Broken Child

by Metala Kahame

After a tragic accident befalls Timmy when left in Cosmo's care, he starts to doubt his abilities as a god father. As Timmy's condition worsens he resolves to do all he can to make his godchild better. Meanwhile Wanda's growing attachment to Timmy is starting to raise some suspicions that she has forgotten the number one rule of godparenting; don't get too attached!

56. Chapter 56 Fruits

Chapter 56; Fruits

— Wanda's POV—

She felt dizzy, her head spinning and her vision blurring as the world swayed around her, the motion making her stomach churn violently.

Desperately, she gripped the back of the couch, her fingers digging into the fabric with such force she feared she might tear it, but she couldn't let go. She needed an anchor, something solid to tether her to reality and keep the looming threat of fainting at bay.

Her trembling was uncontrollable, and her teeth clenched so hard it felt like they might crack—but her mind was too consumed by chaos to notice. Her head was too busy trying to make sense of the dreadful scene unraveling before her eyes.

Every detail felt like an assault on her senses—the colors too vivid, the sounds too sharp, the emotions too raw. It was as if the air itself had turned oppressive, pressing against her chest and making it difficult to breathe, even for a fairy like her, who did not require nearly as much air as a human did.

The sight before her was just that overwhelming, an unrelenting storm cloud that darkened her thoughts and filled her mind with chaos.

She had never seen anything so horrible before.

No. That wasn't true.

She had seen something far worse than this; a memory buried deep within her resurfaced, unbidden. That other event had been quieter, subtler in its horror, and yet infinitely more devastating in its emotional impact.

This scene, by contrast, was grotesque and vivid in a way that seared itself into her brain, but it lacked the soul-crushing weight of that previous tragedy. The two events were fundamentally different, and yet, each left a scar too deep to ever fade.

No; those two events could not be compared.

It had all started innocuously enough, a simple argument that had come from a misunderstanding. From what she had gathered, it had been a simple enough matter. A Fey, named Lilixia, had her parents living in Fairy World and Piper had assumed that they had told Lilixia about her mother's wings having been ripped off, which had upset her greatly.

Piper had admitted to her mistake quickly, and everything ought to have been resolved with her apology. Unfortunately, Lilixia had then accused Piper of not caring enough about her mother simply because she hadn't worn her grief openly.

Frankly, she could not blame Piper for losing her temper. If someone had accused her of being indifferent to someone she loved dearly, simply because they had not reacted in a certain way, she would have lashed out too. It was a cruel and unfair insinuation; everyone responded to grief differently, and even she, in the little time she had known Piper, realized the doctor was not the type to wear her emotions on her sleeve.

It had not been Piper's anger, however, that had caused the situation to spiral into chaos. No, the true catalyst had been the other Fey in the room. The moment it was revealed to them by Lilixia that Dulice Sweet was dying, that was when all control in the room was lost.

Up until that moment, they must have believed that Dulice was merely recovering from an injury inflicted by her former god daughter turned fairy hunter, Mary Alice—a tragic but temporary setback. The revelation that she would never return had hit them like a tidal wave.

Dazzle dissolved into tears, her sobs growing louder with each passing second. Rosehip's panic had caused her to scream denials with growing hysteria. Aelar, driven by desperation, turned his focus on Piper, bombarding her with relentless questions. And then there was Thistledust. His attempt at sympathy, a well-meaning but ill-timed gesture, had been the final straw. It was too much, too raw, and Piper—already pushed to her emotional limits—reacted like a cornered animal would—aggressively, which unfortunately had poured gasoline on the emotional firestorm.

Throughout the escalating chaos, Edmund had sat unnaturally still where Aelar had left him, his eyes fixed on the television as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality. His expression was vacant, his body unnervingly rigid, a stark contrast to the maelstrom of emotions swirling around him. It was clear to anyone who cared to look that he was being compelled to ignore the turmoil, his mind forcibly detached from the storm that raged behind him.

But no one was looking, including her. Her eyes had been locked onto the fight, on the shouting, the tears, and the raw unchecked emotions that had free rein over the crowd of Fey, Piper in the center of the inferno of tempers.

She was the only one not involved in the fight; she had been sitting back away from it all, just watching as the fight continued to escalate….and yet she had failed to notice it as Lilithree approached Edmund.

She only paid attention to that poor child when he screamed, and it was already too late to stop the tragedy from happening.

"Edmund! Shh! It's okay, it'll be okay!" Aelar's voice trembled with urgency as he held the boy tightly in his arms. Edmund's eyes were open, but they were distant, unfocused, as if he were staring into a world no one else could see. His body convulsed violently, muscles jerking in erratic spasms that made him seem almost puppet-like.

The fight had stopped abruptly, all the shouting, the tears, the screams—but the sounds of Edmund's gasps and uneven breaths felt louder and far more distressing to listen to than any shouts, curses, or tears had.

The boy's healthy pink complexion had turned chalky, and his lips had drained of all color. Aelar's grip tightened as the boy's convulsions grew more intense, his face a mask of distress as he looked around the room for someone to tell him what to do to help his Kinder, at a loss at how to handle such a situation. When no help came immediately, due to everyone being frozen in shock by what had happened, he tearfully called Edmund's name again and again, his voice breaking as he did the only thing he could think of doing, but there was no response, no flicker of recognition in those foggy eyes. Edmund had gone into shock, and even though he was wide awake, he might as well have been unconscious.

Nearby, Dazzle held Edmund's wing delicately in her trembling hands, her face a mask of anguish. The feathers were torn, their delicate structure now marred by damage that made her heart ache.

Rosehip stood off to the side as she tried to calm Lilithree, who was huddled nearby, her massive form shaking with fright. A thorny rope had been hastily tied around her neck—one that would cut into her flesh only if she were to try to run away. She understood that it was a precautionary measure—after what had happened, they couldn't risk having her injure another Kinder, but it only added to the horror of the scene.

Poor Lilithree hadn't meant to hurt Edmund. She had just wanted to feel his wing because she thought it looked pretty. Sadly, due to her immense strength, the appendage had come away in her hand as easily as plucking a petal from a flower, and the realization of what she had done had sent her into a state of panicked confusion.

Rosehip, despite holding the girl by such a monstrous leash, was soothing her and gently wiping away her tears.

Meanwhile, Lilixia, whose ill-timing and hysterics had been the spark for the argument, had fainted outright, collapsing into a chair where Thistledust gently laid her down. He was the most composed of the group, but even he was visibly shaken, his hands trembling as he hovered in the corner, watching the scene unfold with wide, terrified eyes.

Piper, once her shock at what had happened faded, immediately got to work, all anger forgotten as she frantically provided medical assistance, her hands steady despite the turmoil around her. Aelar's cries grew more desperate, his voice filled with a raw, unfiltered grief that was impossible to ignore as Edmund's eyes closed.

She had questioned Aelar's sincerity before, doubted the depth of his care for the boy he had taken the hands from. But seeing him now, his face twisted in anguish, she felt a pang of guilt for ever having doubted him. His love for Edmund was undeniable, but that realization only deepened her sense of revulsion toward the Fey….because of what she saw on the floor.

Her attention was fixated on the pool of liquid spreading across the floor, shimmering faintly in the dim light. It wasn't blood—not human blood, anyway. It was white, sparkling, and eerily beautiful, its sweet scent wafting through the air like a cloying perfume.

The aroma was intoxicating, reminiscent of the white strawberries that grew at the entrance to the Fey Forest.

The moment she had seen that 'blood' come out of Edmund, a horrifying understanding dawned on her.

She had always thought of the Kinders as children whose human bodies had been altered through magic, but had still thought of them as flesh and blood. She had seen them as pitiful children being reduced to living dolls in order to amuse the Fey, who wanted to play 'house' with them.

But this liquid, this sickeningly sweet juice that flowed from Edmund's broken body, shattered that illusion.

The Kinder weren't dolls.

They weren't even people anymore.

On the outside, they had child forms—but on the inside…they were fruit.

As the room continued to spin around her, she fought to steady herself, refusing to succumb to the overwhelming sensations threatening to pull her under. But the scent of the juice was everywhere, clinging to the air, to her skin, to her very soul. It was a smell that tainted the innocence of sweetness, forever linking it to this moment of unimaginable horror.

She knew, with a sickening certainty, that she would never taste something sweet again without being haunted by this memory. This nightmarish scene, this terrible truth, would linger in her mind forever, a scar that no amount of time could ever heal.

To the Fey, however, this wasn't horrible at all, it wasn't even wrong. They loved these little children and yet could transform them into such a grotesque mockery of life without any reservations at all.

She just could not understand how their minds worked, and quite frankly she hoped she never did.

'Timmy….' She looked back at the television, where Timmy, Walter, and Nova were oblivious to what had occurred in the room and were relaxing in a hot spring together—cozy, warm, peaceful…and she wanted to be there with him now more than ever before; not to escape the horror of the situation she was in…but to keep Timmy safe; so that he did not end up like Edmund, like Walter, like all the Kinders…

A piece of fruit masquerading as a child.

— Nova's POV—

He sighed, letting his body soak in the hot spring. The bubbling water and the stones heated from the spring soothed his muscles, strained from the adult-sized form he was unaccustomed to, but his mind could not find the same relaxation.

Ever since his dive into Timmy's memories, the boy's struggles lingered in his mind, like shadows refusing to fade. He couldn't shake the image of Timmy blaming himself for his twin's stillbirth or his self-recrimination over innocent mistakes with friends. Each memory painted a picture of a child carrying burdens far too heavy for his small frame, leaving Nova with a persistent ache of helpless empathy. He couldn't shake the weight of worry for what lay ahead for the poor child, and for Cosmo and Wanda too. This was such a complicated situation, and he had no idea what would happen.

He wasn't even sure if poor little Timmy would survive to reach the end of the Magical Filter Cycle due to the unpredictable nature of his condition. But he also knew that Timmy had no chance of surviving in the human world if he were left in it.

It would be better for the child to succumb to his condition than grow to become another Jullian or endure all this hardship, only to share the same fate as Julia.

Timmy deserved better than that, but life was unfair. It didn't always give one what they deserved.

Nova did his best to mask his unease, keeping his gaze lazily on the thick ferns growing around the spring. Their fronds swayed gently in the breeze, illuminated by the soft glow of small, luminescent Moon-daisies.

Timmy had once compared them to little fallen stars scattered on the ground.

For a boy not prone to poetry, Queen Mab's nectar seemed to be working wonders, infusing him with creativity and a newfound appreciation for the beauty of nature.

This was no small feat for a child who had grown up in a world where screens trumped the outdoors—where pollution and human progress dulled nature's ability to enchant young hearts. The Fey world was a stark contrast, filled with magic that seemed to hum in the very air, and where beauty could captivate a heart with but a glance. Nova couldn't help but marvel at how quickly Queen Mab's magic had reshaped Timmy's perspective and attitude. Only his first Bloom, and Timmy had become remarkably perceptive and responsive to his surroundings. Whereas he might not have even noticed a flower before, he now gazed and marveled at its colors and the way the breeze caused it to sway. It was a shift in his very spirit that hinted at burgeoning potential.

He hoped, in time, that Timmy's new perspective would allow him to see himself as more than the sum of his struggles.

