Copyright © 2018, 2025. Second Edition — 2025. All Rights Reserved. First Edition published 2018. Second Edition published 2025. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any for, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information browsing, storage, or retrieval system, without permission in writing from Arden Erimitis.
It was the perfect Kismet day. A sharp chill wafted through the linen curtains of Amika Briskbane’s reading nook, carrying the comforting scent of blazing treetops shedding their leaves and warm hearths stoked in the houses nestled in the furthest corner of Fae Colony. Ochre sunlight streaked the posterboard sprawled across Amika's lap, landing precisely on an image of a Messenger fae in flight, who just so happened to be carrying a Will-o-'the-Wisp. Typical fae wings always had an iridescent flicker, even when not in motion, as if they were always buzzing and on the go. However, these wings lacked that enchanting shimmer, for they had been drafted as hand-drawn sketches for her school project. Demonstrate the life cycle of a Will-o’-the-Wisp. That was the original assignment, and Amika was paying extra consideration to highlighting the vital storyline of what happened after a Will-o’-the-Wisp was harvested from the Mystery Gardens of Cosantrai Conservatory, the dedicated academic campus for growing faelings, and transported by fae to the human realm. Amika was currently learning in her Fae Lore class at the Conservatory that Will-o’- the-Wisp’s were humanoid plant creatures cultivated in Fae Colony with a purpose aimed to act as creative guidance for the human realm. They were ultimately meant to evoke imagination and offer a pathway for humans to activate creativity. Any time a human would cross their path in the human realm, the pure magic of the Will-o’-the-wisp would activate, and that specific Wisp could customize its form to synch up to each individual’s wonder preferences when they witnessed the Will-o’-the-wisp’s presence. Wonder preferences, according to the thick tome lying next to her project, were described as ways in which certain stimuli in nature could invoke inspiration within a
human, leading them to utilize the creative energy to express it into form. Basically, Will-o’- the-wisps were meant to light human hearts up by shapeshifting into the very thing that would inspire them. The question was, how did one demonstrate that on a posterboard flowchart? She considered the daunting task as she slathered a thick layer of paste on the backs of each image and smoothed them onto the poster board. They weren’t her own sketches—the hand-drawn documents were solely a task for the Archivists and Scribes, two upper working-class groups of the fae, and the specific images were taken from pages designated to be of use as a reference guide in her classroom textbooks. Each image, held in her palm, would be the exact size a real fae would be if a human were to hold it. The realization made her chuckle. A tickle in between her shoulder blades pulled her attention. Of course, that spot would irritate her at the moment. That was the place where she was supposed to have wings. There was an added edge and irritated carelessness in her movements as she pasted the final image into place, spending a little too much time on the fae’s wings. Scratch. Scratch. Setting her project supplies aside, she leaned over the edge of her seat. A curious moonbug craned its head up at her and wobbled its backside in a flickering display of gold and green. “Solas! Perfect timing! Wanna help me?” she called down to him. He cocked his head, chirping gravelly in response. She hefted up the lapdog-sized bug to where she was sitting and plopped him down amongst a pile of dandelion-tuft-filled pillows. Amika had stumbled upon Solas, who had fallen wounded in the nearby woods, and invited him to stay and mend his hurt wing for the time being. He had eight spindly legs, a
smooth gray exoskeleton that reminded Amika of snake skin, and six huge, prismatic thousand-lensed eyes. Solas circled three times before settling on her lap. “Right. We have to mind-share for you to understand,” she said. She took the friendly creature’s face in both hands and touched her forehead between its fuzzy antennae. She felt the hum of the connection track through her thoughts as the moonbug’s mind synched with hers. Her ability to mind-join allowed her to transfer her thoughts, but only with his consent. “Permission to connect, Solas.” The moonbug pulled away and nodded once. “Granted, as always, Amika.” Being able to hear and understand creatures outside her own kind had forged a deeper sense of compassion in Amika. She had hoped the other fae with the same gift would be equally empathetic, but sadly, that wasn’t the case. Amika enjoyed sharing her interests with Solas, talking about stories from her classes at the Conservatory and her fond memories of Fae Colony. However, it took time for her to reveal her innermost feelings. After several weeks, Amika opened up about her extraordinary origin. She was born from the first bloom of a crimson-tipped daylily in Faeborne Valley nearly eighty-seven years ago. During their daily walks, Amika shared insights about life as a fae. Solas learned that fae typically live for around six hundred years. At just six moons shy of her eighty-seventh birthday, Amika was still considered an adolescent. She loved her life in Fae Colony, yet her heart yearned for wild adventures beyond her apple-red pedal cart—a mechanical contraption that relied solely on her leg power to guide her way through the lush land of Darragh. Solas wiggled, radiating a burst of bioluminescence in excitement. Amika scratched the spot between his fuzzy antennae. He reflexively kicked out a leg, blocking her view of her project.
