Remy felt his heart sink as he watched the two sisters clinging to each other, their tears mixing with the scent of crushed herbs.
"The world truly is biased, isn't it?" Chad whispered. "If it were fair… kind people would at least have the chance to fight for themselves."
"Yeah…" Remy murmured, stepping toward the Fairy King, who lay trembling on the bed, coughing and mumbling in his fevered sleep.
"Yes—Lura… look how much Ilex is ggg—growing already… so big…" He rambled, his words drifting in and out like a broken lullaby.
"I want… pumpkin soup… yes… yes… berry…"
His voice cracked into nonsense.
"He's broken," Chad muttered softly, stepping away. His attention shifted across the room—something had caught his eye.
A strange insect fluttered through the house, its wings faintly shimmering. Odd. Wrong. Out of place.
Then—
"Come… come closer…"
The King's voice rasped, barely audible.
The girls didn't react—they hadn't heard him at all.
But Remy did.
His breath hitched.
People here weren't supposed to hear him.
They weren't supposed to sense him.
He and Chad were shadows—spectators, nothing more.
Yet the dying king was calling to him.
Remy's hands trembled as he leaned forward.
"Oh… child…" the King whispered. "You are so lost. Look how the shadows cling to you."
"Hey… You can see me? How—how can you see me?" Remy asked, voice shaking.
But the King didn't respond to his question. His eyes—clouded yet clear—looked straight through Remy, as if seeing his soul itself.
"I am so sorry… for the loss you carry now… and the loss you will carry in the future," the old man breathed. "But this is no time to cry." His frail hand rose, trembling, and brushed Remy's cheek.
"The root of Hathor is everywhere…"
His voice thinned to a whisper.
"Follow the trace of the fruits…"
Remy frowned, still confused.
"Ask the Raven; he will know." The King murmured as—
His hand slipped away.
And with a gentle, fading smile, he murmured his final words:
"A new dawn… will shine upon us…"
Then silence.
Remy stared, his eyes wide with shock.
"How do you kn—" he began, but the words never finished.
Once more, that violin sounded—now joined by a children's choir. Their voices rose, and before Remy could even breathe, he felt the pull again. The world blurred.
"No, no, no," Remy protested, but it was all for naught; this power was not his to control.
This time, the pull stretched longer, dragging his consciousness across something vast.
Through the smear of motion, he saw the world shifting—moons coming and going in a heartbeat.
Snow melted.The sun rose.People celebrated.
Then joy twisted into despair.The rains refused to fall.
A year passed.He watched the remaining trees wither. No grass. No green. Another year. Then another. And then more. The ground turned to dust.
Remy watched helplessly as ten whole years unfolded right before his eyes.
Communities that once thrived on abundant water found their wells to be dry and empty. Irrigation failed. Hunger prowled at every doorstep—conflicts ignited over whatever drops remained.
The brief era of snow—though food was scarce—felt like a forgotten blessing, a dream of temporary bounty that could not endure a decade of parched earth.
In the end, the land shifted from frozen abundance to a harsh, hollow struggle for survival.
Then suddenly—everything slowed.Stopped.
Bang! Bang!
The world snapped back into place the moment he landed.
"Remy—!"
Chad's voice cut through the ringing in his ears. They must have drifted apart in the chaos.
"Over here!" Chad called, waving him over.
Remy turned and ran.Chad was a sizable distance away—it seemed Remy had travelled far more than he thought. But the moment he rounded the corner, his stomach twisted.
"It's mine! I saw it first!" a voice roared.
Remy froze.
Before him was a sight he had never witnessed—not even in the slums where he grew up.
Children were trading blows, fists cracking against bone. Their faces were twisted, wild, and deranged. Their clothes hung in tatters. And all of it—every punch, every scream—was over a sparrow.A tiny bird that had fallen to the ground, killed by the brutal heatwave.
Their bodies were nothing but skin stretched over bone.Their limbs are thin, underfed, and fragile.Their eyes glimmered with a feral kind of greed—the greed for life, for survival. They would do anything. Anything.
Remy clenched his fists and turned away, unable—unwilling—to look any longer.
"Damn it… damn it…" he cursed, his hand shaking violently.
It reeked of rot, and the heat was unbearable. Beneath Remy's feet was dust and scattered bones that had been chewed till they turned white.
"Please… please, at least the children!"
A familiar voice echoed through the dust-choked air.
Remy lifted his head and rushed toward it. He followed the desperate pleading until he finally reached the source. The first thing he saw were the giant silvery gates, towering and immaculate, with two guards standing at their front.
"You can feed the children at least—they are dying!" the voice begged again.
"No."The guard's answer was cold as steel.
"Only believers of Hathor may access her divine blessing. Non-believers will fend for themselves."
His voice was harsh.
Final.
Rosalina collapsed to the ground, her knees hitting the dust."Please…" she whispered, her voice barely more than air.
Throughout the famine, she had watched people die one by one—her mother, the King, even her closest friend.
All taken by hunger.But Rosalina remained.
She never starved, never aged.The wish she had once made had given her gifts she didn't understand— a gift she no longer wanted. She would spend entire days foraging for others, bringing back whatever scraps she could find to keep them alive.
But now… There was nothing left to forage. No creatures. No grass. Not even insects. The world had been stripped bare.
Only the Sanctuary of Hathor still held food.
Her sanctuary thrived while everything else withered. And the more people who joined her cult, the more her territory expanded like a living, hungry organism.
From the day the Saintes arrived, she began turning people away from the old fairies' teachings, preaching her own religion—Hathor's salvation. Slowly, piece by piece, the people followed her. And during the famine, she alone had the means to feed them.
But something was wrong.
After eating her food, people changed.Mothers who once clung to their children now turned away from them without a second glance, their eyes empty, their smiles wide.
Rosalina watched it all happen.And still she fell to her knees before the guards, begging.
"Let her in."
A soft voice drifted through the silver gates. Behind them stood a veiled figure, her hand extended in welcome.
"Yes, Saintes," the guards replied at once, pulling the gates open.
Rosalina pushed herself from the ground and stepped through.
"Rosa… oh sweet Rosa."The Saintes's voice was warm, almost tender, as she took Rosalina's trembling hand. "What a sad life you have led."
She guided Rosalina deeper into the sanctuary. Within its walls lay lush gardens—bright flowers, tall trees, and flowing streams—thriving in impossible abundance. People walked in fine clothes, their faces stretched into wide, unwavering smiles. They bowed their heads as the Saintes passed, their eyes shining with unnatural devotion.
Chad and Remy followed behind, invisible phantoms in a world that should not see them.
"You can help them, you know," the Saintes said softly. "Your life—given freely—could bring the rebirth of this land. You can give that much, can't you, sweet Rosa?"
Rosalina had walked in silence since entering the gates, her shoulders heavy, her steps unsteady. At last, she spoke, her voice cracked and broken.
"Will the children… will the ch—"
"Yes," the Saintes interrupted gently. "The children will be taken care of. All of them."
She stopped walking and faced Rosalina fully.
"All you must do is die as a sacrifice. Then the land will be reborn, and God will rejoice."
Rosalina lowered her head."I can't die…" she whispered. "Believe you me—I tried."
Remy's breath caught.He remembered.He, too, had tried.
"Oh, hush now, child, Hathor has a way." She spoke, placing her hands around Rosalina. "So, what will it be?" She pressed once more.
"I… I… I—" Rosalina stammered.