Lunaria Willowbloom's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Lunaria Willowbloom knelt in the empty flowerbed and pressed her hand to the cold soil. The heartbloom had grown here yesterday. Its petals fed her magic, one glowing bloom each morning. Now only a torn stem remained. Someone had dug it out in the night. Without it, her wings dimmed a little more each day, and she had no idea who to chase. She tried a spell to trace the thief. Her fingers sparked, then went dark. The light drained out of her like water through cracked hands. She sat back, breathing hard. Every wasted hour cost her more strength. Soon she would be too weak to fly at all, let alone hunt down a robber. Lunaria climbed to the tallest branch above the yellow house at the forest's edge. From there she scanned the trees. Nothing moved. Then a low voice spoke behind her. "You look for what walked off in the dark." She turned. An old owl watched her from a mossy limb. His brown feathers were smooth, his round eyes calm and steady. He had lived in these woods longer than she had been alive. He blinked once, slow and sure. "You saw it," Lunaria said. Her voice shook. "You saw who took my flower." "I see most things," the owl said. "I do not always tell them." She flew closer, wings trembling with the effort. "Please. It keeps me alive. Without it I fade." The owl studied her a long moment. He seemed to weigh her worth against his silence. At last he tilted his head toward the far ridge. "A red beast came at moonrise," he said. "Big as a fallen tree. Scales like coals. It clawed your bloom from the earth and carried it toward the smoking peak. It answers to the name Fireball." Lunaria's stomach dropped. A dragon. She had heard of Fireball, the beast who hoarded bright and burning things in his mountain den. He guarded his pile with fire and teeth. No fairy who flew there had returned. "You are certain," she said. "I watched him go," the owl said. "Your flower still glowed in his claws. It will not glow forever." Lunaria gripped the branch. She finally knew the thief. But the answer was worse than the question. She had wanted a small culprit, a squirrel or a jay she could scold and outsmart. Instead she faced a creature that could swallow her whole. The owl spread his wings to leave. "Rest here tonight," he said. "You will need what strength remains." She shook her head. Her wings glowed fainter than they had at dawn. Waiting meant fading. Fading meant death. "I can't rest," Lunaria said. "Every day I wait, I have less to fight him with." She turned toward the smoking peak on the horizon and pushed off the branch. Her wings caught the wind. Ahead lay the dragon, her flower, and the one chance she had left.