere she went. Her hair caught the sunlight, her scarf fluttered in the breeze, and her smile, warm, unreserved, and entirely genuine, lit up her face the moment she spotted Hilda.

“Hilda!” Astrid exclaimed, dropping her bag onto the platform.

“Aunt Astrid!” Hilda squealed, rushing forward. She threw her arms around her aunt, who lifted her clean off the ground in a laugh that echoed across the platform. Twig barked excitedly, tail wagging furiously at the reunion.

Johanna’s expression softened. She stepped forward for her turn, and Astrid hugged her just as tightly. “You look well, Jo,” Astrid said warmly. “It’s been too long.”

“And you,” Johanna replied, her voice gentler than usual.

Astrid pulled back and crouched slightly to Hilda’s level, though her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Now, tell me everything. Have you been on more adventures since I last visited? Met more strange creatures? Gotten into mischief?”

Hilda grinned, her freckles crinkling. “Maybe just a little mischief.”

Astrid laughed again, ruffling her hair. “That’s my girl.”

The moment settled, and Astrid shifted her bag over her shoulder as they began to walk toward the station exit. But her curiosity didn’t pause long. “And what about your friends? Frida, David… Louise, wasn’t it? How are they all?”

Hilda pulled out her phone almost instantly, her thumbs already flying across the screen. “I’ll tell them you’re here! They’ll be so excited.”

She typed quickly into the group chat:

✨ Freaky Four Ever ✨

🍄 FaeWeatherAdventurer: Guess who just arrived in Trolberg? Aunt Astrid!-7:04 AM

The responses came within seconds.

🧙‍♀️ Hexcellent_Frida: No way!! Please tell her I say hi! We have to see her soon.-7:04 AM

🐛 Bugged_Out_Boy: Already waiting to taste her potato cakes again. Priorities, Hilda.

Hilda giggled at the last one and showed Astrid the messages.

“Potato cakes,” Astrid repeated with a grin. “I suppose I’ve built myself a bit of a reputation, haven’t I?”

“You have,” Johanna said dryly, though her amusement was clear.

Then another message popped up.

🎭 Not_An_Illusion: Wait… who’s Aunt Astrid?-7:06 AM

There was a brief pause before the thread erupted.

🧙‍♀️ Hexcellent_Frida: She’s Hilda’s great aunt. You’re going to love her, trust me.-7:07 AM

🐛 Bugged_Out_Boy: Coolest aunt ever. And her cooking. Legendary-7:07 AM

🍄 FaeWeatherAdventurer: She’s really fun, Louise! You’ll see when you meet her.-7:08 AM

Louise stared at her screen for a long moment before finally typing back:

🎭 Not_An_Illusion: Huh. Okay. Guess I’ll have to see for myself then.-7:11 AM

Astrid tilted her head, curious. “That must be Louise?”

Hilda nodded. “Yeah. She hasn’t met you yet, but she will. You’ll like her.”

Astrid smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then I look forward to it. Any friend of yours, Hilda, is already family in my book.”

***

The morning had rolled into a soft, golden afternoon by the time they returned to Hilda’s house. Aunt Astrid carried her small travel bag upstairs with that brisk, effortless energy that hadn’t left her, even though her hair was now cropped shorter and more grey than Hilda remembered. The strands no longer draped over her ears, leaving them visible and giving her face a sharper, lighter look. She looked, somehow, both sterner and more approachable at once, a woman who had weathered storms and still had the time to sit by the fire with a story to tell.

Johanna, ever the hostess, directed Astrid to the spare room.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Johanna said warmly. “You’ll be here a few days at least, yes?”

Astrid set her bag on the small dresser and surveyed the room with a fond nod. “It’ll do nicely. Better than that rickety inn I stayed in last time.” She winked at Hilda, who had bounded up behind her, practically buzzing with excitement. “Besides, I came here for family— not for pillows.”

Hilda beamed. “We’re really glad you did! There’s so much I want to tell you about.”

