Chapter Text
The silver moon was full tonight, high up in the skies of the Glade of Dreams. Once bringing hope to its people, all the giant satellite did now was fill the fairy clad in green with grief. Grief and worry. Perched up on the highest tree of the vast rainforest, Betilla stared intently at the silver moon, rubbing her knuckles as she hoped it would stare back and finally tell her something: tell her off, give her advice, anything, really! Maybe if Betilla had put her hope on the blue moon instead, she’d see a road ahead of her. She wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. She wanted to hate the silver moon, curse it until it dropped into the Blue Lum ocean, but all she could do was miss the comfort it used to bring her. All she could do was miss him .
“Lovely night, isn’t it, my dear?” A voice chimed from behind the fairy, before a large, amphibious being plopped down next to her, planting his starry top hat on his lap. Polokus chuckled, rubbing his short beard in thought as he side-eyed Betilla, taking note of her spaced out expression; from a mile away, he could tell that she was deep in thought. “Mind if I join your morose ruminations? No need to share them with me, of course, but misery does love company.” He knew full well why she was acting like this. It may have been years ago, but to timeless beings like them, it might as well have been last month. Even so, there was no real need to force a confession out of his emissary. Peace would come to her in time, she only needed to reach out for it. It was quiet for a moment between the two, the song of the nighttime insects seeming louder than they were, their figures dimly illuminated by the two moons and the army of stars above. It was a tad too dark for the god to gauge what Betilla was feeling, but he quickly had his answer when he heard her sigh.
“How can you be so calm, My Lord?” she asked, planting her floating hands onto her lap, looking back at Polokus. Her brows were furrowed tightly, a tight frown on her lips. “The Glade of Dreams is without a hero! Lune is gone–”
“It’s alright, Betilla darling!” Polokus interrupted, hand on her back. “This isn’t the end of the world, not even the end of our career. The Glade is in its peace time.” Even with his gentle smile, Betilla’s grimace only worsened. She couldn’t let herself relax, so she gently pushed his arm away.
“But what about when peace time eventually ends?” the fae hissed in a whisper, terrified of anyone hearing her doubt.
“Then a hero will eventually rise, Betilla–”
“Who? Who will?”
“You’ll see.”
Betilla groaned. Covering her face as she lurched forward, wanting to shrink into nothing, she allowed herself to space out again. This was all her fault, she should’ve done more… She needed to do more. She needed to be there for the hero, no matter what, and never fail them like she failed Monsieur Lune.
…
She lost Monsieur Lune. Lost him to the nightmares. She should’ve expected this, it had been a fact they’d all known for a while now; The Bubble Dreamer’s nightmares could affect ANYONE. They didn’t discriminate. And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Her poor, dear friend, just a young man… He didn’t deserve such a fate. She needed to protect the next hero from it.
“I must do something more than just wait, Polokus,” Betilla muttered, peeking out from behind her hands. “I need to find a way to protect any future heroes from corruption. We cannot lose another one like this.” The amphibian couldn’t find the words to say. Instead, he sighed deeply, intertwining his fingers as he looked up at the cosmos.
“I understand that you two were like family, Betilla,” he began, a lot more serious than before, “but this was not something you could control, and you won’t be able to control in the future. The nightmares take no prisoners, unfortunately. It comes with being a part of me.” His eyes softened, finally looking down at the fae with a more tender smile. “I know this world is still very new to us, my dear, but we’ll all manage it together, warts and all!” Betilla looked past the skies, past the canopy of trees, past the entire world, as an epiphany came to her. She smiled wide, perking up as an idea struck her like lightning.
“You’re right… nightmares affect all of us, because we’re all part of you!” She floated up, clasping her hands together as her mind raced. Polokus raised one bushy brow, letting out a confused chuckle as he watched his emissary hatch a plan. Betilla turned, hands emoting with each word that came out rapid-fire: “Then it’s simple! What if the hero wasn’t created by you? Can’t catch the rot if they’re not one of your dreams, now can they?” Polokus’ mouth quickly dropped to surprise, tilting his head and trying to question where she was going with this, but the fae was relentless. “Maybe the land itself could birth our hero! Earthly magic has proven itself to be powerful in the right hands, without the necessity of Lums.”
“Betilla, my child, Earthly magic cannot create anything from scratch,” The Bubble Dreamer finally sputtered out as he reached up to her, turning her to look at him. Her smile never left her round cheeks.
