The town wanted to forget the rabbits. It would probably take years. Maybe generations. Possibly statues.
It wasn't terror that lingered. It was humiliation.
The creatures had come in absurd, overwhelming numbers. Not monstrous. Not eldritch. Just… distressingly determined. There were stories now. Whispers. The one about the rabbits who stood in a line and stared at a farmer like a jury. The one about the kitchen incident that no one spoke of without twitching.
So when a swirling violet glyph opened in the center of town and a cloaked woman stepped out, every sensible person ducked. Not in fear of death. Just in fear of embarrassment happening again.
Her boots touched ground. The magic closed neatly behind her. She surveyed the village with precise attention, the kind of gaze that had weighed danger many times and usually found it guilty. She turned slowly. She saw collapsed fences. Scratched wood. One traumatized carrot top sticking up like a survivor.
And then she saw the fae.
He was seated upon a fence rail, posture relaxed, an amused gentleness in his eyes like the world existed primarily to keep him entertained. He inclined his head very slightly, the barest acknowledgment, dignified in a way that suggested he didn't simply walk through the world—he allowed it to be near him.
Her jaw tightened.
"Fae," she said flatly, touching the guild badge pinned to her coat. "Presence confirmed at the scene of a reality disturbance, agricultural collapse, and… abnormal biological escalation."
She paused.
"…a lot of rabbits."
A farmer near the well whispered, "They organized."
The fae placed his hand to his chest as though moved. "A formative experience for all involved, no doubt."
Her gaze sharpened. "Explain."
He smiled gently, politely, like he had been asked to describe the weather in a language that did not possess the concept.
"Of course, Investigator. Do keep in mind, explanations rarely offer the comfort people expect from them."
"Begin anyway."
He inclined his head.
"Reality," he said pleasantly, "is fond of spectacle. It is easily influenced by intense emotion. Occasionally, it responds in… exaggerated ways. It sees drama. It answers with flair. Sometimes—though rarely—it chooses rabbits."
His voice was calm. His eyes were thoughtful. His words were absolutely useless.
"That," she replied, voice cool, "is not an explanation."
"It is," he said kindly. "Merely not the kind you prefer."
She did not curse. Her expression suggested she wanted to. Instead, she turned to Aiden.
"You were present from beginning to end. You assisted in repair. You did not flee. Correct?"
"Yes."
"You did not invoke ritual, circle, spell matrix, or divine conduit?"
"No."
A spark of understanding flared in her eyes.
"…innate arcane reaction," she murmured. "Untrained. Emotional ignition. No discipline. Unstructured output. That would explain manifestation irregularity…"
Her gaze sharpened further.
"Wild magic."
Aiden blinked.
That was… not right.
But it was also not completely wrong in a way he could explain.
He opened his mouth.
He wisely closed it.
Her attention flicked back to the fae.
He said nothing.
He did not nod.
He did not correct.
He simply existed in a way that suggested deep knowledge, deep patience, and a willingness to watch mortals build their own cages.
She nodded slowly to herself.
"That explains the chaotic output, the unpredictable structure, the lack of traditional residue. Emotional surge events behave erratically but react to intent. This fits."
She seemed… reassured.
That somehow made everything worse.
Aiden said nothing. Silence appeared to be the safest available option.
The fae smiled slightly.
"It truly is remarkable," he said softly, "how quickly mortals are able to form beautifully stable conclusions out of uncertainty."
She stared at him. That sounded like agreement. It also sounded like mockery. It also sounded like he had said something meaningful, yet completely noncommittal.
She grudgingly accepted it.
"This will be recorded as a spontaneous Wild Sorcery eruption. No structured spellcasting. No hostile orchestration."
"There was no malice," the fae replied peacefully.
True.
Entirely incomplete.
Perfect.
She nodded as though a box had been checked in her mind.
Her gaze returned to Aiden.
"You are dangerous."
"Yes," he said simply.
She blinked.
Most people denied that.
He didn't.
She liked that a troubling amount.
"But not malicious," she added more softly.
He remained quiet.
The fae did not.
"Correct," he said gently.
That helped.
"Then you are under Guild Provisional Observation," she stated. "You are not guilty. You are not cleared. If another surge happens, you report it. You do not experiment. You do not test capability. You do not 'see what happens.' Understood?"
"Yes."
She held him in steady silence for a long moment.
She nodded.
The air twisted with controlled magic as she began weaving a portal.
Before stepping through, she turned her head and fixed her gaze upon the fae one last time.
"You're involved," she said quietly. "Even if I don't understand how."
His smile was warm.
"My dear Investigator, you have no idea how sincerely I enjoy being misunderstood by someone as competent as you."
She stared.
"I hate dealing with fae."
And then she was gone.
The wind resumed. Someone coughed. Somewhere nearby, a rabbit peeked around a corner, saw Aiden, and fled like it regretted existing.
Aiden let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"So… I'm a wild magic sorcerer now?"
"Possibly," the fae said pleasantly. "From a certain viewpoint. Particularly if one squints."
"That's not comforting."
"It is not meant to be. Comfort rarely creates wisdom. Uncertainty encourages growth."
Aiden sighed.
"You didn't lie to her."
"I did not," the fae said kindly.
"But you let her believe something else entirely."
"I offered truth in a shape she could hold," he replied softly. "She chose what to build from it."
Aiden stared.
"That still feels like lying."
The fae laughed gently.
"No. That is craft."
He rested his hand softly against his chest.
"Fae do not lie. Not because of law. Not because of punishment. Not because of divine threat. We do not lie because our words and our being are woven from the same thread. We are built from truth. So we learn to bend truth without ever breaking it."
Aiden's shoulders sank.
"That sounds dangerous."
"Of course it is," the fae said fondly. "Anything meaningful is."
He glanced subtly skyward, as though listening to something distant and unseen, then smiled again as though the world had just whispered a secret.
"Come. We still have much to do. Consequences rarely behave simply because mortals wish them to."
"…You know you sound ominous on purpose, right?"
He tilted his head, amused.
"I try."
And far away, unseen and unknown, something stirred. A want. A hope. A desperate reaching thought.
Another wish.
Waiting.