"I am a boiled mushroom," Walter quipped, reclining in the water next to Timmy. His grin was wide and untroubled, contrasting with the boy dozing lightly against his shoulder.

The three baby Appapuffs lazily floated around them, joined by Ginnie, resembling adorable little veggies bobbing in soup. The faint sound of their soft purring merged with the bubbling water, creating a lullaby of sorts.

Timmy's Blooming had left him exhausted. Though the experience brought an intoxicated state of happiness, it also taxed the body. As much as Nova adored Queen Mab and was grateful for her blessing, he wished she would have waited until Timmy's Filter Cycle had reached a more stable state.

Blooming was an intense process, both physically and emotionally, as the child's inner self adapted to the blessing that would now be part of their core. The transformation often brought a surge of heightened emotions—joy, sorrow, and everything in between—while the body underwent subtle but profound changes to align with its new magical essence. This adaptation marked a pivotal step in the child's journey, reshaping their very spirit to harmonize with the Fey world's magic. This taxing transformation had coincided with the magical filter cycle, leaving him at his weakest.

Timmy would need his next treatment soon and must avoid stress or over-anxiousness until then.

Poor little thing, Nova thought, his heart aching for the boy. Timmy had endured so much suffering already, and it was far from over. Both his physical and mental conditions were fraught with unpredictability—it was difficult to say which was harder for the poor child to bear.

He watched Timmy stir slightly, his memories drifting back to the psychological reports he had written. He had spent hours piecing together the narrative of Timmy's life, crafting a report he hoped would spur Wanda into action. As much as he wanted to take charge, he recognized that Wanda's bond with Timmy was irreplaceable. No magic could replicate the boy's love and trust in her, and that bond was something Nova deeply respected. It was, in fact, the cornerstone of any plans he had for Timmy's future.

Wanda wasn't perfect. She could be stubborn, quick-tempered, and set in her ways. But her love for Timmy was real and powerful. She believed fiercely in doing what was right, and that integrity gave Nova hope.

He liked her, despite their differences, and he genuinely believed they could work together for Timmy's sake. Once he explained his intentions, she'd understand why he'd taken certain measures. She had to, for Timmy's sake, if nothing else. The boy deserved every chance to thrive, and Wanda's unwavering love was key to that.

"I… thinketh I am turning the spring into broth." Walter sniffed the air theatrically. Timmy chuckled softly, though his eyes remained closed, his body relaxed and drowsy. Even in his exhaustion, there was a contentment to him that Nova found deeply moving. For all his burdens, Timmy was still capable of joy—a testament to his resilience. Nova's gaze softened as he watched Timmy, marveling at the quiet courage that had carried him this far. The boy carried a heavy burden on his tiny shoulders, yet a hand extended in friendship could cut through that darkness and bring such a contented smile to his face.

"Walter, make sure to hold him up so he does not slip under the water," Nova reminded gently, admiring the slumbering child. Timmy was like a little flower growing between cracks in the concrete, persevering despite the heavy boots that had tried to trample him. Each petal seemed to hold a story of resilience—surviving neglect, guilt, and loneliness to seek out the smallest beams of light. Julia had been like that too, but her flower had never managed to reach through the crack.

"I will," Walter promised, keeping an arm securely around the boy. "But, verily, I am sorely afeared that I am turning the spring into soup… behold, the blue Appapuff doth drink of it."

Nova chuckled, running his fingers through the pool's surface. "Rest assured, the water can be readily restored."

The faint smell of mushroom soup coming from the spring was unmistakable, and it brought a fleeting moment of levity to Nova's otherwise somber musings.

Timmy's first Bloom had been a success. He had bonded strongly with Walter, and Nova felt confident that Wanda's concern for Timmy's friendless state would lead her to allow future playdates. Eventually, she'd see the value in Timmy forming friendships with other Kinders. A world filled with friends would surely be better for him than the lonely, mistreated one he had known.

Nova just couldn't understand Wanda's hesitation about this. If Timmy was a well-loved, well-cared-for child, it would be one thing—but with the abuse he faced and how much she loved him, why wouldn't she want to bring him to a world where not only would he no longer face such hardships, but where she could be with him forever?

Perhaps she feared the unknown. Maybe she was scared to lose her sense of self by reuniting with her other half, or perhaps she was simply afraid that becoming a Kinder would change Timmy from the boy she knew and loved into a child she barely recognized.

Nova could understand those fears, and he'd make sure to explain things to her thoroughly enough to assuage them. Once he did, he was sure she'd be willing to allow Timmy to embrace a new life here in the Fey world as a Kinder, where he could be happy for all eternity and never lose his memories of his time with her.

Even when his Kinder-body gave out, his soul would remain near Wanda, its essence intact. Though their interactions would change, their bond would persist forever. What more could a mother wish for? Surely, in time, she would see the wisdom in this path. Nova sighed. Eternal happiness was so close in reach for her—all she had to do was reach out and take it, as simply as plucking a fruit from a low-hanging branch.

The poor thing would suffer an eternal life of regret if she failed to act now while she had a chance to save him. If Nova had been given this opportunity with Jullian or Julia, he would not have let it go by.

But Fairy World brainwashing was strong; the narrative that Fey only had the most malevolent and greedy intentions toward children was so deeply ingrained that, unless one became a Fey themselves, they would continue to believe such falsehoods.

At least Timmy was a trusting, simple child who used only his own experiences to form his opinions. In Timmy's eyes, the Fey were fun and kind, and Nova was the most wonderful grandpa in the world.

If Nova couldn't convince his daughter-in-law that their ways of nurturing and fostering bonds in the Fey world were the most beneficial for Timmy's happiness and well-being, then perhaps Timmy's newfound joy and resilience would speak for itself.

"So, Walter, what do you think of our Timmy?" Nova asked, casting a spell over his voice to ensure Timmy wouldn't overhear. Though the boy appeared to be asleep, Nova wasn't taking chances. Timmy despised being spoken about—a scar left from years of overheard whispers and cruel remarks. The hurt of those moments still lingered in his heart, eroding his self-worth.

"He is a good and sweet lad," Walter said, his voice likewise muted. "But verily, 'tis as though he hath walked through a storm for many a year, without an umbrella to shield him. Soaked to the very bone and shivering, seeking warmth wheresoever he may. The courage he doth show, despite all he hath suffered—it is truly wondrous. Yet, even so, he is so broken… like a wounded creature, he be." Walter's gaze drifted to the Companions lounging sleepily around the spring. "He remindeth me of Clara."

"Clara?" Nova repeated, surprised. He glanced at the Companions but didn't see her among them. Clara had refused to join the hot-spring outing, much as she had avoided the train ride earlier. She had joined them for a meal but had sat apart and fled soon after. Her isolation weighed heavily on Nova's heart, as did the parallels he now saw between her and Timmy.

"Yes," Walter continued. "Timmy doth remind me of what Clara might have been, were she still possessed of the strength to strive. I fear that, should his strength fail him, he will retreat into solitude as she hath."

"Hence, why I wish for him to foster connections amongst all of you," Nova agreed, sighing. "It is possible that Clara's observation of his flourishing will embolden her to make another attempt. Timmy's light may be able to restore hers; this is a hope that deserves to be fostered."

"I pray his strength doth not falter," Walter murmured, brushing damp bangs away from Timmy's face. "He is so full of fear and timidity. The poison of the world hath worn him down. Every counsel I gave, he followed with an eager heart, yet he would offer naught of his own unless I did urge him. Even so, he sought constant assurance, ever watchful that I was pleased. He is so afraid of speaking amiss." Walter's voice softened. "But despite all, I can see his courage. It shineth within him, like a light that will not be extinguished."

"Perhaps he's like a bird with a clipped wing," Nova mused, his thoughts drifting to the challenges Timmy had faced. Despite his struggles, the boy possessed a quiet strength, like a bird learning to balance and flutter again. With patience and care, he could one day soar to heights even greater than before, proving his resilience to the world. "With patience and care, he could soar again, stronger than before. It's just a matter of giving him the space and trust to heal."

"I would fain see that," Walter said, leaning back to gaze at the sky. "He keepeth saying he is 'not the Timmy from those tales' any longer, yet 'tis only the Timmy of those tales who could endure all he hath, and still wear a smile."

Walter fell silent, watching the boy. Nova didn't need to say it aloud, but he silently agreed. Timmy had endured more than most ever would, yet within him burned a quiet defiance—a determination to find happiness. And if Nova had anything to say about it, that light would never fade. Not as long as he had the power to protect it.

— Piper POV—

"Aelar, keep your focus, you blubbering doofus!" She commanded sharply, her voice cutting through the oppressive stillness of the sterile treatment room.

The low hum of magic and the faint, uneven crackle of energy mingled with Aelar's sobs that he tried to hold in, but failed to mask, amplifying the tension in the air. His hands, trembling and unsure, emitted a faint, flickering glow as he struggled to channel his magic into Edmund. The unsteady light reflected his faltering resolve.

"I said stop crying and FOCUS! Keep your magic steady!"

Her frustration wasn't truly directed at him. It was herself she blamed, a weight she bore with every careful motion as she massaged the areas of Edmund's seven star points, encouraging Aelar's magic to flow through his body. A Kinder's body was already magical on the inside, so it did not need the Magical-Filter-Cycle to have magic flow through it.

Looking at the wound left in Edmund's shoulder from where the wing had been torn; she could see the smooth, almost translucent fleshy pulp of a Snow-berry fruit, what that glittery white berry would look like if you were to peel off its skin.

She clenched her fists, and then gently placed her hand over the wound as Edmund gasped in a troubled sleep, tossing and turning, his teeth chattering.

This was her failure.

How could she have allowed herself to be provoked by Lilixia, of all people? It hadn't been so much the thoughtless accusation against her capability to care for her mother. She knew Lilixia well enough to know that she was too immature to grasp that not everyone reacted to things the same way she did.

It had been the cruel public exposure of her mother's fate. It had been bad enough for everyone to know she had been injured by her own god daughter, but for them to learn that she would also die from it?

It felt like the final affront to her mother's dignity.

The memory tightened her chest, a lump forming in her throat. Her mother, the proud and honourable Doctor Sweet, would have the humiliating way she lost her life known for all time. To die at the hands of a human was the worst kind of disgrace….

In her distraction about this disgrace, she had ended up disgracing herself. She had failed where she should have been vigilant. Edmund's injury had occurred right in front of her, the result of her own lack of focus.

She had only brought Lilithree into that space temporarily until the basement rooms could be adequately reinforced. She had told herself before hand that she would not take her eyes off of the Kinderkin, and she wouldn't have…if only Lilixia hadn't showed up.

The weight of guilt pressed down on her, manifesting in the deliberate precision of her actions as she tirelessly worked to get Edmund stable, her movements betraying a quiet urgency born from her self-reproach.

She shouldn't have said anything to Lilixia outside; she ought to have thought it through first. If Lilixia had known about her mother, she would have been incapable of keeping such a dark secret. If she had never said anything, Lilixia would not have burst into the room, and Lilithree would never of gotten close enough to hurt Edmund. Her jaw tightened as her thoughts raced, dissecting every misstep that had led to this.

It was her fault.