“Then I’ll find a way,” Betilla announced, nodding with intent. “I’ll take responsibility for this, My Lord, and create your hero of the Glade. I promise you this.” Polokus exhaled through his mouth. She’d do this, whether he liked it or not. He knew his nymphs far too well. He closed his eyes. He wished Betilla would listen to his words more carefully, but at the same time… he couldn't control her. He could not control any of his dreams. Or, more accurately, he never wished to. So instead, he gave the fairy a nod of approval.
“If I can trust anyone with this kinda mission, it’s my head fairy,” the Bubble Dreamer relented, letting her go, and replacing his hat at the top of his head.
“Thank you, My Lord!” Betilla’s wings buzzed in excitement, already skimming through the folders of knowledge she held in her mind palace. Magic was near and dear to her, and the ‘short’ while she had been alive, she had already compiled as much information on magic as she could observe from the gladefolk learning to live independently in their new home. However, she very quickly realized something: one, it was a lot of information, and two, it was incredibly disorganized. The more she thought about it, the heavier her head felt, and the more it spun in her skull. Oh boy. Betilla sat back down, scratching her temple as she admitted, sheepishly, “I’m not sure where to begin, though.” Polokus straightened up, a plan of his own blossoming in his head. He wasn’t one to force destiny onto his creations, but there was nothing wrong with prodding them in a certain direction.
“Well, If you need some advice,” he said, trying to stop a cheeky grin from forming in his lips, “My own boys may know a thing or two about… magic.”
~0~
Betilla stepped forward, onto the spiraling blue portal forming at her feet. And, with a flash of light, she found herself in an office, filled to the brim with rich information in the form of aging paper and leather, all held inside the rocky walls of a chilly castle. Behind a dark wood desk stood tall, proud windows framed in gold, giving anyone inside a good view of the landscape outside, a cliffside hanging above the Woods of Light. The Teensy she was assigned to see, The Grand Minimus, was just a second ago enjoying such a sight, right before jumping at the fairy’s sudden appearance.
“ Ah ! Lady Betilla!” The Teensy king’s voice cracked from the fright, but he quickly cleared it to something not as shrill: “I was expecting you! Just not as soon… you’re early!” Betilla giggled at that, as the elder Teensy waddled around the desk, making his way to her.
“I apologize for my intrusion, your majesty,” she bowed, covering her mouth to avoid anything louder than her titters, “but this is a tad urgent, so I hope to find the right person for the job as soon as possible. The Glade of Dreams should not wait another second for their hero.”
“Of course, of course!” The Grand Minimus nodded. “Anything to keep our home and people safe. Now! Come along, my lady.” With a twirl of his wrist, a gentle blue light sprouted from the Teensy’s fingertips, spinning round and round as it pushed the large, decorative doors open to lead them both out to the main building. The castle itself was magnificent, not to mention enormous. Maybe a tad too enormous for the aptly named Teensies. Its halls were all lined with wine-colored rugs, its walls brightened up by soft flames inside intricate lanterns. Once in a while, Betilla peeked through opened doors, and caught glances of other Teensies practicing their spells, miracles born out of the dance of their hands, magic twirling about like silk ribbons. Betilla’s eyes glimmered, and the Teensy king grinned with pride: “Amazing, aren’t they? This academy brings together only the brightest of The Bubble Dreamer’s children, all under the goal of finding out more about the land’s magical aura.” He continued forward, his conversational tone becoming a personal monologue. “Our research is pivotal to the safety of the Glade, I’m not surprised you’d want one of us to be your new hero.” The nymph blinked.
“Hero?” She floated back, quickly catching up to the king to clear up any confusion. “No, I think there has been a misunderstanding, your majesty, the Teensies won’t be the heroes, they will simply aid me in creating one! You see, I have a theory, and–”
“Of course they’ll aid you, Lady Betilla!” the elder interrupted, “And I’m sure you’ll aid them in their quest to be a hero. Now, who are you looking for? May I suggest–”
Betilla sighed. She didn’t want to assume the worst from the Teensy king, however his ramblings were beginning to enter one ear and leave the other, coming across a bit more like self aggrandizing than actual interest in her project. Instead, the fairy kept on looking through any open doors and windows, in search for the right research partner; while a tad pompous, the king had at least some reason to feel such a way, seeing as everywhere Betilla went, one of his many siblings were enacting some kind of grand marvel. Modifying their surroundings, their possessions, even themselves! Their talent was admirable, and it wouldn’t surprise the fae if any of them became heroes on their own. They were more than capable, she thought. Capable, but not immune to their greatest threat. It only made her think of her dear friend, and the last time she saw him, determined to defeat a threat he was no match to.
No. She couldn’t put any of them through that risk.