“Excuse me! How do you expect me to work like this?” She laughed. Solas blinked with his six large eyes and scuttled back, making room. “There. Happy?” A sudden gust of wind whooshed through the gap in the window, sending one of her project folders tumbling off the shelf and onto Solas’s head. They both jumped in surprise. After shaking it off, he glanced at the now-open folder on the bedspread, where a bright red warning scrawled in berry ink shouted, Confidential. Solas leaned closer; eyes wide with curiosity. “Whoa. What’s that? It looks important.” Amika bit her lip, weighing her words. She drummed her fingers on the dog-eared page of her book. “Okay. I’ll tell you. But you have to promise—this stays between us.” Solas held up his front foot to link with her pinky. “Promise.” Something unsettling synched within Amika at the mention of the word promise. A gripping chill coursed through her, a clear signal that this was more than just a fleeting discomfort. The gut-wrenching dread that followed was undeniable, intensifying as sharp pains throbbed in her temples. She felt panic rise. Amika firmly grasped the bedspread, using it to anchor herself against the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her. Solas nuzzled her arm. “You okay?” Amika focused on the warmth of the candle flame in front of her to settle her nerves, watching it flicker, dancing to an unseen rhythm. She wasn’t okay, but could she tell him? She steadied herself and gently shifted Solas aside, forcing a smile. “Just a strange, sudden, dizzy spell. I’m okay.” The need for fresh air gripped her. “Let’s take care of the garden. Then I’ll show you more of what I was working on.” He flashed her a concerned look. “Okay.”
Amika slipped her dainty feet into her leather house shoes, which were designed to look like a handful of spring leaves wrapped and bound into a pointed slipper form. She dusted off her fitted black pants and pulled on her favorite thick, blueberry juice dyed tunic. She picked Solas up and carried him over to the sturdy rope ladder that led to her rooftop garden, making sure he was securely tucked under her arm to keep him from falling. Solas rushed to snack on the nearest trough of harvested leafy greens the moment she sat him down. She tugged up the bucket of well water and scooped one dipper for him to lap up and a second one to water her plants. Making her rounds to check on all of the new delicate blossoms and moss growth, Amika turned her gaze upward, noticing an ominous storm building to the south. A budding rainbow ushered in a dense, menacing wall of thunderheads along the soft curves of the countryside. She welcomed the electric sting of cool air on her cheeks, but this time of year, a season when tremendous storms led to colony-wide devastation, always made her a little uneasy. Maybe that was that sense of dread she had gotten earlier, something connected to a shift in the weather. A soft pattering of raindrops sounded on the rooftop garden, prompting Amika to stash her gardening supplies in a wooden ottoman near the ladder and rush to grab Solas. Amika giggled when a single raindrop hit the tip of her nose. “Whoa. We better get inside.” A torrent of rain came down when Amika closed the back door. “Well, that was fast.” Amika grabbed a couple of towels from the closet to dry herself and Solas off. “It looked like it was pretty far off. Must have been another random stormcloud that was closer than I thought.” Thunder bellowed outside as the rain kicked up into a downpour. Solas skittered for shelter in between Amika’s ankles. She crouched down to comfort him and cradle him in her arms. His whole exoskeleton shook in terror. She pulled him closer to ease his anxiety and reflected on how grateful she was that she had seen him while out for a walk. If she
hadn’t taken it upon herself to invite him to stay with her, she knew some predator would have taken advantage of his weakened state and probably devoured him. She shook the disturbing thought out of her head to prevent him from picking up what was floating through her mind. Amika cuddled up with Solas on her propped-up pillows and flipped open the file that had fallen on her bed. Leafing through the stack of organized papers, she pulled one out to show to him. The familiar unsettling tingle rushed through her body once more. She glanced at the opened file and a tinge of concern churned in her gut. Solas trotted around on her lap, pulling her from her concerns. He cocked his head