"A-aaah… aa!" Edmund's small form convulsed, his breathing shallow and irregular. "M-my hands… the butcher… butcher hands… Aaah!" His cries, fractured and agonized, filled the room with a haunting resonance.

"No, no, no, don't break, Ed! Don't break on me!" Aelar's desperation was palpable, his voice cracking under the pressure. His hands clenched as his magic faltered further, the flickering glow dimming dangerously.

"He won't break! Just keep pouring your magic into him," she snapped, attempting to ground Aelar's spiraling panic. Though he was physically strong, with muscles honed by his passion for building, emotionally he was fragile. His artistic sensibilities made him acutely sensitive to beauty—and to its destruction. Seeing Edmund, the Kinder he had so meticulously crafted, in such a broken state must have been unbearable.

Edmund lay trembling on the table, his torn wing on a table beside them, the pulpy fruit-flesh of the exposed wound still seeping with Snow-berry juice—for someone like Aelar, who saw the world through an artist's eyes, this was nothing short of a nightmare.

"He's… but he is—!" Aelar's face, streaked with tears, crumpled as he struggled to find words. He looked like a child on the verge of a tantrum, overwhelmed and powerless.

"His core bad memory has been triggered. That doesn't lead to breaking. Calm down." she explained, her voice firm yet measured. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she lifted Edmund's lightweight cotton shirt and placed her stethoscope, adorned with whimsical donut designs, against his chest. Each heartbeat was rapid and chaotic, a drum out of rhythm.

Beneath their humanoid exteriors, on the inside they had become merged with the very first fruit they had consumed upon entering Fey World—but they still had their internal organs, it was buried inside of their bodies—like delicate, but still very important seeds nestled safely within the fleshy pulp of whatever fruit they had merged with, given nourishment from the juice of that fruit, keeping these organs healthy and safe from aging and disease.

"H-he won't break?" Aelar trembled. "I couldn't bear seeing him end up like Jacobe…'

She did not want to see that either; never again. It was too gruesome, too sad….

When a Kinder broke….they split open, like overripe fruit. The only saving grace was that it did not hurt…Jacobe had described it as feeling as if he was being tickled from the inside….

"He won't end up like Jacobe. "She affirmed. "That poor kid ended up like that because Althea allowed him to stay too attached to his human life; Aelar, have you even bothered to understand how Kinders function?"

"F-feed them fruit so they stop being human… make sure they don't dwell on their Attachment… maintain them with fruit and small amounts of Fey blood or flesh… emergency care involves—"

She interrupted with an audible sigh of exasperation. "Of course, you've only memorized the care instructions!"

It was a common enough problem; all Fey knew how to make a Kinder, but few bothered to completely understand the underlying principles, what a Kinder actually was, nor took the time to comprehend the intricate, a delicate magic that made up their new bodies, or how important memory was at holding them together.

She continued, "When creating a Kinder, two elements are used: a core bad memory and an Attachment. The core bad memory serves as an anchor, keeping their Mind-Souls firmly tethered to this world. The Attachment, however, must remain dormant. Invoking it risks pulling them toward a realm they can no longer inhabit and their soul literally causing their new bodies to burst."

She hesitated briefly before simplifying the explanation, knowing Aelar's understanding of complex concepts was limited. "In Edmund's case, it's not the Attachment that's been triggered—it's his core bad memory. This has induced Saprotide, a condition where the bad memory contaminates the magic that composes his Kinder body." She paused as to think of how to explain it in a way for Aelar to understand as he was giving her a blank look. He likely had never even read up on Kinder diseases either.

The careless oaf! Some Fey really ought not to be Fey-Parents!

"Saprotide is like…leaving a fresh strawberry sitting up against a moldy one." She took on a overly sweet tone, hoping to demean his intelligence by speaking to him as though he were a young child. "If left unchecked—the mold from the bad berry will spread to the good one. This escalates into a condition called Putrefever—at this point the mold can still be cut away, but if this is also allowed to go unchecked, it will turn into Blightwasting—where the fruit making up their insides starts to rot…"

"A-and then what happens?" Aelar looked at her, frightened as he stroked Edmund's hair tearfully. She fought against rolling her eyes as she realized that he had failed to realize that she was insulting him. Maybe she would have remarked on it, if the situation wasn't so critical.

"If nothing is done to fix this and if the rot can't be contained, he'd become a Grimmkinde."

"Gah!" Aelar recoiled in horror. Well, at least he knew what that term meant. "My Edmund… a Grimmkinde?! No, no, that can't happen! I won't let it happen!"

"Calm down! I won't let it progress beyond Saprotide," she assured him firmly. "But I need your full cooperation. As his Fey-father, he's connected to you. Your magic influences his stability. So pull yourself together!"

Aelar's face twisted with anguish, his gaze fixed on Edmund's fragile form. The boy's small body quivered, his face damp with tears and contorted in a blend of pain and fear.

"Damn it, Aelar! Stop acting like it's hopeless! This is the moment to show some strength! Honestly, you and Lilixia are perfectly matched—both of you collapse under pressure like a damn house of cards!"

"It's your argument with her that caused this in the first place!" Aelar retorted, his voice rising with frustration.

"He's your Kinder. It was your responsibility to watch over him," she shot back, brushing Edmund's damp, tear streaked cheeks with a gentleness that contrasted her sharp tone. Despite his trembling, Edmund leaned into her touch, seeking comfort in his distress. Aelar ought to be the one providing that comfort right now.

Aelar's usual tendency to crumble under confrontation took over, and he nodded meekly. She exhaled, steadying herself. "Here's the plan: we'll start with a transfusion and reattach his wing. Then we'll work on containing the Saprotide and purifying any infected areas. You may need to change his Kinder form, as this one might be too closely tied to his trauma. Fortunately, Edmund isn't a deep thinker, so he should adapt relatively easily."

She didn't voice her additional thought: Aelar and Edmund were alike in their simplicity. Like Fey-parent, like Kinder. It was endearing in Edmund's case, as he couldn't be anything more then a naive, easy going kid, but Aelar really had no excuse—he was thousands of years old and yet…he had barely changed from when he had first came to their world as a bewildered Changeseed fresh out of the human world.

"All I need to do is give him a new form?" Aelar brightened, his relief palpable. He often changed Edmund's form impulsively, inspired by his artistic whims. While such frequent changes strained the magic sustaining Edmund, Aelar never seemed to grasp the long-term consequences.

He was like a careless child playing with their favorite toy—deeply attached yet heedless of the responsibility it required to keep it from breaking, she thought, her frustration tempered by the recognition of his emotional immaturity and its far-reaching consequences. Yet, as Aelar began soothing Edmund with gentle words, the child's troubled slumber became easier, and he found a fragile semblance of calm.

She, Fey World's most skilled doctor, would ensure that this child—one of Nova's saved—would not break or become a Grimmkinde. Nova couldn't bear such a loss, and she, too, could not endure the tarnish it would leave—not just on her reputation, but on the legacy of care and competence she had built through countless sacrifices. It was bad enough for her mother's name to have been disgraced. She wouldn't allow hers to be as well.

- Wanda's POV-

She stood in the forest clearing, just before it opened into the field where the Gingerbread clinic lay. The sun had not quite set yet, and the sky was a mix of gold and dusk, which made the fruits hanging from the tree sparkle like little jewels, but she could not bear to look at them and kept her head down.

'What happened?'

'Poor little Edmund!'

'They say Piper brought a Kinderkin into the room.'

'A Kinderkin…?'

'Why she'd do that?'

'Maybe she was so bored. She needed to cause an injury to amuse herself.'

'She wouldn't need to do that; not with the state poor Timmy is in. She has enough to satisfy herself working on that case.'

She tried to shut off her ears to the whispers of the surrounding Fey. A large cluster had gathered here, most of which she had not met yet, and so engrossed in their gossip and speculation none of them paid her any mind.

She felt bad for Piper and wished she could speak up and tell them what had actually happened, but her nerves were frayed, and her head felt like it was in a spinner after the revelation she had.

The Kinders' true forms beneath their child-like bodies were actually… Fey-Fruit. A whole new and twisted meaning to the phrase 'you are what you eat.'

The events that happened after that passed in a blur.

Little Edmund had been taken to a room within the Gingerbread clinic for treatment, perhaps the same room Timmy had his own treatments in, and Thistledust had told her that they were going to go fetch snow berries and asked her if she wanted to stay in the recovery room or come along and help.

Still numb from the horror she had witnessed and the shocking revelation, she had said she'd come along—mostly because she really did not want to stay in the room with that… juice… that blood—on the floor.

So here she was, outside in the Fey forest where a large number of Fey were gathered. She supposed it was only natural to gossip in such a situation, but she wished they'd stop speculating on matters they hadn't even been there to see.

"You can't trust Piper," a Fey with snow-white hair hiding her eyes and a red dress boldly declared, and even though her voice was soft, it cut through the crowd. "You saw what happened to my Jacobe, under her so-called care."

She recalled her from the party because of her striking appearance, but couldn't remember her name. Some of the Fey glanced at each other, and she could tell from their expressions that they did not agree with her, while others were vigorously nodding in wholehearted agreement.

"Piper isn't Dulice."

"Piper is a genius, but you know what they say about geniuses."

"Piper cares nothing about children! They're just guinea pigs to her."

She hadn't had a good first impression about Piper, and she had been rubbed the wrong way by her several times, but… she had always spoken so softly and gently to Timmy, and she really did seem to be trying her hardest to help. Maybe it only was because it was an interesting case for her, but nevertheless, she was helping Timmy…

And besides… Piper had just learned her mother was dying and despite that, was still working hard for Timmy's sake. Furthermore… what happened hadn't been her fault.

"I'm sure she brought that Kinderkin into that room just so a disaster would happen. After all, she knew two Kinders were in there; luckily Lilybeth left… what was Aelar thinking, staying in there when she brought that—thing in here? Well, we all know he's a simpleton…." The red and white Fey scoffed, her voice full of bitterness. "Who knows? Maybe she wanted to let a Kinder get hurt to conduct an experiment… Timmy's case is unique after all. Maybe she wanted an excuse—to remove a Kinder's heart-soul and see what happens to it if a void in place of its soul begins pulling in Fey energy?"

"Stop it." She balled up her fists; she couldn't keep quiet anymore, not when Timmy's name was brought up. "I was there and saw everything! Lilithree," she emphasized the girl's name. Nobody deserved to be called a 'thing' because of what they looked like. "Had been put into one of the basement rooms but had broken out. Piper had come to our room to ask Glimmer and Gizmo to fortify one of the other rooms. She and Rosehip were trying to calm Lilithree down and reassure her… but then… this other girl—"

"It was Lilixia," Thistledust stated, taking over for her. "I will be blunt; it seemed that earlier Jorgen had delivered bad news to Piper about Dulice. It seemed her injuries from Mary Alice's attack had been worse than first reported. Dulice's wings had been ripped off."

Cries went out at this, a chorus of misery and tears. Everyone of them knew that having their wings ripped off was a death sentence for Fey and Fairy alike.

"Apparently Piper had asked Lilixia if her parents had written to her about it and was wondering if she had known and had hidden this from her. From what I gathered, Lilixia had fainted when she had asked, and… when she woke up, she rushed into the room and…" Thistledust put his head down. "We all got too distracted."

