Lunara Petalwind's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Lunara held the white flower and felt the last of her light fade. She had grown one bloom all morning, and it had cost her everything. When she reached for a second seed, her fingers barely sparked. The spark died before it touched the soil. She sat back on the raised bed, dizzy. Her magic was empty. She could not bloom another flower today, not without rest, and she did not know where a fairy could rest and refill her light. The winged skunk nudged her hand, then pointed its striped nose past the garden beds. Lunara followed its gaze to a tall wooden building with lantern-lit windows. Warm light spilled from the door. A sign hung above it, worn smooth. If any place could give her rest, that one could. She flew there slow, her wings heavy. Inside, the air smelled of woodsmoke and bread. A fire crackled in a stone hearth. Lunara landed on a table near the flames and let the heat soak into her wings. Slowly, a small warmth gathered in her chest. Her light was coming back, but it crept in like a candle, not a flood. She would need hours here to bloom even one more flower. Hours she did not have. The festival needed a whole forest overnight. Resting one seed at a time would take her the rest of her life. She pressed her face to her knees, ready to give up for the day. Then she noticed the shelves behind the counter, packed with books. She asked the innkeeper where such old books came from. He pointed her toward another building nearby, shaped like a mushroom, with a round red cap for a roof. "Old records," he said. "Fairy things, mostly. Nobody reads them now." Lunara's light returned enough to fly. She crossed to the mushroom shop and slipped through its round door. Inside, books lined every curved wall. Dust hung in the lantern light. She landed on a low shelf and read the spines, searching for anything about spring magic. One thin book had a faded flower stamped on its cover. She tugged it free and turned the pages. The words told of old fairies who bloomed whole meadows at once. They did not do it alone. They shared their light, many fairies joining hands, pouring magic into one great burst. One tired fairy could not bloom a forest. A ring of them could. Lunara closed the book. Her hands shook, but not from weakness now. Resting alone would never be enough. She did not need more rest or more seeds. She needed more fairies. And she had not seen another fairy in the woods since last spring's silence fell. She tucked the book under her arm and flew back toward the trees. Somewhere out there, other fairies had gone quiet. She had to find them.