as Amika wiped away the dust from the hand-sketched portrait. “Who’s that?” Amika bent down to show him the image of a heavy-set female fae with smiling eyes and two thick braids that rested between her delicate wings. Amika tenderly traced the edges of the wings with her fingertip. “Desily. She’s a Guardian and one of my favorite staff members from Seelie Home. She actually gave me this exact sweater at the last Merry Fair.” Memories of Merry Fair flooded Amika’s thoughts as she replaced the cherished image in the folder. She paused to consider what she could share with him. She selected another hand-sketched drawing—an image of the Fae Valley river parade celebration that was held at sunset at her Merry Fair. Her teeth chattered and she trembled with nervous energy as she held the drawing up for Solas to see, as if her body was physically protesting sharing these details. She powered through her discomfort, brushing it off as unease from being so isolated from so many in her community, and making new friends was just awkward for her. Amika pointed out the details of a massive stage in the center of the drawing. It was decorated in thick ivy and flowering plants next to the Crescent Call riverbank, where a number of water parade floats, hand-carved by volunteers from Gnome Colony to look like massive ships made of leaves and flower petals, sat on display. The stage was surrounded
by a series of trimmed hedges shaped into creatures of all sizes, and a group of fae were gathered in a circle. The fae sported gaudy wares and fancy headdresses passing a chalice of honey cider around the circle. Amika could just about taste it on her lips as she reflected on her own coming-of-age ceremony six moons ago. “Mmmm. Figberry muffins,” she mind-shared, unaware that it transmitted to Solas. “Figberry muffins?” Amika chuckled when she realized what had happened. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking about my own Merry Fair celebration.” Solas stumbled backward after glancing down at the sketch. “Is that a moonbug they’re about to eat? Amika!” Amika lifted it to her face to inspect it and frowned. A sickening feeling rose in her gut. She couldn’t tell if she was picking up Solas’s terror or just tuning in to her own disgust at the typical fae dietary cravings. “Unfortunately, Regents love eating you guys.” Solas’s brilliant green face went pale. “Do I want to know what a Regent is?” Amika set the picture down. “Okay. I have to explain some things. Fae Colony—the area I’m from—well, let’s just say, you don’t typically find moonbugs in our homes.” Solas’s antennae drooped slightly. “So, I’m … not welcome?” Amika quickly shook her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s complicated. There are many fae who appreciate the beauty of all creatures, like me. But there are also those who follow the old ways too strictly. They believe certain beings, like you, are better off, well, in their stomachs.” Solas slumped, an uneasy grimace on his face. “Your kind is considered quite the delicacy to the staff who work with our elder,” Amika explained. She pointed down at a beautiful fae dressed in an elegant ballgown in the center of the stage. “That’s her. Elder Starling Windrunner.” She pointed at two male fae
that flanked the Elder on either side. They stood alert in their uniforms, looking quite pompous with their raised collars and oversized shoulder pads. “Those are some of her Regents. They’re next in command if something happens to our governing matriarch.” “Matriarch?” Amika shrugged and smiled sheepishly, sensing the complexity of the conversation starting to get out of hand. “It means she’s the one who lays the egg sacs that carry fairy embryos in the wombs of flowers. Like a Great Mother of the fae. It also means she has the major say in our land. Like the boss. Do moonbugs have something like that? Some … um … bug … you treat as a leader? Like a main bug that tells all the other bugs what to do?” She laughed at the absurdity of her question. He sat back on his haunches. “Hmmm. I never thought of that. We all kind of do what we want.” “But do you have families? Like a mother or father that you look up to and listen to?” Solas bobbed his head back and forth “You could say that. I mean, we hatch and grow on our own until we find the others and just, you know, fly with our sparkle.” “Sparkle? What do you mean by that?” Solas’s pincers pulled into a grin. “It's what we call ourselves when we fly in formation.” Amika’s heart lit up.“That’s so beautiful.” She glanced over at the closet in her room. “Here, let me show you something. It’s the closest thing to a faeling’s sparkle.” She set her entire project aside and headed to the organized wardrobe and pulled out a beautiful, midnight-blue gown, designed to look like a Starry Sky Petunia in full bloom. “What happened to your dress?” Solas asked, clacking his way on the flagstone floor behind her. Burgundy and cobalt grains of pollen had stained the corset-style bodice, while the skirt edge looked tipped with splashes of gold, green, teal, and magenta.“They had this