"We…" Dazzle wrung her hands together, still shaking from what had happened in that room. "When Lilixia rushed into the room in a panic and blurted out in front of everyone about Dulcie's state… Piper was upset of course but tried to keep a level head, but then Lilixia mistook her calmness and accused her of not caring about her mother and—it became one big fight. I, Rosehip, Thistledust, are as much to blame as Lilixia and Piper for not keeping an eye on Lilithree."

"…Me too…" she admitted, guilty. "I too got distracted by the fight… even though I was the only one not part of it. If anyone ought to be blamed for being careless, it's… me. It's just… Lilithree might look like—some monstrosity—but she spoke and acted like a little girl… she did not even mean to hurt Edmund… she just wanted to feel his wing because she thought it looked pretty…"

The Fey murmured amongst each other, until one of them, one that appeared younger than all the rest, clapped her hands together, frowning, verdant green eyes blazing, making an otherwise adorable face appear authoritative.

"This isn't the time to be playing the blame game or getting onto unrelated topics!" She turned and looked at the red and white fairy with a scorching gaze. "Yes, Althea, what happened to Jacobe was a tragedy, but you're the one who failed to care for him properly, and Piper warned you that her treatment for Blightwasting was just a thesis and that she had no idea of what the results would be as she never worked on a Kinder who had gotten to such a critical state before."

"Althea, Jorgen made the mistake earlier of mentioning the name of Theo's sister to him," a middle-aged woman with orange hair done up in a messy bun and tired eyes spoke plainly, sighing with the impatience of a parent scolding a child prone to tantrums. "It's not normally a priority of mine to settle disputes between people; but the more time we waste on your pettiness, the greater the risk we put my little Theo's best friend in. Right now, you're the one who is showing a lack of care for children by wasting our time with your vendetta."

"But—!" Althea protested.

"Piper isn't out to hurt Kinders, just to have cases to amuse herself with. We wouldn't have known to take the precaution of performing emergency care on our Theo if she hadn't brought it to our attention that he was behaving oddly. Think reasonably: if she was willing to let Kinders get hurt or sick just to amuse herself with a difficult case, she wouldn't have brought Theo's state to our attention and would have allowed his condition to worsen. I know your Fey power is the ability to see lies, so you know that both I and that godmother over there are speaking the truth."

Althea sneered. Even with her eyes hidden by her bangs, the burning resentment in her gaze was palpable.

"Althea, we understand that losing Jacobe hurt you, but you can't just go on believing—" the young Fey tried in a pacifying tone.

"I know I speak the truth when I say one cannot trust the Pied Piper! Are you all telling me that you forgot about her role in the war? Making angels to send to the front lines!" Althea's voice cracked slightly, the pain in her words hinting at a deeper personal loss. She frowned, noting the intensity of Althea's anger but unsure of its full source.

"All those alive during the Mana War have done regrettable things," a Fey with mulberry hair and eyes mumbled. She wore a simple blouse with a corset embroidered with a silkworm. "I too helped make angels back in those days. Would you condemn me too, Althea?"

"Silk-Blossom, you're—not the same as Piper." Althea's voice shook, and she looked around, fidgeting. She seemed like a popular girl whose mean-girl behavior had finally drawn negative backlash instead of laughs.

"If you're going to lay fault with actions during the war, you'd have to speak against Queen Aine and Queen Mab as well," another Fey interjected. This one was Dewdrop, if she remembered correctly—the Fey-mother of the little Kinder who resembled a living flower vase.

Living flowers... but really, the Kinder was more like a living fruit.

Althea squeezed her hands together and bowed her head, biting her red lips. Her covered eyes likely brimmed with frustrated tears, but she couldn't muster sympathy for her.

"Okay, enough! We can straighten all this out later!" The young Fey cleared her throat, flying into the air to address everyone. She clapped her hands to command attention. "We are all out here to help our little Edmund, not bicker or speculate! To do that, we need to pick a lot of snowberries! So let's all get to berry picking!"

Her authoritative tone melted into a peppy manner of speech that seemed more natural. The shift lifted the tension, though urgency lingered. "We'll split into seven teams. Snowberries grow at the overlook tower, by the coral-sun-stream, at the moon well—" She gestured animatedly, sending off clusters of Fey to various locations. Dazzle smiled and gave her a thumbs-up as she departed for 'Sprigglehop Lane.'

"It was nice chatting with you. Let's do it again soon! Maybe an all-you-can-eat calorie-free chocolate buffet next time, kay?"

Wanda nodded but felt no desire to deal with any Fey again. Yet she had no choice. If she wanted Timmy to recover, she had to rely on Fey treatments and lead them to believe she was considering becoming a Fey herself—all to trick them and escape with her godson.

The Fey groups dwindled as each set off. Notably, Althea was assigned to a group with just Dewdrop and Silk-Blossom, while other teams had seven to nine members. Perhaps they were close friends, or the two were meant to manage Althea if she lashed out about Piper again.

Eventually, only Thistledust, Melika, and the young Fey remained. The latter descended to stand before them, her expression softening into an apologetic smile.

"We'll be gathering berries near the barrier. Sorry, Melika, Thistledust. I know this is probably super awkward for you two, but not too many Fey like getting close to it." Bea's wings drooped slightly as she spoke. "You're two of the few who aren't scared to go there."

So the Fey feared the barrier, t was made sense, since it was common knowledge among them that getting too close was lethal. Her mind whirred as she tucked away that bit of useful information. It might come in handy one day.

"And hey, godmother, thanks—not just for coming out to help us pick berries, but for standing up for Piper." Bea's genuine, almost disarming smile startled Wanda.

"Because Dazzle and I are close friends with Piper and Nova, if either of us had intervened first, Althea would have shut us out before we could say anything," Thistledust explained, his voice nearly apologetic.

"Well, I don't know Piper well," Wanda admitted. "And I don't know what happened with Jacobe, but I do know she's been trying really hard for Timmy…"

"Piper can be pretty caustic," Bea laughed lightly, her laugh like wind chimes. "But she's a nice girl. Talking to her can feel like sandpaper on your skin sometimes, though." Bea extended her hand with a warm, welcoming smile. "I'm Bea Evergrove. It's a pleasure to meet you!" Her tone was bright and friendly, yet there was an undertone of determination that hinted at her sincerity.

"O-oh, likewise." Wanda took Bea's slender hand, surprised by the hearty grip.

Bea had the delicate beauty of a wildflower, with soft rose-tinted skin and freckles across a snub nose. Her chestnut hair was swept into a whimsical updo adorned with fresh blossoms, and her verdant eyes sparkled with youthful energy. Her elaborate clothing mirrored the forest: a deep brown bodice stitched with golden patterns of branches and flowers, layered green skirts resembling leaves, and vine-like ribbons lacing up her flats. A heart-shaped pendant glimmered at her collarbone.

"I hope you don't mind being on our berry-picking team," Bea continued, guiding Wanda gently into the woods. Thistledust and Melika followed, carefully avoiding looking at each other. "I wanted to get to know you better."

"O-oh?" Wanda's unease was clear, but Bea seemed unoffended.

"Because of my Fey power, I often assist Nova and Piper. I know them well. If I'm helping with Timmy's care, I'd like you to know me first. It'll make things easier for you."

Wanda nodded, her guard rising even as she feigned relaxation. If Bea would be involved in Timmy's treatment, could she be used to facilitate the escape plan?

"I'd like that," she said evenly, and Bea's smile brightened.

"Good! Don't worry about running out of time before Timmy's treatment, okay? For Edmund's sake, the Fey in the village have stopped time entirely for us." Bea winced. "It's incredibly taxing magic, but they'll hold it for 30 minutes—enough to gather the berries."

Now that she looked, the air was unnaturally still, with no leaves swaying. The Fey's overwhelming magical might was beauty of the forest that wasalready too perfect, combined with the stillness made her feel as if she were trapped in the page of a storybook; it felt unreal and suffocating. Trying to mask her unease she kept her eyes lowered to the ground, where se could portend things were normal.

"May I ask…" She hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. "Why we're… gathering berries? I'm not quite sure what it has to do with—"

"No doubt you must have seen it, right?" Bea cut her off, but with a soft, polite smile and a kind tone. "Our Kinders do not have human blood in them. The transformation from human to Kinder replaces all the blood in their body with the juice of the first Fey fruit they ate. So, it's as you imagine—we are gathering the fruit for a 'blood transfusion.'"

"….I see…." She wanted to point out that she had seen the wound left behind by the torn limb and knew that it wasn't just the blood that got replaced by the juice of the fruit; the human 'skin' on the outside was just that—-on the inside was….fruit.

…But she knew now wasn't the time to bring it up. Edmund's life could be hanging in the balance with every second counting. As much as she was haunted by the idea of what Kinders really were, now was the time to rein those feelings in and focus on saving that poor child. "….Might I ask why we're picking it by hand? Wouldn't it be quicker just to conjure them…?"

"When we conjure something, the barest minute particle of our magic clings to it. That's fine if they're eating it, but since we're using it for the sake of a transfusion, that minuscule amount of our magic would cause the transfusion to fail," Melika explained, her voice steady but laced with a hint of approval—perhaps because she had asked a rational question rather than going into hysterics over the unsettling revelation about the Kinders and what it meant.

As guilty as she was to think it, considering how badly that poor little boy was hurt, she found herself grateful for the opportunity to map out how to get back to the barrier. If an emergency occurred, she would need to make her escape from Fey world with Timmy.

She felt a sense of pride in keeping her composure amidst the staggering revelations. Earning the Fey's approval would provide an advantage in the long run, and she had taken some good steps in that direction by agreeing to help with the berry picking and keeping herself outwardly calm after the shocking discovery of what Kinders really were beneath the surface.

"I see," she replied simply to Melika's explanation. "It's just like how fairy magic can replace a lost limb but not a lost organ, like a kidney, because the trace amounts of magic would disrupt the human body."

"Exactly!" Bea patted her on the back. "You know medical stuff?"

"No; I just had a godson in the past whose baby brother needed a new kidney, and I wasn't able to grant it." She sighed; it was a bad memory.

"Aw, that must have been painful," Bea sympathized. "Yeah, not even Fey magic can replace internal organs, but the magic of the fey-fruit and their new body composition allows a Kinder's heart and other organs to work well for thousands of years."

"They still have them?" she blurted out and then put a hand over her mouth, glancing at the three Fey, hoping they had not been angered.

Thistledust laughed. "I remember making that same mistake with Walter; though in my defense, I had been living as a human not so long before then. To answer your question, they still have their organs; we can't remove those, or else their bodies would become unstable."

"The Companions, however…" Bea pointed over at Appapuff, who was snoozing up in a tree branch. "They have no organs. That's why they're immortal, and Kinders are not. If only there were a way to remove the organs from a Kinder, then they could stay with us forever and ever!"

She swallowed down both her words and the bile that rose in her throat. Each revelation with the Fey seemed to unravel deeper layers of their world, exposing truths both fascinating and terrifying. The idea of deliberately removing organs left her shaken.

