Elindra Moonpetal's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Elindra Moonpetal had until the last light of the season to find her seedling, or the whole plan died before it grew. She hovered a hand's width above the grass, wings ticking fast, and searched the field for a wild bloom that carried more magic than it showed. She had promised herself one thing this summer: to raise a single flower into the most magical bloom the meadow had ever grown. Without the right seedling, the promise was already broken. She checked the daisies first. Bright faces, hollow cores. She pressed a fingertip to each yellow center and felt only warmth, no pull. She moved on to the purple spires, then the small orange stars that leaned toward the sunset. Nothing hummed back. The field glowed amber around her, tall grasses gone the color of old honey, and every bloom she touched was ordinary. She reached the pond at the low edge of the meadow. The water held the sky in a green-gold sheet. Elindra sat on a bent reed and let her feet skim the surface. If she went home empty-handed tonight, she would start again tomorrow with fewer days left. She already knew tomorrow's field would look like today's. A thin trail of sparks drifted across the water. She looked up. Another fairy flew low along the far bank, one hand open, scattering pixie dust as he went. The grains landed on the pond and floated a moment before sinking. Elindra didn't know him. She watched the dust settle. One grain drifted past her knee and touched a stem she hadn't noticed — a small, closed bud half-hidden under a curl of grass at the water's edge. The bud flared. Not bright. Just a short, steady pulse, like a held breath. Then it went still again. Elindra dropped to the bank. She parted the grass with both hands. The bud was gray-green, no bigger than her thumbnail, its petals still folded tight. She pressed a finger to the base of the stem. Something pushed back against her skin, quiet and deep, the way a heartbeat pushes against a wrist. She looked up for the other fairy. He was already gone, his sparkling trail thinning over the reeds. She didn't call after him. She dug her fingers into the damp soil around the stem and worked the roots free, keeping the dirt cupped around them. She carried the seedling back across the meadow in both hands. It was too small to bloom on its own. It would need shelter, water, and more magic than she had ever spent on one plant. She would have to feed it every day and guard it every night, and she had no idea yet how to do either. But she had found it. The season could start now.