beautiful display of colorful pollenworks, where they fling pods full of colored pollen and then these archers shoot arrows at them, causing them to burst all over the crowd.” Solas’s face lit up. “That sounds amazing!” Amika quietly reflected on the details of that night as she traced her fingertips along the edges of the skirt, catching fingerfuls of color to play with. The specific blend of colors pulled her to the details of the intricate masks that had adorned the faces of her peers. Each Merry Fair featured a themed masquerade and Amika’s celebration highlighted stellar delights, such as décor that featured moon phases and celestial bodies. She reached for the mask that had paired beautifully with her gown, a black fox mask with a single crescent moon in the center of the forehead. Amika smiled to herself when she glanced down at Solas. “Want to try it on?” Solas took several steps backward, declining. “You want me to wear the face of something that could possibly eat me?” “Good point. That’s pretty awful.” Amika put the mask back on her closet shelf and chuckled. “I didn’t think about that at all.” A hint of the gold in her palm drew in the memory of the strung canopy of lanterns where everyone in her cohort danced gaily in the air with their chosen partners as she watched from down below near the banquet table. She had been sequestered by her deficiency, unable to join any of the handsomely dressed males who were eager to show off their beautiful dance partners. Amika came to, a knot twisted in her stomach and her heart wrenched from the memory. She had to turn her thoughts to the food, like she had that same night, in an attempt to distract herself from feeling painfully alone and left out of the festivities. She fondly remembered platters of lavender teacakes and butterbristle scones, topped with sticky-sweet honeycsrips biscuits that could easily pair with bowls full of savory sagebloom stew. She had stayed away from the carnivorous spread, which featured a menagerie of slain conquests that had made Amika sick to her stomach just to look at.
Solas scuttled closer to the dress. “So, what exactly is that for, anyway?” “What is what for?” Solas gestured to the dress and mask with his head. “You called the event something. I can’t remember what you called it.” “Oh, Merry Fair. It’s a celebration of fae coming of age.” “What does that mean?” Amika tapped her fingers on her chin and thought a moment. “In our way of life, we celebrate the time when young faelings move into becoming adults. It’s a huge event for every cohort of faelings who begin their life at Seelie Home after they are born.” Amika pointed at the top right corner of the image, which featured an area covered in flowers. “This is Faeborne Valley, where I was born.” With a hint of vulnerability, she slipped off her sweater and lowered the neck of her tunic. Her left shoulder blade gleamed softly, revealing a smooth expanse of skin. “I once felt so ashamed for not being born with wings like the others. Desily sensed something was different about me by my ninth birthday. By then, I should have at least had wing buds, just like the rest of my cohort.” Amika gazed down at Solas, who had a concerned look on his face. “I’m sure you were beautiful for your Merry Fair, Amika,” he said, attempting to change the subject. Amika smiled, reminiscing. “It was a beautiful ceremony, even if I did feel out of place.” “Out of place?” Solas echoed, tilting his head in curiosity. Amika tapped her shoulder blade. “Because of the wings,” she said, her voice tinged with introspection. “Everyone else had theirs adorned for the occasion. When it was my turn to join the dance, I just stood there, watching. It felt … well, isolating. But Desily, one of my teachers at the Seelie Home, she’d always been there for me and she shared something incredibly special with me to help me not feel so alone.”