As they passed through a sky bridge, The Grand Minimus still speaking about something or other, Betilla’s eyes locked on a lone tower, a quiet sight compared to the bustling castle grounds. While interesting, what truly caught her attention was the heavy, blue tinted smoke coming out of its thin windows. She stopped the king in his tracks, pointing at the smoggy building: “Is everything alright over there?” The elderly Teensy squinted, and rolled his eyes.
“Oh, not this nutjob,” he muttered. “Don’t worry about him, he smokes up his lab at least once a week.” Betilla nodded slowly, still turning to eye the tower suspiciously. The king moved forward without much hesitation, which should’ve brought ease to the nymph, but as soon as the smoke became flames, her concern became alarm, and she propelled herself through the bridge’s arches to reach the tower’s victim. Flying low through a pond, her hand brushed through the water’s surface, blue Lums rising from it like fish looking for food, collecting themselves on the palms of her hands as she rose back up, ready to put out the flames. However, as soon as she reached the tower’s window, a gust of mist knocked her right back out, the Lums scattering out of her hands and back into the aether. Betilla floated there frozen, her clothes saturated in water. As the mist died down, she carefully peeked inside, her terror dissipating into curiosity. Inside, the Teensy she was so worried about wordlessly extinguished the flames that were once threatening to burn the whole room down, one hand holding a hose, the other turning a valve of a rusty tank to shut down the pressurized water. The Teensy coughed up any remaining smoke out his lungs, yet his expression remained difficult to read as his dreadlocks covered his eyes. Noticing his visitor, he gave Betilla a lop-sided grin, spinning the hose about.
“A real lifesaver, this one,” he joked with a relaxed tone, hooking the hose onto a holder attached to the tank and patting it affectionately. “Kinda glad I installed this after the fifth time my work caught on fire.” Hand over her chest, Betilla let out a relieved sigh, only for concern to bubble back up her throat.
“I’m sorry,” she questioned as she climbed inside, “but what on Earth are you trying to do in here that would cause such a violent reaction?!” The fairy peeked over the Teensy’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was so volatile as to almost roast the man like a turkey. His work desk was cluttered, books and papers scorched by the magical flames, test tubes and jars still stained with the leftovers of whatever ingredients he was using. It was a mess, but with the amount of notes and samples cluttering every corner of his space, it was fairly clear it was an intentional mess. The small cauldron in the middle still smoldered angrily, causing the fae to cringe at its potent stench. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint what was once inside the poor pot, but she swore she could catch a whiff of burnt sunflower seeds.
“It was nothing special, really,” the Teensy waved his hand about as he turned away from both the fairy and his work, grabbing a wet rag from a sink to clean off the soot from his nose. “It gets a tad chilly in this tall, foreboding tower, and even a madman like myself deserves a little bit of warmth, so I just thought, hey! How about we borrow a bit of that nice morning warmth? Flowers love to store it in their seeds, so roasting them into some beeswax from the Snoring Tree’s hives should be enough to drive it into something usable. Emphasis on should…” Betilla picked up one of the notebooks, paging through to see the words upon words elaborating on his comparably simple explanation. Diagrams, pros and cons, directions, even hazards, all organized in a manner that she could easily see used as a guide for anyone wanting to replicate his little stunt. Hopefully without the possibility of fire.
“This is incredibly well researched,” Betilla mumbled in awe, carefully reading through every ink stroke, like it was a personal letter to her. “It must’ve taken you months.”
“About a week and a half, actually,” the Teensy clarified, cleaning up the mess he had made. His tone was lighthearted, but the fairy wasn’t sure if it was meant to be sarcastic or genuine. “Research is the easy part, sweetheart. Applying it to actual spells is the hard part.” He slipped the notebook out of Betilla’s hands, snapping it shut with one hand as he slipped it into a tightly packed shelf. Realizing her intrusion, the nymph backed away.
“Oh, where are my manners!” She clasped her hands together to avoid touching anything else. “I barged into your space to snoop all over your studies, and never even asked for your name. I apologize, Mr…?”
“She wants to know my name,” the man chuckles to himself, sitting down on a well worn armchair. “My Lady Betilla, Teensies don’t share names that easily. But, you can call me The Magician, if you so may.”
“Ah.” Betilla felt silly even asking. However, the title caught her attention: “Magician? Aren’t you all Magicians?”
“Not that kind of magician,” he clarified, slipping his top hat from his head, “watch and learn.” The Magician presented the opening to the nymph, letting her slip her floating hand inside, where she could feel the smooth, empty bottom of it. “Nothing, right?” Pulling it back, he propped his hat on his legs, opening facing up, and reached inside with his own sleeved arm. Pausing for anticipation, he pulled out a stuffed Rabbid toy, shaking it about like it was tittering at its own trick. Betilla laughed, her voice chiming like bells, while The Magician found himself snickering, endeared by the fairy’s amusement over a simple trick. “It’s all sleight of hand, you know.”