Astrid gave her a knowing smile, sitting briefly on the edge of the bed. “Ah, yes. Your friends. Frida, David… and.....” She pressed a finger to her temple as if trying to recall. “Louise, isn’t it? The trickster. You’ve mentioned her once or twice in your letters.”

“Yeah,” Hilda said, glancing down the hall, her voice lowering just a touch. “She’s… different. But in a good way.”

Astrid’s smile softened. “Different is often useful in mysteries.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing just a little. “Speaking of which — that little problem you all were chasing? How’s that going?”

The energy in Hilda’s posture faltered. For a moment, her spark dimmed. “It’s… going. Okay.” She tried to lift her shoulders, tried to make it sound light. But Astrid, sharp as always, caught the subtle weight in her voice.

“‘Okay,’” Astrid repeated, drawing out the word. She gave Hilda a wry grin. “Well, now that I’m here, you can give me the details. We’ll see if this old brain of mine can help untangle things.”

That promise was like a warm hand at Hilda’s back. She nodded, relief breaking through her expression, before Johanna appeared again at the doorway.

“I should pick up a few things for dinner tonight,” Johanna said, brushing her hands on her apron. “I’ll be back before long. Hilda, could you keep Astrid company until Frida and David arrive?”

“Of course!” Hilda said quickly, but she barely had to wait at all. The knock at the door came sooner than expected.

Frida and David spilled into the house with a rush of enthusiasm that nearly knocked the quiet out of the air.

“Aunt Astrid!” David shouted before even stepping off the mat. His voice carried through the hall like a horn.

Astrid emerged from the spare room, hands on her hips, her grin breaking across her face. “David! Frida! Saints alive, you’ve both grown again.”

Frida laughed, hugging her first. “It hasn’t been that long, but it feels like ages.”

“And your hair!” David said, already circling her with mock astonishment. “It's different. A little greyer but it looks great!”

Astrid swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “Careful with that tongue, boy, or I’ll put you to work peeling potatoes before dinner.”

David brightened. “Only if that means you’re making your potato cakes. Been dreaming about those.”

“Dreams, is it? We’ll see.”

The room warmed with their laughter and the exchange of quick embraces. Frida, ever the sharper one, settled first, her eyes flicking between Hilda and Astrid with a spark of curiosity. “You came at the right time. We’ve been in the middle of something… strange.”

“Strange,” Astrid repeated knowingly. “That word seems to follow you three around like a shadow.”

They settled in the living room, cushions shifted, mugs of tea set steaming on the low table. Johanna had already slipped out by then, leaving the four of them together.

It was Frida who took the lead, organising her thoughts into a neat pattern of explanation. She described what they had uncovered so far: the gates, the ancient seals, the hints scattered through old journals and legends. David chimed in, filling the gaps with his own clumsy but heartfelt observations. Hilda added pieces too, though her tone dipped now and then with the weight of frustration.

Astrid listened, chin propped on one hand, eyes glinting with interest. She asked careful questions, about symbols, about places, about timing. Each answer was tucked away like another card in her hand.

But when the story paused, when Frida finally set down her mug with a small sigh of conclusion, Astrid looked around and noticed something.

“Wait,” she said, tilting her head. “And where’s Louise in all this? I thought she’d be here by now.”

Hilda blinked, frowning faintly. “You’re right. She said she’d come.”

“She wouldn’t miss this,” Frida added, crossing her arms. “Not after everything we’ve been digging into together.”

“Maybe she’s late?” David offered weakly. But even he didn’t sound convinced.

Their voices trailed off into the kind of silence that grows when a name suddenly weighs heavier than expected. The air between them hung with that small, nervous absence.

Louise sat in her own house, the atmosphere pressing down like a heavy, invisible blanket.

The day was bright outside, sunlight on the window glass, the world alive with birdsong and the distant hum of the city. But inside, the air was still, and each shadow seemed to stretch longer than it should.