“What did she do?” Solas asked, his massive eyes blinking with interest. Amika thought back to the warmth in Desily’s gaze as she had stepped forward to take Amika’s hand, guiding her into the dancing crowd despite the lack of wings. “Desily reminded me that just because I didn’t have wings didn’t mean I couldn’t find my own way to fly.” Solas waggled his antennae, deep in thought. “That sounds pretty special.” “It was,” Amika said, her heart swelling with gratitude for her friend. She returned to her reading nook and took out a stack of papers and brochures from her folder to share with Solas. “This is my graduation certificate from Seelie Home. See? Signed by the entire Guardian staff.” She ran her hand over the page and laughed softly as her thoughts turned to fond memories. She felt excited at the idea of sharing these moments with her new friend. “Seelie Home is a beautiful place located in the eastern part of Fae Colony. It’s where Guardians bring newborn faelings to live and grow after they emerge from the Fairweather blooms,” she explained, pointing to an image of a grand building adorned with elaborate architectural features. Solas looked puzzled. “Fairweather?” “You know, it’s the time of the solar year when we celebrate new beginnings,” Amika replied. Solas shook his head in confusion. “Well, in Fae Colony, we honor four seasons in a solar year. Fairweather represents new beginnings. Next is Aestivus, a time when we celebrate the abundance of life in Darragh. Then comes Kismet, which is when things begin to fade away, and we express gratitude for what has come to be. Finally, there’s Albonix, a quiet time when it gets cold and most creatures go into hibernation.”
Solas stared blankly and chittered a laugh. “You guys are complicated! Moonbugs just eat and sleep most of the time. We don’t really celebrate anything. Maybe we should! I never thought about things that way. Albonix sounds lovely—it sounds like a lot of naps.” Amika chuckled. “The Guardians taught us all sorts of things at Seelie Home. After Seelie Home, I moved on to Cosantrai Conservatory, where I’m studying now. We spend four years there, and then we’re supposed to step into our fated roles in Darragh.” She gestured to the photographs of the staff members. “These three Guardians taught the Affinities and Gifts classes,” she indicated. “And these four taught us about the working class fae—like builders and papermakers.” Solas nodded, absorbing the information. Amika mind-shared the titles below the images, “Quarterly Editor-in-Chief, Quarterly Layout and Graphics Manager, Quarterly Scribe... Messenger Manager.” She pointed to a section filled with tight-lipped fae, their images conveying a lack of joy. “Guardians come from all over Fae Colony to guide us in discovering our natural gifts and interests. They’re supposed to help us grow in our abilities. Some of them are pretty awesome, but these guys?” She pointed to a group of severely scowling fae. “They seem more focused on pushing numbers and getting fae graduated than connecting with us on a personal level.” Solas scanned the images and the writing that was difficult to decipher. “So, what subject did Desily teach?” he asked. Amika shifted her stack of papers, revealing a new set. “Oh, she wasn’t a teacher. She was a Proctor who maintained order and discipline at Seelie Home. Honestly, I don’t know why they let her have that role; she was way too much of a softie to enforce any real discipline. Hmm.” Amika suddenly drew the documents closer to herself. “Oh. I’m not sure I can share more about this. We were sworn to secrecy during our orientation at Cosantrai Conservatory.” Amika sized up Solas with a single glance. What harm could a moonbug do? At most, they could use the knowledge of the Regents’ eating preferences to their benefit and
avoid certain places at certain times, when hordes of Regents would hunt these creatures as delicacies. The harm would be to remove a minor food group off the table, no more, no less. She opened to the third chapter in the tome, scanned the page, and placed her dainty fingertip on the exact image she wanted to share. “I’m pretty sure I can trust you. I just know it. It’s not like you would go and tell your moonbug friends about the fae secrets or anything.” Amika plopped down in a cross-legged position and waved him over. “Okay, this is seriously top-secret stuff here. Got it?” Solas wagged his bottom excitedly. “I promise not to tell a soul.” Amika's eyes gleamed with excitement. “Have you ever heard of Will-o’-the-wisps?” Solas shook his head. She nodded at her pile of school supplies. “That’s the project I’m working on. To share with my class about what they are.” Amika glanced left and right, playfully searching for any nonexistent eavesdroppers, and leaned in closer to Solas. “Okay, here’s the deal. Humans live in a separate realm from us, right?” “I’ve heard of humans, but I don’t know much about them.” Amika waved her hands around as if to rid the air of his naivete. “Alright, forget anything you’ve heard. I have the real information here. The fae”—she gestured at herself— “have a special connection with humans. We call humans Creatives, okay?” “Why Creatives?” he asked, scooting closer. “Let me explain the Will-o’-the-wisps first, then you will understand.” Amika pulled out a packet of information stamped Top Secret and flipped to the third page, then the fourth, looking for specific information to share with him. “This”—Amika pointed at a drawing of a luminescent, humanoid plant—“is a Will-o’-the-wisp.” Solas’s eyes widened with awe.