Bea continued to lead the way, her cheery demeanor at odds with the eerie stillness of the forest and the conversation they just had. "Don't worry, though," she said, her voice a soothing melody amidst the silence. "Piper isn't the type to do those sorts of experiments. The closest she came was with Jacobe, and that was an emergency, literally the only chance left to save him. Piper did not do it without Althea's consent, though, and I promise you that Piper won't do anything to Timmy without consent from his godparent."

She nodded; she really hoped not….

"Remember, Fey can't lie without a bad taste filling their mouth, and do I look like I'm about to toss my cookies?" Bea laughed and slapped her back heartily, making her stagger. "Anyway, snow berries grow in clusters, so we'll be able to gather enough for Edmund quickly."

When they finally reached the patch of snow berries near the barrier, the air seemed to hum with latent energy. Her eyes flickered to the shimmering edge of the barrier itself—an almost invisible wall that bent light in a way that made her stomach churn if she stared too long.

Bea stared at it wistfully. "It's harmless to you, but it'll repel us Fey if we get too near it. If we try to persist… we're evaporated, hardly even dust left. The Kinders and Companions too… even our forest animals will be killed if we try to pass through."

The implications weighed on her. As horrible as it sounded, the barrier existed to protect the human world. It stopped the Fey from meddling—stealing children, snatching up men and women for breeding half-human children, or perpetuating customs like Changeseeds and Changelings. But still, Bea and Ariafern had been born after the barrier. They had never even had a chance to see the human world, let alone do anything wrong in it.

Piper, she had kidnapped children, enough to proudly take on the name Pied Piper and declare herself the best kidnapper in Fey world—but even she deserved to be allowed through the barrier to visit her dying mother.

"Come, let's pick the berries by here; that's as close as I can get to the barrier without feeling sick." Bea tugged on her arm and led her to the bushes closest to the barrier, while Thistledust and Melika gathered some from bushes a little further away.

She couldn't help but marvel at the surreal beauty of the snow berries, their frosty white surfaces glistening like gemstones in the dim light. Yet, their innocent appearance belied the horror of their purpose, and looking at them made her stomach tighten.

"So," Bea began after a few minutes of quiet work, "how's Timmy holding up? I know how hard the Magic-Filter-Cycle can be." Her tone was warm, inviting trust, but she sensed an undercurrent of probing curiosity.

"He's hanging in there," Wanda replied carefully, crouching to pluck a berry from the bush in front of her. "It's been... difficult, but he's been brave."

Bea nodded sympathetically, though her gaze seemed to linger on her for a moment longer than necessary. "That's good to hear. Timmy's lucky to have someone like you looking out for him."

She smiled faintly, unsure how to respond. She focused on the berries instead, letting the rhythmic task ground her racing thoughts. With every handful she gathered, she reminded herself of her goal: to protect Timmy, no matter what it took—even if it meant navigating the murky waters of Fey politics and uncovering the unsettling truths of their world.

As they worked, Bea's voice broke the silence once more. "You know," she said, rolling a berry around in her hand, as if checking its quality. "I think you and Nova have more in common than you realize. He's fiercely protective of those he cares about, too."

She didn't respond immediately, her fingers tightening around the berries in her hand. "Maybe," she said finally, her voice measured. "But I'm not sure we'd agree on how to show it."

Bea chuckled softly, the sound light but tinged with knowing. "Fair enough. He can be pretty extreme sometimes. But I think you'll see, in time, that his heart's in the right place—even if his methods might make you want to hit him upside the head."

"Yeah…" she muttered dryly. "—With a frying pan."

Bea began laughing, and she turned her attention back to the snow berries, her resolve hardening. She couldn't afford to let her panic or her emotions overtake her, no matter how horrible or unsettling the revelations were, not with Timmy's safety on the line.

— Timmy's POV—

Timmy opened his eyes after drifting into a light doze, the warm embrace of the hot spring soothing his aching body. As much as the gummy medicine helped soothed the pain left by the injuries he had incurred at the time of death, , this magical water soothed him far more, and it eased the chill of his constantly cold body.

Around him, the soft glow of fairy lights strung between delicate tree branches illuminated the misty air, giving the scene an almost dreamlike quality. The faint sound of bubbling water and the occasional chirp of distant crickets created a serene atmosphere that wrapped around him like a comforting blanket. His thoughts felt hazy, a mixture of exhaustion and relief washing over him.

Despite the lingering aches in his limbs, especially his neck, which bore the haunting reminder of his fatal fall from the top of the stairs and onto Vicky's chainsaw, he couldn't deny the sense of safety and peace that enveloped him in this magical place.

He blinked a few times, adjusting to the soft glow of the Luminarks nestled in the trees. The little birds sat there chirping, looking like decorative lights. Feeling the supportive grip of his new friend holding him upright in the water, he offered a faint smile and murmured, "Thanks for this."

Walter's mop of moss-brown hair was damp, clinging to his head in tousled waves. His woodgrain-textured skin looked and felt very much like wet bark. His eyes, so dark brown they were nearly black, were calm and kind. He returned Timmy's gratitude with a broad, cheerful grin that revealed his slightly crooked teeth.

"It is no grievous matter in the least! Glad am I to lend mine aid," he said with a warmth that immediately put Timmy at ease. There was something inherently reassuring about Walter's presence. It gave him a sense of steadfastness and safety, making him feel like he did not have to closely watch everything he said and did, and that he could finally lower his guard, if only a little.

"But aren't I heavy for you?" Timmy asked, concerned. He was small and underweight for his age, but he was still bigger than Walter, who looked only eight.

"Nay, thou art very light, Timmy, thou art not too heavy to bear up for me." Walter flexed his free arm, which was thin enough to look like a tree branch covered in moss. "We Kindred are made sturdier than ye humans. Thou wouldst need to be thrice as large and taller afore thy weight might be a burden to me."

Memories of Kieran's stern warning resurfaced, a vivid echo from earlier in their journey. It had been back at the glade when Lilybeth fell into the pounding waterfall basin, and he, acting on instinct, had nearly plunged in after her. "If you dive in, you'll be crushed!" Kieran had barked, halting his rash actions. Yet, to his astonishment, Lilybeth—delicate and doll-like—emerged unscathed from the raging waters, her porcelain-like frame defying the brutal force. Kindred really were far tougher than they appeared, and Walter was no exception. He found himself marveling once more at how deceptive appearances could be in this strange, magical world.

"Wow, what are you guys made of?"

Walter laughed, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Thou wouldst not believe it, were I to tell thee."

Nearby, Nova sat perched on a smooth rock overlooking the spring, his pipe in hand, exuding an air of quiet contemplation. His sharp, observant gaze occasionally flicked to Timmy, a mix of protectiveness and love playing on his features. The pipe emitted soft spirals of silvery smoke, each tendril curling upward before vanishing into the crisp night air. Despite his composed demeanor, the faint furrow in his brow and the dimmer-than-usual glow in his eyes revealed a man deep in thought, burdened by worries he couldn't yet voice aloud. Though his demeanor was composed, the faint furrow in his brow and the dimmer-than-usual glow in his eyes betrayed his lingering concern.

"Grandpa, is everything okay?" Timmy questioned tentatively, his voice tinged with worry as he studied Nova's expression. The sight of his usually cheerful grandpa looking that way made his stomach churn with unease.

Nova hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly to Walter before answering.

"Owing to unforeseen circumstances, which he has unfortunately been remiss in fully elucidating, Thistledust has requested an extension of our supervision of Walter."

His words were careful, measured, as if he was trying to reassure Timmy without revealing too much. Yet, the undertone of worry in his voice was impossible to ignore.

Timmy couldn't help the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face. He had been looking forward to spending uninterrupted time with Nova, perhaps hearing more stories or simply basking in his comforting presence. Still, he genuinely liked Walter and didn't mind the extension of their time together. He admired the Kindred's cheerful resilience and felt an odd sense of camaraderie with him. Walter's presence had become a source of unexpected comfort, giving him hope that even someone like him might make friends after all.

Even so, Nova's unease gnawed at him, and a sudden, fearful thought took root. "Is… Wanda okay? Did something happen to her?" His heart thudded painfully in his chest, his thoughts spiraling as images of Wanda's comforting presence flashed through his mind. A wave of dizziness surged through him, forcing him to place a trembling hand on his head. The idea of anything happening to her was unbearable; she had always been his unwavering anchor in the chaos of his life. The mere thought of Wanda in danger was enough to send his mind spiraling into a dark place he didn't want to revisit.

Walter was quick to steady him, his touch firm yet gentle. "Oh, Timmy, pray, do not fret so; thy body is not strong enough to bear such strain," he said, his voice laced with concern. His words were soothing, but they couldn't completely dispel the storm of worry brewing in Timmy's mind.

Nova, visibly distressed by his reaction, immediately leaned forward. "Please do not distress yourself, my boy. Wanda is perfectly fine," he reassured him earnestly. "I should have been more mindful—my words must have given you a fright, and for that, I am deeply sorry."

With a snap of his fingers, Nova conjured a small, whimsical radio that materialized on the stones near the edge of the spring. The device sputtered and crackled to life, emitting faint static before a familiar voice broke through.

"What's this—?" Wanda's slightly puzzled tone filled the air.

"Wanda?" Timmy's face lit up with a mixture of relief and eagerness as he leaned forward, Walter's supportive hands keeping him steady. His heart, which had been pounding with anxiety moments before, now felt like it was soaring.

"Timmy?" She gasped, surprised. "What's going on, sweetie?"

A wave of relief washed over Timmy, loosening the knot of anxiety in his chest. "I'm glad you're okay!" he blurted out. "Nova said Thistledust mentioned some kind of problem, and I got scared something happened to you…" His words tumbled out in a rush, his voice laced with lingering worry.

"Aww, sweetie, I'm perfectly fine, don't you worry," Wanda cooed soothingly. "I'm just helping with a small matter. One of the Kinder got a little hurt, and we're gathering snowberries to help him feel better."

A new, lively voice chimed in over the radio, brimming with enthusiasm. "Yup, that's right! She's been a big help, too! We really appreciate it."

He couldn't help but grin. "Wanda's amazing. She's always so kind and helpful. She's the best!" he declared confidently, his admiration shining through.

"I've got myself quite the little flatterer, don't I?" Wanda said playfully, her tone brimming with affection.

Walter, curious about the unfolding conversation, leaned closer. "Bea, who hath been hurt?" he asked gently.

"Edmund," the voice—Bea—responded. "Poor thing. But don't you worry; Piper's tending to him, and Aelar's doing his best to help."

He winced, the mention of an injury stirring unpleasant memories of his own recent taste of death. "Is it serious?" he asked hesitantly, his brow furrowing.

"Just a little accident," Wanda reassured him gently. "Lilithree got out of the room Piper had set up for her and… well, she's a bit too strong for her own good. She doesn't mean to cause harm, but accidents happen."

His expression twisted into a grimace. "Oh no, did she break his arm or something?" he asked, his voice tightening as vivid images of the possible pain and injury she might have caused filled his mind. The thought unsettled him, and he shifted uneasily, trying to push the distressing scenarios away. Nearby, the floating companions in the spring—Cream, Miele, and Cinna—shuddered at the memory of their encounter with the Kinderkin. Cream let out a soft whimper and darted onto his head for comfort.

"Kinda…." Wanda's voice trailed off. "We're picking snowberries to make him a special remedy. They're those white berries we saw earlier when we first came here—the ones that look like tiny, squishy snowballs."

