Lina took a careful step forward, her rain boots squishing slightly on the soft moss beneath her feet. Though it felt like grass, the ground shimmered faintly, as if dew had been sprinkled with stardust. She turned in a slow circle, trying to take in her surroundings.
The trees around her had silver-blue trunks that twisted like braids, and their leaves rustled with a melodic hum, almost like singing. It wasn't scary—not exactly. But it wasn't safe either. It felt like the edge of a dream she couldn't quite wake up from.
The butterfly flitted ahead again.
"Wait!" she called, running after it. "Where are you taking me?"
The butterfly paused only for a moment—long enough for Lina to catch up—then danced deeper into the grove. She followed it, ducking under branches, hopping over roots, brushing past ferns that glowed softly when touched.
The further she went, the more magical everything became.
Tiny lights floated in the air, like fireflies, but with swirling patterns in their glow. One landed on her shoulder and blinked at her with what she could have sworn were tiny eyes before it zipped away. The air smelled like something between vanilla and rain, and though Lina had been soaking wet just moments ago, her clothes were now perfectly dry.
"This place…" she whispered, "it's alive."
Eventually, the path opened into a clearing, and there, standing in the center, was something that took her breath away.
A tree—the largest tree she'd ever seen.
Its trunk was as wide as a house, and its roots twisted through the earth like sleeping dragons. The bark shimmered faintly with golden veins, and high in the branches, thousands of glowing butterflies perched like living ornaments.
But this time, the butterflies were not all silent.
They spoke.
Or… whispered.
Lina tilted her head. The whispers were soft and layered, like hundreds of voices overlapping. Some sounded like wind, others like gentle laughter, and a few even formed words—faint, dreamy words.
"…found her…"
"…child of two worlds…"
"…marked by the Winged One…"
"…the key returns…"
Lina stepped closer to the tree, heart pounding. "What are you talking about?"
The butterfly that had led her here broke away from the group and fluttered down to her hand again. Its wings brushed her skin and—
Flash.
Suddenly, her head filled with visions.
Not images, exactly—more like feelings, memories that weren't hers.
A shimmering gate.
A storm made of feathers.
A girl in red shoes standing on a crumbling bridge of light.
A voice calling her name from beneath the ground.
And then, just as quickly, it was gone.
Lina gasped and nearly fell to her knees.
"What was that?" she panted. "What did you show me?"
Before she could process the images, the roots beneath her shifted—and opened.
A space appeared at the base of the giant tree. A hollow, glowing softly with warm amber light. The butterfly hovered by the opening, waiting.
"You want me to go in?" she asked.
It didn't answer—but somehow, she knew. She was meant to enter.
Taking a deep breath, Lina stepped inside.
The hollow was much larger than it looked. Inside, the air was warm and still, and the walls shimmered with softly glowing patterns—spirals, wings, stars, and a symbol she recognized from the park fountain: the golden spiral.
At the far end of the chamber stood a pedestal, and on it, a small book.
Lina approached slowly. The book was bound in dark leather, but a butterfly symbol had been etched into the cover in shimmering silver. When she touched it, the cover warmed beneath her fingers.
With a deep breath, she opened it.
The pages flipped on their own, stopping at one that showed a picture of a girl that looked eerily like her—same brown hair, same freckles, same curious eyes. Underneath the drawing were words written in flowing golden ink:
"Lina Evermere, chosen of the Winged Realms.
Bearer of the Wing-Sigil.
Seeker of the Veiled Paths.
You are called."
Lina's hands trembled. "What is this?"
From behind her, the whispers began again. This time, they formed a single voice—gentle and wise.
"You are not lost, Lina," the voice said. "You are found."
She turned around, but no one was there. Only the butterfly, hovering in midair, glowing brighter now. As if it were more than a butterfly—something ancient. Something watching.
"I don't understand," she said.
"You will," the voice whispered. "In time."
The room began to tremble gently, like the tree itself was stirring. Leaves fell from the ceiling in slow, graceful spirals, and light filled the space until Lina had to close her eyes.
When she opened them again, she was no longer in the tree.
She was back in the park.
The fountain still stood silent and cracked, but the rain had stopped. The city noises returned—distant horns, murmuring engines, barking dogs.
The butterfly was gone.
Lina looked down at her hands. The book had vanished.
But something had changed.
She rolled up her sleeve—and gasped.
On her wrist, just above her pulse, was a glowing silver butterfly-shaped mark. It shimmered faintly, like it had been painted with moonlight.
And then… it faded. But not completely. If she looked closely, she could still see it, a faint outline pulsing with a hidden light.
Lina stumbled home, her mind buzzing.
She couldn't tell her mom. Who would believe her?
Not even Leo would listen. He'd just laugh and say she was dreaming.