“We have millions of these at the Cosantrai Conservatory.” She pointed at the large building on the paper in front of them. “We learn about how these things grow. It’s not like water or sunlight that helps them flourish. Some of the fae are called Stewards, who are trained in the Creative Arts and nurture the growing plants with things like music, storytelling, or dance. That is the only thing that feeds them. They’re not quite plants but not quite creatures—something magical in between. Just an essence.” “An essence? An essence of what?” “Foreseen Creativity.” As if on cue, a bright flash of lightning crashed too close for comfort outside the house, causing them to jump and screech. After their nerves settled, Solas continued with his questions, “What do you mean by creativity? How does creativity have an essence?” “On the third moon of Kismet.” She counted to three with her dainty fingers and waved her hand around for dramatic effect. Solas scooted closer. “Kismet is when things fall away, right?” “Yes. Yes. Just listen.” Amika inhaled deeply and continued with her narrative. “On the third moon of Kismet each year, a special race of creatures called the Lunarae— spidery, mysterious creatures so secret they are hidden away at the farthest reaches of Darragh—lay hundreds of eggs. Hundreds. These eggs are harvested by the Regents who work for Elder Windrunner. The Regents bring the eggs to the Conservatory and plant them in the ground. The Cosantrai.” Amika excitedly pointed at more drawn figures on the pages. “These guys right here. Those are the staff at the Conservatory that are either Seers or Stewards. The Stewards help cultivate the eggs into the Will-o’-the-wisps, and the Seers connect with the growing plants to determine what Creative Form they are to become. Once they become full-grown, each one will be harvested and taken to the humans.” “Where exactly are the farthest reaches of Darragh? Is that near the gnomes?”
“No, no, no. Solas, you’re missing the point. I’m trying to tell you a story here.” “Do they get mad that the Regents are stealing their eggs?” Amika sat upright. “You, know, I don’t know. I never considered that.” She nibbled on her nail and stared off in thought. Solas pulled her attention back to the story. “So, what does that have to do with humans?” “Creatives,” Amika corrected. “Right. Creatives. What does that have to do with them?” “So, the fae—Messengers to be precise—bring the harvested Will-o’-the-wisps to the human realm and deliver them to the humans. Once the Will-o’-the-wisp is delivered, it transforms in the mind of the human into Creative Inspiration.” “Huh. Interesting. How does it transform into Creative Inspiration? And what happens then?” “Well, I don’t know that part yet. I’m not even a Sprig at school. I think we learn more about that next year.” “A Sprig?” Amika pulled out another sheet with what appeared to be some sort of diagram. She pointed out each of the images on the flowchart. “First Buds are year one at the Conservatory. Sprigs are year two. Then it’s Incipients, then Scions. In the first two years, we spend a lot of time learning specifically about the Will-o’-the-wisps' growth cycles and development stages. We have Archivists who are the holders of all fae history and Preservists who study plant and creature life throughout Darragh. They come and help teach those courses. Anyway, it's a lot to take in. But… what do you think? Pretty cool, huh?” Solas smiled sheepishly. “I think I’m hungry.”
Amika rubbed his head playfully. “You’re so silly. Of course you’re hungry. You’re always hungry.” He bared his two rows of little sharp teeth in a wide grin. “Like I said, moonbugs are simple creatures. I already napped, so you know what’s inevitably next.” Amika dipped the wick into the budding flames and quickly carried her starter candle to ignite the others one by one to her living room couch. Soft, yellow light bounced off the walls, offering a warm, calming glow. She smiled at Solas who was making gobbling and smacking noises while finishing his snack in the kitchen.
Arden Erimitis is an author, poet, and mixed-media artist based in the Midwest. Having worked in youth advocacy for over thirteen years before becoming a published author, Arden dedicates her energy to encouraging the creative spark in others so that they can utilize their voice, personal strengths, and creative potential to make a positive difference in the world. Connect with Arden on Instagram at @arden_erimitis_author and support her work at www.patreon.com/ArdenErimitis.