"What do they taste like?" he asked, his curiosity piqued despite the somber topic.

"I'm not sure. I haven't tried them," Wanda replied, her voice suddenly thick.

"You can, you know," Bea interjected brightly. "Fey fruit doesn't affect fairies the way it does humans. Only humans transform after eating it."

"I'd… rather save them all for Edmund," Wanda said firmly. "We're going to keep gathering, but you be good, Timmy. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay," he promised.

The radio crackled one last time before vanishing into thin air, leaving behind a faint shimmer in the spot it had occupied. He let out a soft sigh, the anxiety that had coiled tightly in his chest finally beginning to ease, his earlier tension dissipating. Walter adjusted his position in the water, his ever-present smile comforting.

"See ye? Naught to worry o'er," Walter said softly, his tone soothing.

Timmy nodded, his heart lighter. Wanda was safe, and that was all that mattered.

"It seems like we'll have a little longer to hang out." He smiled at Walter.

"It seemeth so!" Walter's smile showed no disappointment or hesitation about spending more time with him, which relieved him. Walter's carefree nature made things feel easier, lighter. "What wouldst thou like to do with our spare time?"

"I'm fine with anything you'd like to do."

"Thou hast been letting Nova and I choose all the activities. Choose thou one," Walter encouraged him, his tone both warm and insistent.

He hesitated. Once, he had been confident in taking charge and sharing his ideas, often leading the way with a clear sense of direction. But one day, seemingly out of nowhere, his friends began calling him bossy, accusing him of ignoring their preferences and failing to take their feelings into account. It had confused him because, from his point of view, he was merely suggesting an idea when someone asked, 'What should we do today?' and not once had any of them ever spoken up with a different suggestion. They had acted like they had been having fun and enjoying the activities he suggested, so he had never thought that he was doing anything wrong.

Maybe it was his ADHD that made him unable to take notice? Or maybe he was just so naturally inconsiderate and bad a person that he was unable to even notice when he was being horrible.

Ever since then, in order to avoid being a bad friend, he had begun to just go along with whatever everyone else said and never suggested any ideas, even if asked. 'Whatever you want to do' became his standard response, but… it hadn't helped him keep his friends.

Still, he had continued doing it—not just with his friends, but with everyone—partly because it felt easier and partly because he worried his ideas wouldn't measure up, but most of all, so that he would never ever again face the accusation of being an inconsiderate and bad friend.

Still, Walter was encouraging him now to choose the next activity, and it did not seem as if he'd be able to get out of it.

"Umm…" His mind raced through all he'd learned about Walter so far. Walter disliked romance, enjoyed superhero shows and retro games, loved traveling and the outdoors, and seemed deeply attached to the Companions. He wanted to suggest something Walter would enjoy, but it had to be something they hadn't done yet, or else Walter might get disappointed with him for suggesting redoing one of the activities Walter had suggested instead of choosing one on his own.

"We… could go camping?" he suggested hesitantly, unsure if it was the right choice.

"Camping?" Walter blinked, his expression briefly unreadable. He felt a knot of uncertainty form in his chest.

"If you don't like it, we can do som—"

"I LOVE camping, verily!" Walter's face lit up so brightly that he felt instantly reassured. "Thistledust and I do it thrice a week! We explore new campsites each time within the forest. 'Tis wondrous fun! Each place doth offer something new to behold, and oh, so many fair Companions join us! The forest by night is enchanting, Timmy—thou shalt love it!"

"If you want to—Grandpa made up a little campsite in the garden—" He paused, looking at Nova. He realized he had forgotten to ask first, but Nova gave him a warm smile, easing his worries. Nova's approval always felt like a gentle hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

"That is precisely what I had also planned for the evening," Nova admitted with a chuckle. "Admittedly, it had been a grandpa/grandson affair, but having Walter—" He glanced at the Companions lazing around the hot springs. "And all our forest friends join us, will be pleasant as well. More laughter, more stories—I think it'll be just right."

He couldn't help but notice a heaviness in his grandpa's disposition. It was slight, but it was enough to tip him off that Nova was concerned about Edmund's injury. Nova had always taken his role as protector seriously, and any harm coming to one of his Kinders seemed to weigh heavily on him, as though he had personally failed to shield them from every hurt.

He debated for a moment before cautiously broaching the subject.

"Are you worried about that little boy?" Timmy asked tentatively, his voice soft. He hesitated, unsure if bringing it up was the right thing to do. Memories of past misunderstandings flashed through his mind—times when his concern had been mistaken for prying, or his silence for indifference. He bit his lip, hoping this time, he'd struck the right balance.

Once, he had asked AJ what was wrong when he seemed upset one day and was accused of prying. So a few weeks later, when Chester looked down in the dumps, he did not ask and was then accused of being inconsiderate.

It was hard to know what the right thing to do was in situations like this, but he wanted to try.

"I have a tendency toward excessive concern whenever a Kinder, especially one of my saved ones, is hurt, however slightly," Nova said with a wry smile. "My purpose in bringing them here was to ensure their eternal happiness, free from all forms of suffering. I do hate when things do not go my way; while others may consider this a folly, my intentions are always for the good of others, making the achievement of my own wants ultimately the best outcome for everyone."

Timmy giggled. Nova had a habit of occasionally saying audacious things with so much flair and confidence that it was amusing.

There was no way he could really be serious about even half of those things he said, though.

"Oh, Grandpa! Well, I'm sure Edmund's going to be fine—but he must really like the taste of snowberries if everyone's gathering them to make him happy!"

"Timmy, in sooth, the snowberries are to be used to—" Walter began, only for Nova to interrupt him quickly.

"Walter, please refrain from discussing that topic," Nova stated, smiling faintly, and then looking over at him to explain. "Excessive discussion of Fey Fruit may induce a craving for it."

"The snowberries look yummy, but compared to the Bell Fruit, they're like broccoli versus chocolate." He laughed, recalling the memory card game where they had to match Companions to Fey Fruit. Nova had to take the Bell Fruit card out of play because he would go into a trance just looking at the picture.

"Thou hast just as great a reaction to the Bell Fruit as I did to the Sugar Shrooms," Walter said, giving him a reassuring hug. "An thou choose to become a Kinder, thou wilt likely be taken in by the forest for a time, as I was. 'Tis a wondrous experience. Thou wouldst love it—the forest becometh thy kin in ways thou canst scarce imagine."

"Walter, no, no—" Nova's tone grew slightly sharper as he pointed up at the camera recording their playtime as a souvenir for Thistledust and Wanda. "As you may recall, we made a promise to Wanda. Please refrain from mentioning that subject. However, should Wanda consent, your assistance in explaining matters to him would be most welcome."

Walter nodded brightly, his enthusiasm undampened. His boundless energy was like a spark, making every moment feel more alive.

The idea of eating the fruit, becoming a Kinder, and staying in a place where he'd never age or face abuse or bullying again—a place with a loving grandpa and a friend who genuinely appreciated him—felt like an enchanting dream, too good to be true. The notion sparked a mix of longing and wonder in his heart, its allure tugging at the edges of his thoughts like the faint, tantalizing scent of something forbidden yet irresistible. A perfect, glittering dream that felt so close that all he had to do was reach out his hand, and it would become real.

But…

Even with all that, he couldn't imagine saying goodbye to Wanda. She was the most important person to him, and he wouldn't be happy staying here without her, no matter how wonderful everything else was. Wanda had been his rock, his anchor, through so many hard times. Leaving her behind felt unthinkable. His heart clenched at the thought, the ache of separation already too much to bear.

Still, if Wanda ever said she wanted to stay here, he'd ask for a taste of that Bell Fruit in a heartbeat. The idea was intoxicating—a fresh start, free from pain, where he could finally be happy. Yet, the thought also carried weight. What would it mean to leave his humanity behind? Would he lose a part of himself in the process? These questions buzzed in his mind, creating a mixture of excitement and hesitation. But in the end, if Wanda chose to stay, his love for her would outweigh his doubts. In that moment, he knew he'd take the leap without looking back. The thought lingered in his mind, both comforting and bittersweet, as they began to prepare for their camping adventure. The possibilities danced in his head, a mix of hope, longing, and the smallest pang of doubt. For now, though, he focused on the present, letting Walter and Nova's laughter pull him back

—Jorgen's POV—

"—part! This is such a stressful time, and things are so terribly uncertain! Apol—" Mama Cosma stopped mid-sentence as he poofed into what appeared to be the guest room Mama Cosma was staying in—judging from all of the baby pictures she had of Cosmo plastered all over the walls. Every surface was covered with framed photos, and even the lampshades had custom prints of Cosmo as a baby, his chubby cheeks and wide, clueless grin staring out into the room.

When he used his magic to instantly poof to someone's side, he sometimes did not know where he would end up, and if he had known Cosmo was in his mother's bedroom, he would have poofed outside the door. As it was, he ended up seeing Stella Cosma in her nightclothes, hair in rollers, and a face covered in cold cream. The cold cream shone under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, giving her a ghostly appearance that might have been comical if her glare weren't so piercing.

She pulled her night-robe shut even tighter than it already was, even though her plain flannel pyjamas weren't the least bit revealing. "Jorgen, can't you knock?" she huffed, her tone dripping with indignation.

Meanwhile, Cosmo jumped almost out of his skin, spinning around to look at him with an expression that screamed guilt. He looked like the cat that just caught the canary, his face frozen in a sheepish grin, his hands twitching nervously at his sides.

He raised a brow at him, his sharp gaze like a spotlight, making him fidget even more. Cosmo's hands trembled as he tugged nervously at the hem of his shirt, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes darted around the room, refusing to meet his, while a faint sheen of sweat formed on his forehead, betraying his growing anxiety. Cosmo's hands continued to fiddle with the hem of his shirt as if it could save him from the looming wrath of the strongest fairy in existence.

"Uh-H-hi…?" Cosmo squeaked, his voice trembling, his eyes shifting back and forth uneasily, desperately searching for an escape route. His knees bent slightly, as though he was preparing to bolt at the first opportunity.

"Jorgen, to what do we owe the surprise?" Mama Cosma cleared her throat and, changing her earlier tone, questioned sweetly—too sweetly, her saccharine voice a stark contrast to the steel in her gaze.

"Okay, what did this moron do now?" He questioned sharply, his eyes narrowing on Cosmo as though daring him to deny any wrongdoing.

"Let… your wife run off to Fey World?" Cosmo tugged on his shirt collar with a sheepish smile, his face reddening under his intense stare. His words came out in a rush, each syllable tinged with panic and guilt.

"Yes, I became aware of that, and I came here to ask just how she went from delivering some items to running off to Fey World!" His booming voice echoed, reverberating off the walls. He scooped Cosmo up by the collar of his shirt as though he weighed nothing, holding him aloft like a misbehaving kitten. His muscles flexed with ease, making it clear just how effortless the action was for him. "If you dared to send my wife there just for some willy-nilly message that could have easily waited—!"

"No, no—!" Cosmo cowered, using his hands to try to shield his face, his legs kicking uselessly in the air. "That's not what happened!"

"Then what did happen?" He growled, his grip tightening, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Because I can't think of anything important enough for me to not clobber you for it!"