She had tried, in her own way, to reach him. To bridge the silence. To coax the words from her father’s lips.

Greg had said so little since that moment earlier. Since the tremor in his voice, the glimpse of something he carried that she couldn’t yet name. Every attempt she made, eevry question, every touch of curiosity, every attempt at prodding— he sidestepped. A muttered excuse about work. A shuffle of papers. The subtle act of closing a door just before she reached it.

He had promised.

She reminded herself of that, again and again, as if repetition would turn it solid. He had promised he would tell her everything. That the answers weren’t gone forever. That it was just a matter of time.

But time stretched, and silence weighed, and her chest tightened with the strain of it.

She lingered at the kitchen doorway, watching him from a distance as he sat at the table, pretending to busy himself with an open ledger. His pen moved, but the page didn’t fill. The man before her was a shell, his eyes fixed downward, his shoulders slumped as if burdened by a storm no one else could see.

Louise bit the inside of her cheek. She could press him again. Demand it. Insist. But something in her knew the outcome, he would close up tighter, retreat further. She’d only drive him deeper into that hollow he’d carved around himself.

So she let it go. For now.

Her eyes fell to the floor, her breath unsteady. He had promised.

…Hadn’t he?

The question echoed in her head like a drip of water in a cavern. Once. Twice. Again. It didn’t stop.

And for the first time, Louise wasn’t sure she believed the answer.

***

The light in the room had turned honey-gold, afternoon spilling across the table where Frida’s notes lay scattered. Astrid leaned over them, her brows knitting tighter the longer she looked. Her fingers hovered just above the page as if touching the drawings and copied symbols might make them more real.

“This…” she murmured. Her voice had none of its usual brisk confidence. “These gates, these markings, I’ve studied my share of oddities, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Not in the city archives, not in the old collections, not even back in Tofoten"

David slouched a little lower on the couch. “So, uh… that’s bad, right?”

Astrid gave him a sidelong glance, half stern, half distracted, before turning back to the spread of papers. “It’s troubling. Not because it’s dangerous, though it very well may be, but because it’s been hidden. Trollberg’s history is strange, yes, but not this strange. If I didn’t know about it…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Frida sat straighter, sensing the shift. “What do you think it means?”

Astrid pressed her lips together, searching for the words. “It means someone went to great lengths to keep this buried. And if you children are unearthing it now, then perhaps… perhaps it’s trying to stop it. That could be what's happening.....but you said those attacks started before you started looking into it right? So what could it be?”

The words hung there, heavy enough to silence the room.

Astrid reached across and placed her hand gently over Hilda’s, steady and warm. “We’ll sort through it together. But I need to understand more before I say anything certain.”

Still, her eyes betrayed her. She wasn’t just intrigued. She was unsettled, unsettled by how much she didn’t know, and what it might mean for all of them.

And beneath it all, one question pulsed quietly through the group: Why hadn’t Louise arrived yet?

Louise sat at the kitchen table, chin in her hands, her foot tapping restlessly against the chair leg. The house was too quiet, and Greg’s footsteps down the hall only made the silence worse. He hadn’t looked at her properly since last night. He’d busied himself with errands inside the house, sorting papers, straightening shelves, polishing things that didn’t need polishing. Every attempt she made to catch his gaze ended in him vanishing into another room.

Her chest felt tight.

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that his promise meant something. That he really would tell her everything when he was ready. But every time she looked at him, all she saw was someone running from himself.

Her eyes flicked to those crystals again, they were on the floor in the room. One word rose, unbidden. Phinium.

The strange mineral, the impossible thread winding through her father’s secrets. The thing she had discovered in his office that had cracked her certainty wide open.

And then a thought followed, sharp and sudden: Astrid.

She sat upright, breath catching. Aunt Astrid— Hilda’s aunt, the one everyone said was a fanatic for the stranger things that occured around here, keeper of half the city’s forgotten lore. If anyone knew about Phinium— or at least could point her in the right direction— it would be her.

