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“I think I might leave Eulmore,” Bunny had bared his soul that night on the balcony, to the Warrior of Darkness and nobody else. It was the conclusion of a bloodletting of discomfort he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in his insistence that his new life was worth it. Worth the servitude, worth the barely wanted touches between his legs, worth the locked eyes with dying women. Worth finding out that the meat he’d served, the drugs he’d partaken in, were made of people in the same boiling pot as himself? That, it wasn’t. And it brought crashing down the entire veneer of calm he’d religiously upkept.
The following meteor shower and the strange powers it awakened pushed the thought out of his mind for some time, but as the dust settled, so did his plans. There were still pieces of the world left to discover. One of them had to accept him without the strings that Fanov, the Children, and Eulmore attached to his arms, right? Laku assured him so, and he was much better-traveled than himself. He’d seen every corner of the shard, and still he dared to swear it true. It gave Bunny hope.
Chardonnay cried over the news, predictably. Her little arms trapped Bunny in a death grip, as to not let him go. He comforted her with promises of visits, both ways should her mother allow. The woman stood arms crossed not far from the scene, and though her lip pursed, she nodded her approval. The animosity between him and Wynne fell off the stairs with Sidrith, he felt; they each acknowledged the other as another victim of his, the only person who understood the conflicted emotions over his passing. There was catharsis in that strange solidarity, though he doubted his master’s ex-wife would ever be his best friend.
Their child, however, he would miss deeply. Though his feelings for her father fractured and frayed, the idea of leaving her behind made his heart clench. But he could not tear her from Wynne—not now when she had chosen to revolve her crumbling world around the girl, when she was the tether to sanity she needed. And for the sake of his own peace of mind, he could not stay. He gave Chardonnay a final hug before pulling away, and his eyes grew wet. But he had to keep himself together, as much for her sake as for his.
Many new sights greeted him in the world outside. He marveled at the lilac trees of Lakeland, wandered the streets of the Crystarium, and bargained at the stalls of Qasr Sharl. Each made him more and more grateful for the leap he took—but nothing compared to when he first set foot on the fields of Il Mheg.
He’d heard of it in Laku and Zafi’s stories. Its inhabitants, the pixies, were notorious tricksters, but he had also heard that they were quite fond of mortals who enjoyed their games and respected their customs. Their hills rolled with verdant grass as far as the eye could see, the wildflowers that dotted the expanse glimmered a thousand different colors in the sun, and a stream of crystal-clear and perfectly warm water coursed through. Nothing of its splendor was artificial as in Eulmore; he let himself be swept into wonder with abandon. It wasn’t just the beauty that entranced him—though the fae realm had plenty of it. The moment he crossed over its borders, the land’s magic embraced him, filling him with whimsy. He closed his eyes and inhaled the air, a smile blossoming on his face.
Then he met them. As Laku had described, they were ‘little shits with wings’ who played wicked pranks and laughed at those unfortunate enough to fall for them. But as Zafi had added, they were also kind, calling him cute and patting his head. He laughed with them, he sang with them, he gave into their playful schemes. He let them braid flowers into his hair, and he danced under the stars until his paws hurt. In their company, he felt lighter than air. He didn’t care that he was making a total fool of himself, for no punishment would follow. The pixies expected nothing from him but his most authentic self.
When their games were over, they guided him to a clearing and bade him to rest, promising to keep him safe from their more malicious relatives. He slept under the blanket of night he never thought he’d see, the sound of the stream lulling him to a peaceful slumber. It was the best sleep of his life. When he awoke, he found that several had remained, sitting by him as he slept, guarding his dreams from dark omens. They had also adorned him with wreaths of flowers in every color of the rainbow.
He had to blink several times to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. What had he done to deserve such treatment? He was nothing special, just an outsider, a mortal, a former slave. These creatures of joy could do anything they wanted, yet they had stayed to keep watch over him. The pixies giggled at his disbelief, and one of them leaned in to boop his nose.
For the first time in his life, he felt loved unconditionally, without the expectation of debts repaid. These creatures had given him this gift not asking for anything in return. The gratitude that bubbled up in his chest left him weak. It was silly, he thought, to get so worked up over a bunch of small fairies, but it meant so much to him—to be seen as a person, to be cherished simply for being himself, to be allowed to be imperfect without repercussions. It was a privilege he had missed since his childhood in Fanow, before the burden of duty befell him.
He knew, at once, that he had found a home. A family. Here in these hills, he could bury his past and start anew.