"It was Wanda's fault!" Stella proclaimed, her voice rising indignantly. "From what Cosmo told me, Foop showed up here crying about his mother being on the verge of vanishing—oh, pity that would be!" She rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with mock pity that made her true feelings abundantly clear. "Apparently, the twit did something or other that made her have a severe case of Linking, and your wife went there to snap her out of it by shocking her senses or some such nonsense."

"What?" He dropped Cosmo, who hit the floor with a thud. The fairy yelped, his cry echoing in the room as he lay there rubbing his thigh. He could feel his own face twisting into a mixture of anger and worry. He clenched his fists at his sides, his mind racing with implications.

"Er, now what was I saying again before Jorgen so rudely interrupted us? Oh, that's right!" Mama Cosma grabbed Cosmo by the ear, twisting it sharply, making him yelp again. "Apologize for back-talking your mother! We are all in a tough spot right now, and it is no excuse for such ill manners!"

"Right, right—sorry!—Um—how was it I back-talked you again?" Cosmo stammered, his voice strained as he tried to wiggle out of her grasp. The attempt was futile; her grip was like a vice, unyielding and resolute.

Stella muttered something under her breath. "What kind of poor mannerisms did you pick up from that—Wanda—that you don't even realize you're back-talking when you do it?" She gave her son's ear a further twist, bringing him to his knees. Her strained smile added an eerie contrast as she offered an explanation to him that he did not need nor want, her voice soft but laced with derision.

"I was telling Cosmo how hard things are for Poof, and even though I know that my poor son is going through a lot right now, he needs to make a bit more of an effort to hold himself together, for Poof's sake. The poor baby cried himself to sleep and really needed some comfort from his father—but he feels so bad about the accident that he is spending all his time feeling sorry for himself rather than being there for his poor son!" She released Cosmo's ear and stroked back his bangs tenderly, her tone softening for just a moment. "But it's not his fault! He is a good boy, and I raised him better than that—but what can you expect, living with Wanda and her being the bad influence she is…!"

"Right, right—" He waved his hand dismissively; he did not need to hear more about Cosmo's irresponsibility or listen to Stella's insistence on blaming Wanda for every poor bit of behavior Cosmo showcased. His mind was spinning with the implications of Wanda's condition. "But what do you mean Wanda was Linking that severely?"

"Who can say what happened?" Stella shrugged, her expression dismissive. "It is Wanda we are talking about, after all. Just who can guess at how her mind works?"

"I do have to agree with that," he remarked dryly. "After all, she married Cosmo."

Cosmo laughed until his mother nudged him sharply, giving him an exasperated look. Only then did he seem to realize that he had been insulted. "Hey!" he protested weakly.

He sighed; so that was why Tannfe had run off to Fey World, but he was sure that was only a pretext. He believed Tannfe had long harbored a fascination with Fey World—a world shrouded in mystery and peril, and one intrinsically tied to his own past. Perhaps it wasn't just curiosity or concern for him and his duties that drew her there, but a deeper, more personal motive. If only she had confided in him instead of taking such a reckless step, he thought bitterly. She had been curious about that place for a long time—and not just because she was concerned about him having his duties in a place where the people who hated him most—his family—lived.

He knew the reasons for her curiosity, so he had shared more information than he ought to have with her and had always warned her against ever going to see it for herself. And yet, she had taken the first opportunity she got to run off to see it behind his back.

He wasn't mad. He was too worried about her to be mad.

He had begged the council to allow him to go to Fey World to retrieve her, but they had only laughed at him; further begging on his part would have only gotten him more mockery, and his pride would not allow him to endure that any longer.

He only hoped that she'd come back all right. And… as much as he'd like to say "I told you so!" and have her listen to him from now on when he told her to stay away from Fey World… that would mean something unpleasant would have to happen to her, so—he'd much rather she'd come back with her usual smugness and tell him he had overreacted to things.

…The Fey knew how to hurt someone—not physically, but emotionally, mentally… and the wounds they inflicted could last centuries. Sometimes they could never heal.

He had seen what their manipulations and cruelty could do, and he couldn't bear the thought of Tannfe enduring that.

He wanted Tannfe to come back from this experience safe and sound. That was far more important to him than proving his point to her that the Fey and their world were just too dangerous.

— Tannfe's (Tooth Fairy) POV—

If there was a door, her hands would have been bruised, if not broken, from pounding on it. But this small dark room had no door. Just a desk and a television screen that took up the entire wall.

On the desk was a stack of papers and three bins: submit, accept, reject. The accept bin was empty, while the reject bin overflowed, its collapsed tower of papers carpeting the floor.

She hated the television and did not want to watch, but magic forced her to keep her head up. Her neck ached from the unnatural posture, and her shoulders felt like they were weighed down with stones. The weight of the unseen force holding her head up sent spikes of pain into the base of her skull.

Her eyes burned from the inability to so much as blink, making forcing her to keep watch on the flickering screen, the only source of light in the oppressive room. On the television played the hardship each Kinder in the village had endured as a human.

She was only permitted to look down at the desk for seven minutes after each video to write down her "solution" to fix that child's problem in a way that did not involve handing them over to the Fey.

"Come now, Eleanor, don't be that way. We've been through this before. Just think of it as some one-on-one time, a little opportunity for the judge to get to know you better. You do want to win the pageant for Mommy, don't you?"

Her stomach churned, a sharp ache radiating through her gut. The images on the television were relentless in their rawness of showing the girls' suffering, stopping in its onslaught of despair, only for her to despair further, staring at the blank piece of paper in front of her. Her fingers were clammy, and the pen felt slippery in her trembling grasp.

She would be given nine minutes to write her solution. Then, when she handed it in, it would go into the reject bin, and the television would play a "what if" scenario, showing how her solution would have failed.

If she wrote nothing, what showed was a video that rejoicingly proclaimed their correctness in what they had done, and how much happier that child now was. That was followed by a three-minute chance for her to write down, "You were right. I was wrong," in which they promised to release her.

She would not do it.

Around her, almost knee-deep, were papers—the papers of her "solutions" that got rejected; and with each rejection, she was forced to watch a video showing her just how her solution would fail and the consequences that came with it.

…But that was all just the Fey's imagining, wasn't it? Even if she came up with a perfect solution, they would just twist it into something negative. Their faith in adult humans was so low that they never considered any kindness, any humanity, possible from them. Even the children they so loved and adored—they acted like they were helpless, motherless, and abandoned kittens who, without their aid, had no hope to survive.

She knew that no answer she gave would be accepted, and yet, she kept writing her solutions. Maybe in the beginning, it was pure stubbornness, but now… she just wanted out.

She wrote in the hopeless effort that she'd come up with an answer they couldn't reject or twist—because she…

Couldn't take seeing any more of this….

'Call in the police and CPS. Have Eleanor removed from her mother's custody and put that judge behind bars.' She submitted her suggestion, and it appeared in the reject bin and a video detailing how her suggestion would not have helped began to play.

The judge did get arrested, but the media painted Eleanor as being a willing participant, as eager as her mother to claim victory in pageants. Eleanor was placed in foster care, where she faced neglect. She never got any of the help she would need to deal with the trauma, and grew up to rely on drugs, and died of an overdose in her mid twenties.

Giving her no time to digest this new failure, the screen flickered and now a new child was on screen. Now it was a boy, maybe seven years old, named Jerry, curled up in the corner of a cluttered, dimly lit room. His parents shouted at each other in the background, their anger reverberating through the thin walls. The boy clutched a stuffed animal, its fabric worn and patched, as though it were his only anchor in a storm.

'The child should be temporarily given to another family member, or mentor whilst the boys parents should be given time to work through their issues on their own.' Of course, this two ended up rejected.

The television played out how her solution went down wrong; instead of becoming stronger, the boy became withdrawn, isolated and developed deep emotional wounds as he internalized his parents conflict as being his fault, and the family members he stayed with treated him as both a pity case and a burden. His parents ended up divorced and his mother treated him as a burden to her finding another partner and the father became physically abusive whenever he stayed with him, bitter over paying child support. Jerry became despondent, slipping into a darker version of himself.

The screen lit up with yet another child's plight.

This time, it was a girl named Marina. Her parents were deadbeats who wasted their money and refused to work, leaving barely any food in the house, leaving the poor girl hungry. When they weren't high, they were drunk—and the child was forced to walk on eggshells around them to avoid rousing their anger.

'Help the parents clean up their act.' Once again, her solution was rejected.

The video showed her that the parents were so entrenched in their own addiction and dysfunction that no amount of intervention would change them leaving Marina stuck in an even more hopeless situation, where she begins to feel like no one can save her—not even her own parents. Eventually, as a result of a social worker getting involved in trying to help them, the threat of taking Marina away from them produced a violent reaction that resulted in the child's death at the hands of an enraged father too drunk out of his mind to even remember having strangled his daughter the night before when waking up the next morning.

The next video began, giving her no time to mourn. It showed a boy named Luis, who lived in a foster home. At first glance, everything seemed fine—clean clothes, meals on the table, a bed to sleep in—but the camera soon revealed the cracks. His foster parents barely acknowledged his presence, treating him as more of a chore than a child. His loneliness was palpable as he sat in the corner of a crowded room, surrounded by laughter that didn't include him.

Tannfe clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms until they left half-moon marks. Her stomach twisted, a nauseating churn that mirrored her internal chaos. "Pair children with foster families who genuinely want to care for them," she wrote. "Implement stricter vetting processes to ensure their emotional well-being is prioritized." Her hand cramped as she wrote, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

Again, her solution was submitted. Again, the television twisted it into failure. This time, the stricter processes led to fewer foster families being approved, leaving Luis and many others languishing in overcrowded group homes.

The room felt smaller with each passing moment, the piles of rejected papers pressing in on her, suffocating her. She could escape if she just admitted to the Fey being right, but she could not, would not, do that. Still picked up her pen once more, her hand trembling as she prepared to write another doomed solution.

The process repeated over and over, the faces of the children blurring together in her mind. Each one etched its pain into her soul, fueling her determination even as it eroded her hope. She wrote about community gardens, about neighborhood watch programs, about education reform—each idea more desperate than the last. Every time, the Fey found a way to twist her intentions into something monstrous.

But no matter how many rejections she faced, no matter how many times the voice declared her solutions unfit, she kept going. Because to stop, to surrender, would be thee same as admitting that the Fey were right; that humans were unable to save their own children—and that was not something she would ever do.

— Wanda's POV—

Bea smiled softly, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face as she looked over at her, where they sat beside a berry bush, picking the berries and dropping them into a wicker basket.

"Your Timmy is really such a sweet boy," she said, her tone warm and genuine as she carefully plucked a handful of berries from the bush in front of her. "He really adores you."

She smiled faintly. Having Timmy praised was always welcomed, but her head was still a mess. She hadn't fully processed everything she had learned yet.

"I'm glad he had someone to support him. So many of our Kinders have suffered from all kinds of hurt, but even when we remove them from their hurtful environments, the emotional and mental wounds stay there." Bea shifted slightly, and leaned in as if to whisper, but remained speaking at her normal volume. "My Fey power is the ability to paint images from someone's mind, from their subconsciousness. It can really help get to the root of their problems, and with Nova's education in such matters, we can really provide them the help they need. I do hope you will allow for Timmy to take therapy sessions with us."