And if Astrid knew something about him… then maybe, by extension, she’d know something about Greg.

The idea lit in her like a spark catching tinder. She shoved the crystals into her satchel, cinched it shut, and bolted from her room.

Her father’s voice drifted faintly from the study, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. If she hesitated, he might look at her, ask where she was going, and she’d falter. So she pulled on her coat, yanked the door open, and slipped out into the afternoon air without a word.

The outside air hit her cheeks, brisk and warming. She quickened her pace, heart hammering as though the very walls of her house had been holding her back.

At Hilda’s house, the afternoon light had mellowed to amber. The living room table was a chaotic sprawl of notes, sketches, and half-empty mugs of tea. Astrid sat among them, her shorter gray hair catching the glow of the window as she frowned down at the strange symbols Frida had copied.

“I don’t like it,” she said at last, her voice low, almost to herself. “Not the mystery. Mysteries I can manage. But the fact that something like this could exist — and I never heard of it? Never saw a trace in all my years of study?”

Hilda leaned forward on her elbows. “So what do you think? What could it mean”, she asked exasperated, "...is this even all real?!"

Astrid looked at her, eyes sharp but softening. “Oh, it’s real. That much I feel in my bones. But hidden this deeply? That means intention. Someone wanted it lost.” She pressed her fingers against one of the rough sketches, lips pursed. “And secrets that are buried this thoroughly… they usually stay buried for a reason.”

David sank further into the couch. “That sounds… bad.”

Astrid nodded slowly, but her eyes betrayed something else — a flicker of uncertainty she didn’t often show. She reached out, gathering the notes into a neater pile, more to ground herself than for order. “I need time to think on this. To cross-check against what I know. But it unsettles me, children, that you’ve unearthed something I should have at least heard of."

Frida, trying to be braver, asked, “But maybe it means we were meant to find it? Like, maybe this is happening now because we need to stop whatever’s coming.”

Astrid didn’t answer right away. She looked at the three children in front of her, their bright, expectant faces shadowed by something larger than themselves. Finally, she exhaled. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it means the past has begun stirring again.”

The room fell quiet at that. Even the wind outside seemed to hush.

It was into that stillness that a sharp knock came at the door.

Hilda leapt up, a spark of hope lighting her face. “That must be her!”

Louise stood on the doorstep, slightly breathless, hair wind-tossed from running across town. She fiddled with the strap of her bag, nerves tightening her throat.

The door swung open and Hilda’s grin nearly blinded her. “Louise! You made it!”

Relief spread through Hilda’s features as she stepped aside to let her in. Louise managed a small smile, though her stomach was still knotted with the lingering weight of Greg’s silence.

Inside, Frida and David greeted her warmly, David with a joking “Took you long enough,” Frida with a quieter, but genuine, “We were wondering where you were.”

Then Astrid rose from her chair.

For a moment, Louise thought nothing of it. Maybe she was going somewhere. But the instant Astrid’s eyes landed on her, the air in the room shifted.

Astrid froze.

Her’s pupils dilated. Her hand trembled against the back of the chair. She took one unsteady step closer, eyes never leaving Louise’s face.

“I…” Her voice cracked. She swallowed, the next words slipping out in a hushed tone, half to Louise, half to the ghost of her own memory. “I know you.”

Louise blinked, startled. “What?”

Astrid’s face had gone pale, her features drawn tight with recognition and disbelief. She reached out as though to touch Louise’s cheek, stopped short, her fingers shaking.

“I know you,” she whispered again, firmer now, though her voice shook with something dangerously close to fear.

Louise opened her mouth, but before she could form a word, Astrid’s knees buckled.

The children cried out in unison as Astrid crumpled to the floor. Frida darted forward, catching her by the shoulders, while David scrambled for a cushion. Hilda knelt at her side, panic flashing across her face.

Louise stood frozen, her pulse hammering in her ears, Astrid’s words echoing over and over.

I know you.