The sunset filters through the windows, painting the walls and floors a beautiful gradient of scarlet, tangerine and coral pink.

I stare out the window, counting the seconds along with the pulse of my heart, in attempt to ground myself to some form of reality.

Then the air flickers and a soft breeze blows through the house.

I turn, seeing Zephen appear, looking grim, his face more serious than usual, making me frown. “How did it go?”

“Not very well.” He replies, his eyes falling on me, a conflicted look flashing across his expression. “Darkness is looming nearer. You are my charge; I must protect you. But I’m afraid I may not be with you at all times. You need to uncover your magic quickly and learn to protect yourself when I am unable to.”

“But you said it yourself,” I say, standing from my seat at the dining table, following him to the doorway of his room as he takes off his trench coat, hanging it in his closet. “I will show magic when my body is ready. It can’t be rushed.”

“I know what I said." He sighs, running a hand through his hair in distress. “But it has to. We no longer have the luxury to wait. I will think of something.”

The way he says it tells me not to argue further, so I don’t speak. I see the distress in him.

He rolls up the sleeves of his loose shirt, which he had untucked halfway, his hair still slightly messy after he ruffled it. So unlike his usual neat and perfect composure.

I can tell something is terribly wrong for him to act this way, but then again, I prefer him like this. It makes him seem more approachable, less like a statue or robot. Even he has his worries.

He seems to realize I’m still watching him from his doorway. Maybe I should give him some privacy.

I begin to step away. His expression changes, softening. “Have you eaten, little one?”

The change of topic makes me relax slightly, the air feeling less tense.

“Not yet.” I admit, taking a careful step back when he exits the doorway, standing a little to close.

He gives me an odd look, his thoughts once again unreadable.

Then, to my surprise, gives me a tentative pat on the head, like my dad used to do when I was sad. “There’s no need to worry, Kay. I will make sure you’re safe.”

His words are weirdly reassuring, and I nod in response. I feel something warm blossom in my chest, relieving me of the anxiety and worry I had only a second ago.

He’s trying. The thought makes me almost want to smile.

He moves his hand, heading to where I assume is the kitchen. There is an old-looking but clean clay stove, and a wall cabinet with a handful of jars filled with what I assume are herbs and spices, and crockery.

He starts rummaging about, preparing something to eat.

Curious, I follow behind him. When would I ever get the chance to see a Faery cook?

He maneuvers around smoothly, probably because he has millenniums of practice. I wonder if it ever gets lonely.

In a few moments, a lovely smell fills the air, making my stomach grumble loudly.

My cheeks flush as I warp my arms around my stomach in attempt to quiet it down, but it’s too late as Zephen chuckles lightly.

Chuckles. Wow.

“You’ve had a long day.” He says as he stirs something over the fire. “Go take a seat.”

I nod, although he’s too preoccupied to see.

The bird weaves through the air above my head, its posture lax within the house. 

I sit, tapping my finger against the table as my stomach growls again.

I haven’t been eating very much since I came here, and the hunger has finally caught up with my body, making my empty stomach perform somersaults.

Suddenly the bird squawks, loudly, making me jump at the unexpectedness. 

It angles its feathers and lands swiftly on the table, the long feathers on its head standing up again in alert, its eyes trained on the door. 

Not a second later, a loud knock sounds, my heart nearly stopping in panic.

Zephen emerges from the kitchen, a light frown on his face.

A flick of his wrist and the door flies open, revealing a fierce-looking woman with beautiful, flawless olive skin; long silky, dark brown hair and matching eyes who marches in, her posture confident and authority.

She wears a long, umber dress, a tan belt around her waist, patterns swirling in the fabric, similar to Zephen’s clothes.

She’s beautiful, but gives off an unapproachable aura—deadly and threatening. Her face looks angry, or upset; her eyes sharp.

“The Queen has sent me to the front lines.” She announces.

“Shouldn’t that be good news, Daera?” Zephen raises a delicate eyebrow at her as she moves in front of him, glowering.

“Yes, but you should also be in the front lines, Zephen.” She glares, her voice filled with menace. “You’ve always been in the front lines. What makes this time different?”

“My priorities are elsewhere.”

She glances sideways towards me, a scoff escaping her lips. “Oh yes, I heard. You’re a Guardian now, aren’t you? But taking care of a Halfling isn’t as important as fighting in the next Great War.”

“You don’t know it’s going to become a Great War.”

Daera snickers, saying mockingly as if she finds it hilarious, “I don’t know it’s going to become a Great War.”

She shakes her head, her long hair moving like a waterfall. “He’s coming, Zephen. What makes you think this time will be better than the last?”

Zephen sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want then?”

“For you to take the lead, just like you always have.” She answers without hesitation, her tone steady and fierce. “Come fight with us. We cannot win without you, Wind Faery. You know the other Elements look towards the Wind for guidance. Without you, we have nothing to follow.”

“There are others who can replace me.” Daera’s brows shoot up at this.

Zephen’s eyes seem to dim for a moment, thinking, before he shakes his head. “As a Guardian, my job is to protect my charge. I can’t just leave her alone, defenseless.”

Daera opens her mouth to argue, but Zephen continues without a hitch, “I can, however, teach and prepare the Young Ones for battle.”

“The Young Ones?” Her eyes widen, before her face smooths into a thoughtful expression. “Yes, I suppose it would be good to have more young fighters.”

“Then it’s settled.” Zephen’s tone leaves no room for compromise.

Daera hesitates. "Time is of essence, Lord Gale. The Young Ones lack control. It will be hard to get them ready in time.”

“Yes,” Zephen sighs, nodding. “But I will make it happen.”