“How adorable!” Betilla clapped with a big grin on her lips, calming her own giggling down. “You’re very good at these party tricks.”
“Yes, yes, I’m a master at them…” The Teensy’s smile dropped a bit, sliding his hat back on as his face became unreadable once more. “And apparently nothing harder. Everything else becomes very damn flammable in my hands.” He dismissively flicked his hand towards the direction of the still smoking cauldron, flinching and covering his face as a bubble grew a bit too large for comfort. Betilla’s brows knitted together, feeling a sort of cognitive dissonance.
“I wouldn’t say that, Magician,” she began, slowly so as to choose her words carefully. “Your execution needs work, that’s right… But your understanding of magic in an objective sense is remarkable! Are all Teensies required to take such notes?”
“Not to this level, no,” he admitted. “For as much as The Grand Minimus celebrates research and all that, most of the stuff Teensies do here is… surface level. Enough for their practice, you know? I don’t really see why they’d limit themselves like this though, when there’s a vast world of magic out there! From the tiniest specks flowers collect, to magic only fairies can use, it can all be reachable, if we push our limits just a little further.” Betilla’s eyes fluttered in wonder, palms pressed together over her mouth as her mind buzzed once more with excitement, with clarity, with newfound determination! She acted on instinct, her hands grabbing his paws to pull him closer. His face finally emoted, confusion and shock painting his cheeks purple.
“You!” Betilla exclaims with vigor! “I choose you! You are just the one I’m looking for!” She was so close, their noses pressed together in an excitable violation of personal space. The Magician stuttered as his mind spun around in circles, trying to make sense of whatever the hell the nymph was telling him.
“ Me ?” his throat managed to squeak out, still trying to find its footing, “Lady Betilla, that– that is maybe not the– n–not the most sage decision yo–you’ve made right now! A hero– A hero with no proper use in magic– How can–”
“Oh, hush now, this isn’t my plan,” Betilla stood the Teensy up, picking up one of his notebooks to show him her point. “Magician, I am not here to recruit a hero, I’m here to create one! One who’s immune to the corruption of nightmares.” Opening up the thick book, she paged through them once more, emphasizing just how full they are, as she looked between it and the man in front of her. “ This is what I need to make that happen. I need your research and organization, it's what will lead our project to bear fruit.”
“I–I see,” he took his notebook back, paging through it himself. Still, the Teensy had questions. “But how will you create something without The Bubble Dreamer’s influence? Earthly magic can’t create a simple little seed from scratch, let alone a living being.”
“Excellent question.” Betilla took his place in the armchair, boots crossing as she spoke. “I have a theory: While earthly and fae magic are quite different, they might still come from the same place, thus, they can be fused together. With the help of F.M., I fully believe E.M. will be perfectly capable of giving us the results we want; a being separate enough from Polokus, and powerful enough to fight nightmares without the risk of corruption.” The Magician listened intently, tapping his pointer finger against his cheek. In his years of studying magic, he didn’t think he had ever considered the possibility that both magics could be combined.
“That’s a fascinating theory, I must admit,” the Teensy said, intrigued, “but even so, wouldn’t you want someone more capable of actually using magic? I doubt card tricks will be of any help here. I think I need to refuse your invitation, My Lady.” The nymph slightly deflated, hand cupping her cheek as she tried to find a way to convince him to accept. Suddenly, an idea hit her!
“Then I’ll help you master magic,” Betilla smiled, leaning down to be eye to eye with The Magician. “We’ll work together on this; you can help me organize this project, and I’ll use my own knowledge to tutor you in spellcasting. How’s that sound?” Seeing the man hesitate, side eyeing her in doubt, she decided to throw in one final suggestion to hook him in: “Besides, I don’t think you of all people would want to lose the opportunity to study fae magic, would you?” The Magician finally looked at her. Got him.
“Oh, you drive a hard bargain, Lady Betilla,” the Teensy grinned, taking her hand to shake it. “Alright then, I’ll be your research buddy! Better than filling my lungs with smog again. Happy to join you in this project!”
“Thank you so much, Magician!” The fae stood up, firmly giving his hand a squeeze. She laughed brightly again, a lot more confident in her project’s survival, now with a Teensy as brilliant as this by her side. She punctuated their deal with a proud statement: “I know you won’t disappoint me.”