In the shadows of the Elderwood Forest, where sunlight trickled through ancient branches in silver streams, a flicker of mischief was brewing. Elara, a fairy of the glimmering Hazel Hollow clan, hovered just above a mossy stump, her gossamer wings shimmering faintly in the twilight. Beside her, grumbling softly as he tightened his vest, was Dimble, a sturdy gnome with a nose like a weathered walnut and a disposition that matched his name.
“That light-footed sparrow of yours has been nipping at my mushrooms again, Elara,” Dimble huffed, his voice gravelly. “And last I checked, those belong to the gnomes.”
Elara arched an eyebrow, “Your mushrooms? Those were my elderflowers the crows ruined last season, and did you hear me complaining?”
“Elderflowers! Don’t see anyone keeping mushrooms in their stores for soup,” Dimble retorted, crossing his arms. “Besides, the mushrooms have been restless these days.”
Elara’s laughter faded. “Restless?”
The gnome nodded, his brow creasing: “Growing odd colours, humming at night, and the soil’s grown hard, even under the full moon. I’ve been hearing strange whispers from below.”
Elara’s wings flickered with unease. The fairies of Hazel Hollow didn’t meddle much with the roots of the forest; they soared through the canopy; danced under the stars; and made magic where the light met the leaves. But the gnomes – they tended to the soil, spoke to the stones and fungi – they were the ancient keepers of the earth’s quiet secrets. If Dimble said something was wrong below, Elara knew to listen.
Together, they trekked deeper into the forest, through thickets draped in velvet moss and past old oaks with branches twisted like sleeping Beasts. Eventually, they reached a patch of ground that looked as though it had been scorched from within. The mushrooms surrounding it were indeed strange, pulsing with streaks of indigo and violet, faintly glowing as if stirred by some unnatural force.
“This does NOT seem right,” Elara whispered. Her wings beat faster, catching odd, dissonant whispers in the air, sounds without words, but with intentions—malignant, dark, spooky.
Just then, a rumbling shook the earth beneath them, and from the shadows stepped a creature neither had ever seen. It was tall for a creature of the forest, gaunt and twisted, with limbs too long and a body that seemed to waver like smoke. Its eyes glowed faintly in the dimness, an unnatural green, and where it stepped, the mushrooms shrivelled into blackened ashes.
Elara and Dimble froze with fear, for it was no creature of Elderwood. It was something brought from elsewhere: a spirit tainted by shadows.
“What is it?” Dimble whispered, edging closer to the fairy.
“A Blight Beast,” Elara murmured, voice tight with fear. She had only heard stories—the older fairies, the ones with silvery scars across their wings, spoke of these creatures in hushed tones, for no one dared speak out their names aloud. These were spirits from a darker realm, ones that crept in through the cracks of fractured worlds, leaving rot and ruin in their wake.
The Beast’s gaze snapped toward them, eyes glinting with a sickly intelligence. It tilted its head, long fingers reaching out, dripping with black sap that sizzled when it touched the ground.
“Dimble,” Elara whispered, her voice trembling but her eyes determined, “we need fire.”
“Fire?” Dimble looked at her with a mixture of fear and confusion. “I’m a gnome, Elara. I work with dirt and stone, not flames?”
“You don’t have to make the fire. Just keep it busy. I’ll find a way.” She squeezed his arm briefly, her wings beating in an anxious blur before she darted into the canopy above.
Dimble gulped, looking back at the Beast. It was advancing, slow and deliberate, leaving scorched footprints where it walked. The gnome crouched and clawed at the earth with his rough fingers, summoning roots to rise and stones to tumble underfoot. Then, he hurled the rocks toward the creature though they shattered on contact. As for the Beast, it barely seemed fazed, its eyes locked onto Dimble with a dark hunger.
Above, Elara flew as fast as her wings could carry her, her mind racing. Hazel Hollow fairies were gifted with light and magic to heal and mend, not to battle dark forces. Yet there were whispers of an elder magic, one woven from sun and fire that could purge shadows from the earth. But such magic came with a price.
With no time to lose, Elara called upon the light, concentrating until her hands glowed with a soft, golden warmth. She closed her eyes, allowing the ancient words to come forth, drawing from the deepest wells of her fairy blood.
“Grindle’s, the fire of sun and earth, lend me your strength,” she chanted softly, the warmth growing until it flared, sparking into a small but brilliant flame in her palm.
Meanwhile, Dimble continued to dodge the Beast’s onslaught. As it grew frustrated, it released tendrils of inky black mist, which wound around the gnome’s legs, burning like acid where they touched.
“Any day now, Elara!” he shouted, wincing as he stumbled, his foot caught in a twisted root.
With her fiery spell complete, Elara swooped down, wings flaring as she dove straight toward the Beast. She flung the fire, a streak of burning light piercing the gloom as it struck the creature’s chest. The Beast screamed a shriek that curdled the air itself; it twisted in agony as the flame ignited and spread with a fierce brightness that scorched the forest floor.
In no time, the creature thrashed, clawing at itself as the fire consumed it, tendrils of smoke rising in spirals. Elara shielded her eyes and pulled Dimble to safety as they watched the Beast writhe in its final moments. At last, the creature fell silent, its form crumbling into ash that the wind carried away, leaving only charred earth behind.
The forest felt unnaturally quiet, save for the crackle of dying embers. Elara’s wings drooped, and she let out a shaky breath, exhaustion settling into her bones.
“Remind me never to listen to you again,” Dimble muttered, brushing ash from his vest. But his eyes gleamed with a strange pride. “That was quite a light show, fairy.”
“Better than your mushrooms, gnome,” Elara replied with a weary grin.
They both sat in silence, looking at the scorched earth where the Beast had been, the remnants of dark magic slowly dissipating under the faint silver of the moonlight.
In time, the mushrooms would grow again, pale green shoots emerging from the blackened ground, and the forest would heal. But Elara and Dimble knew that Elderwood would never be quite the same—that the dark things from the beyond were closer than either had thought.
But there were things worth guarding in the Elderwood—things they would protect, no matter what forces stirred in the darkness.