I have a gift, you know," she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper as if sharing a secret. "A Fey power. I can communicate with the subconscious. I can paint images from someone's mind, from their subconscious. That's how I help Nova with his therapy sessions."

Wanda blinked, caught off guard. "Therapy sessions?"

Bea nodded. "It's how we help our Kinders move past the pain of their human lives. The way those poor children struggled with their own minds, we find out what's tormenting them and we find way to release them from it. I can communicate with the Companions, too—and we work hard, Nova and I, so that they all can find eternal happiness."

Eternal happiness, she and the Fey had very different ideas of what that meant, but she could tell that Bea was at least sincere in this desire, even if the Fey's methods of granting the happiness were questionable. Bea was young, she had never seen the human world for herself and probably only knew it from the stories the Fey told and from what she had heard from the children who had came here, ones who had lived lives of hardship, neglect and abuse.

"Timmy gets therapy back home." She replied, knowing where Bea was going with this.

"Does it help?"

"….." She looked away and shook her head. She could have lied, but to lie would feel too much like she was admitting to the awful things his therapist claimed; that he was only faking his ADHD as an excuse to be lazy, that he exaggerated his anxiety attacks in order to get attention, that he enjoyed making trouble for others, etc.

"No, Dr. Payne Hurtwell is a sociopathic scam artist who delights in pushing the blame of everything onto Timmy, and constantly delights in vilifying him and destroying whatever sense of self Timmy has left, his parents believe every word he says." She bit down on her lip. "Worse….Timmy believes what he says too. For instance he'll tell Timmy over and over that the reason he's having panic attacks is because he's subconsciously seeking attention from others or that he's withdrawn state and self-esteem issues is actually just him pretending in order to garnish sympathy and pity from others so that they'd let him get away with bad behavior. I don't see how Timmy can believe him, but he's been so crushed that…." Her voice broke and Bea patted her shoulder.

"When you're told over and over that you're the problem, that you're faking your pain, you start to believe it, even when deep down you know it's not true." Bea sighed. "It's like… when you've been in a toxic environment long enough, you start questioning your own reality. Dr. Hurtwell has the power to manipulate him—he's the adult, he's in control, and Timmy's just a kid, trying to figure things out. He wants to believe that it's his fault, because if he believes that, then maybe he can change it, right? Maybe if he's just 'better,' he won't have to feel like this anymore. It's easier to blame himself than accept that someone is just taking advantage of him, making him feel small and worthless." Bea paused, voice softening. "Timmy doesn't have the tools to fight back, and Dr. Hurtwell is a master at making him feel like his only worth is when he's 'performing' right by others' standards."

"After each session, I tell Timmy over and over how wrong Dr. Hurtwell is, but….it does not always feel as if I get through to him."

"Please let us help Wanda; you can sit in and watch the sessions if you're worried."

"Well…." She did not want to agree to this, having Nova gain even more influence over Timmy was not what she wanted, but, it was true that Timmy needed real psychological help….and sadly, she had it proven to her before that not only was she not a professional, she sometimes said the wrong thing—the worst thing.

"You don't need to commit to anything now. Just think about it." Bea smiled, and checked a snow berry, and seeing that it had been nibbled on by some forest creature, popped it into her mouth rather than drop it into the basket. "I know you've just met Nova, and he's awfully heavy handed sometimes, but he really does care."

"….."

Bea's gaze drifted toward the gate again, her eyes dimming. "You know," she began slowly, her words tinged with sadness, "my father died when I was little. Trying to break through the barrier."

"…!" She gasped, looked at the barrier and then back at Bea, feeling horrible about how she had been thinking about its necessity not too long ago.

"No one really knows why he wanted to go so badly, but my mother won't talk about it." Bea explained, keeping her focus on picking berries. "Maybe there was nothing... maybe he just didn't want to be imprisoned, but he didn't want to become a fairy, didn't want to be another pawn in the council's game. I guess it was his pride that killed him. I used to come, sit by the gate and try to figure out just why he did it, but I never figured it out."

"I'm….so sorry….it must have been painful."

"Then Nova came," Bea continued, her voice becoming like a ray of sun peeking through a dark cloud. He was sad and lonely, having been separated from his family and stuck in this world. Every day, he would come to the gate and sit there for hours, staring into it. He never said anything, just sat there. Honestly, I believe that if I hadn't been there, he might have done something drastic." She then smiled, as if recalling something fond rather than sad, "But as it turned out, he was only there because he thought I was going to do the same thing. He thought I'd throw myself into it."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Why would you—?"

Bea forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Let's just say... my mom hasn't been the same since my father died. Maybe I developed the power I did, because I can understand the environments those kids came from, but—don't feel bad for me." Her smile became genuine. "When Nova came, my life got much better. I had someone to talk to, someone who helped me find that smile again, and I'm sure he can help Timmy find his too. Maybe he won't have to become a Kinder."

"…What? What did you just say?" She stopped picking berries, stunned, wondering if she had misheard.

"Kinders are children who were brought here because they had no hope of pulling through their situations," Bea explained slowly. "Their minds, their spirits—something broke in them. They were too fragile to continue as they were in the real world, but we've all heard the stories Stella had sent about Timmy. He's a strong boy, he has grit and spirit. If given the help he needs, he can get his strength back, he won't need to become a Kinder." She paused, looking at her as if measuring the weight of her next words. "When one becomes a Kinder, well... let's compare it to animals in the wild and those in a habitat. The ones in a habitat are well cared for. They never go hungry. If they're sick, a vet will see to them, and there are no predators lurking. But…"

"But in the wild... they have to fend for themselves," She continued, relieved she found a Fey who seemed to understand. "They have to learn to survive. They face dangers, predators... It's not easy. But they're free. They're free to live the way they choose, even if it's harder."

Bea nodded, her face somber. "Exactly. A Kinder is safe, yes. But they lose something, too. They lose their ability to truly struggle, to fight for themselves. Yes, they are happy here, but they never learn to stand on their own. They don't need to. The Timmy from those stories we were told was not a child who needed to exchange his freedom for safety. He just needs to find his way, his strength. If he keeps fighting, if he keeps pushing forward, he'll get through this, and Nova and I can help."

She nodded, her heart heavy but resolute. She believed in Timmy, too. If there was any child who could push through, it was him. She just hoped he could see it for himself.

— Edmund's Pov—

The fever burned through him like wildfire, consuming his thoughts in a chaotic inferno. Shadows surged and twisted in his mind, forming grotesque shapes that snarled and jeered, their hideous features an embodiment of memories he couldn't recall. The edges of their forms seemed to ripple with the weight of unspoken dread, their jagged voices weaving a chilling symphony of his deepest insecurities and hidden regrets. Somewhere in the maelstrom, an object appeared—a tiny, battered doll with wild black yarn for hair and wide, glassy eyes. It lay crumpled on the ground.

He had an overwhelming desire to go to it, but even though he was just steps away from it, he felt as if he were running for ten minutes before he finally reached it, but as he reached out his hands to take it, he saw nothing but bloody stumps.

He screamed, and the world went black, and then with a blink, transformed into a grimy alley, his hands—whole and trembling—as his friends shoved him towards the scary vendor that sold meat pies and ale to factory workers; known well for his drunkenness and evil temper. Laughter surrounded him, cruel and sharp, as his gang of friends shoved him forward. "Go on, Eddy!" one sneered. "Show us you're not a coward!"

The laughter twisted, becoming guttural, inhuman growls. The alley shifted, its brick walls melting into the gnarled bark of ancient trees as the squalor of the Victorian slum gave way to the fey forest. It was supposed to be a place of safety, far away from the pain he had faced in the human world, but just ahead of him the shopkeeper loomed, his face distorted into a monstrous caricature. His eyes burned like coals, and his hands had become replaced with gleaming knives that dripped blood. He tried to run, but his legs were leaden, refusing to move. The monstrous figure lunged.

Pain tore through his hands, a searing agony that reverberated through his entire being, as if his very essence was unraveling thread by thread. The sensation was blinding, scorching its way up his arms and seizing his chest with a relentless grip. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, and each one seemed to stoke the fire coursing through him. It was as though his hands were not just burning, but transforming, the pain shifting and molding him into something both alien and fragile.

His vision blurred, tears mingling with the sweat on his face, amplifying the intensity of the moment with a suffocating, visceral clarity. He screamed, but the sound dissolved into the shadows around him. His hands melted into dark mist, reforming as delicate, feathered wings. One wing fluttered feebly, while the other hung limp, dripping blood that stained the forest floor with every beat of his heart.

The doll appeared again, laying slumped against a tree, it was so near, but he could not pick up anything with his wings. Its button eyes seemed to glisten with sorrow, striking a chord deep within him, and he desperately tried to pick it up with his one remaining wing, but just couldn't grasp it.

Images flashed before him with each failed attempt to pick it up: the doll abandoned in the cold, its fabric dirtied and torn; the doll sitting limp before an empty plate; the doll crumpled and still, a silent testimony to neglect.

"I'm sorry…" His voice cracked, and he fell to his knees, not even knowing who he was apologizing to.

The forest floor beneath him shifted into cobblestones, and the trees warped back into soot-streaked buildings. The oppressive stench of the slums choked him, sharp and suffocating.

"It's ok, Edmund, you are not there, you've been saved, your here—with the Fey, with me." Aelar's voice came from somewhere close by and he looked around wildly, his fevered vision swimming as his Fey-father emerged from the shadows of the ally he and his friends used to play in.

"You are safe now," Aelar said, his voice smooth and soothing. The slums transformed into the cozy little house he shared with his Fey-father. "You belong here, Edmund. Forget the human world. Forget the pain."

"But…the doll…" The word slipped from his lips, fragile and trembling as he looked at the doll that was now laying face down in a puddle.

Aelar knelt beside him, and picked up the doll, making it disappear. "There is no doll."

"But…."

"My poor Edmund." Aelar stroked his head, his hand warm, soft and glowing. "Forget the human world. You are a Kinder now, cherished and beloved. The human world cannot hurt you anymore."

His fevered mind clung to the warmth, to the promise of safety, as he tried to push the images of the butcher, the slums, his friends, and the doll out of his mind. Enveloped by the soft pale glow coming from Aelar's hand, he allowed everything to be consumed by its comforting light. Closing his eyes, he felt the warmth spread through his body, melting away the lingering remnants of fear and pain. It was as though the light itself was washing his soul clean. Pulsing softly, like a heartbeat, the glow wrapped him in a cocoon of serenity that seemed to hold the promise of safety and happiness.

When he opened his eyes, the fever had broken. He lay on a bed of soft moss, his wing whole again, its feathers pristine. Aelar sat beside him, his expression tender as he stroked his hair.

"Edmund! Good, you're awake! How are you feeling?"

Edmund smiled faintly, the fever dream already slipping away like mist in the morning sun. "Better," he murmured.

"Aww, that's my adorable little chubby berry." Aelar pinched his cheek and lifted him into his arms, hugging him tight. "You had me so scared."

He nestled into Aelar's comforting presence, the human world and the haunting image of the doll erased entirely from his mind. He was a Kinder, cherished and safe, and that was all he needed to remember.