That day, Oona kept her promise. The rain did not merely fall—it cascaded from the skies in unrelenting torrents, draping the Fortress of Clouds in a curtain of water so thick that one could scarcely see more than two paces ahead. The fading light of the star above barely pierced the dense, icy mantle that had descended over the fortress's inhabitants, who had never before witnessed such wrath. Oona remained perched on the rocky cliff near the brook, as close to the storm-laden clouds as she could get, her power tethering the tempest to ensure its full fury raged on. To Ferry, it was a stark reminder of Oona's immense, unfathomable power.

Raghnall had managed to persuade the Solacer guarding the western watchtower—the one overlooking the garden where Stot lay buried—to trade shifts. Oona, cloaked in invisibility, had slipped a few drops of bergamot tincture into the water flask of the tomb's guard, sending him into a deep, unyielding slumber from which neither the cold nor the storm could rouse him.

Ferry met Matilda at the western gate of the fortress. The downpour rendered them almost invisible to each other, their dark cloaks, soaked and heavy, clinging to their forms. Each carried a spade, their grim silence speaking louder than words. Together, they trudged toward the site of punishment, hoping against hope that poor Stot still clung to life, and that their desperate effort would not be in vain.

The black box was buried in a grave over which three layers of soil had been meticulously laid one on top of another. Atop these layers, three sycamores had been enchanted to grow as much in a single day as they would in a year. Their roots had already burrowed deep, intertwining in a tight embrace that seemed unbreakable. The grave—for that's what it truly was—had been designed to be impenetrable, even to a fairy of great power. Any attempt to break through the living roots would bind the trespasser to the trees themselves, transforming them into a Dryad, half tree, half fay.

Ferry had not witnessed the grim burial ritual, but the terrible details of Stot's punishment had been whispered across the fortress.

Without hesitation, Ferry and Matilda began digging at the base of the sycamores. Yet the task was difficult, their spades striking the gnarled roots with dull, impotent thuds. They fought against both the storm's fury and the defiant roots, which resisted even the sharpest of their tools.

"It's useless!" Matilda shouted through the roar of the rain. "We'll never get through, Ferry!"

Ferry ignored her, his stubbornness compelling him to keep digging. But she was right. The spades were no match for the roots' unyielding strength.

After what felt like an eternity, Ferry's chest burned with exhaustion, and he threw his spade to the ground. He looked at Matilda, who was equally breathless. Closing his eyes, he let the icy rain lash his face, feeling the chill seep into his very bones. If they lingered much longer, he was certain the cold would claim them both, leaving them as lifeless as the enchanted sycamores standing sentinel over a soul yearning to escape a world that had never welcomed him.

Ferry's gaze drifted to the sycamores, their branches swaying violently under the storm's relentless assault. Through the veil of rain, a sliver of light pierced the darkness, emanating from the distant star above. He stepped into the cone of pale light, the only beacon to break through the storm's oppressive shroud. Turning to Matilda, he found her eyes fixed on him, her face illuminated with a clarity that seemed to defy the chaos around them.

Warmth began to spread through Ferry's chest, rising against the cold. He lifted his hands, focusing on the sycamores. The warmth grew into a searing energy, his body trembling under its intensity. His hands shook, heavy with the force coursing through him. Then, with a sudden surge, the weight lifted, and the trees—as if bowing to his will—wrenched themselves free from the earth. Their roots groaned and snapped, writhing like serpents before retreating, leaving the grave exposed.

Lowering his arms, Ferry stumbled back. Matilda stared at him in astonishment, a flicker of light in her eyes even as the rain began to subside. Oona's hold on the tempest was waning, and they knew time was slipping away. They resumed digging with renewed urgency. The rain-softened earth gave way more easily now, but two layers of soil still separated them from the black box.

"Hurry up, Matt," Ferry urged, barely able to breathe.

"Why don't you hurry up, Ferry?" she snapped. "I'm doing the best I can. Isn't it enough that I'm here, in this stupid world where being human is a crime?"

Ferry stopped digging. "What do you mean by that? No one asked you to come, Matt. Why did you, anyway?" he asked, voicing once more the question that had troubled him since they'd left Goodharts. Sometimes, he'd hoped she'd done it for him, but now he wasn't so sure anymore.

Matilda stopped digging too. Her expression darkened. "Maybe it was a mistake," she said, her words cutting through him worse than the storm's wind, stabbing his heart and tearing it to shreds.

"Do you really mean that?" he asked, his voice breaking.

She looked at him, her eyes clouded with shadows. "Why didn't you invite me to the Spring Fling?" she asked instead. "You invited Celia. You'd have invited any other girl but me," she shouted, and Ferry couldn't tell if her eyes were brimming with tears or if it was just the rain.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You want to talk about that? Now?"

Matilda stood firm before him. Her hair had grown impossibly long, with a few wet strands sticking to her cheeks and lips. Her large, dark eyes sparked with fury, but Ferry saw a flicker of regret in them too. "Yes, I want to talk about it now!" she cried through the rain.

Ferry could barely breathe. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. That he'd been a fool not to invite her. That she, more than anyone else, would have been the perfect partner for him back then, as she was now. He thought of those days, when, just like now, he'd seen the disappointment in her eyes. Those times felt so distant, as though a hundred years had passed since then. As though it had been in another world, one he no longer knew and to which he no longer belonged. Lost forever, just as they seemed to be lost to each other now.

"Why does it matter so much to you, Matt?" he asked instead. "Why does it matter what I did or didn't do? Why do you care?" he shouted back.

"Why?" she echoed, her voice trembling.

Ferry stepped closer. Their spades slipped from their hands, as though they'd forgotten where they were and why they were there.

Reaching out, Ferry gently brushed a strand of hair from her lips. To his surprise, she didn't pull away or stop him. Instead, she lifted her gaze to his. He stepped even closer. "Do you care about me? Even a little?" he asked softly.

"Ferry..." she whispered, her moist lips now brighter under the faint starbeam.

Ferry slowly pressed his wet forehead to hers, and suddenly, the cold and wetness around them vanished. He felt nothing but her warm breath against his chest, where his heart raced wildly.

Then they both heard it. A thud. Muffled at first, then growing louder. The thuds came faster, rising from the grave.

They broke apart, away from their cocoon of warmth, and looked toward the grave. Without hesitation, they grabbed their spades and began digging, but the rain made their hands slip, and the task grew even harder. Matilda tossed her spade aside and began clawing at the soil with her hands. Ferry followed her lead. Their fingers were frozen and bleeding, but they didn't stop.

Finally, they reached the box's lid. Ferry swung the spade with all his strength, and a crack splintered through the wood. The fissure widened until the lid burst apart, shards of wood and wet soil flying in all directions.

From the depths of the ground, from the hellish confines of his punishment, Stot emerged, gasping for air.

Ferry and Matilda helped him to his feet. Stot was a shadow of the strong Solacer he had once been. His hair was sparse, his eyes sunken in their sockets, with a wild, haunted glint. His frail body trembled all over. Matilda took the cloak from the sleeping guard and draped it over Stot's shoulders. He looked at her with gratitude.

"You need to leave this place," she said gently.

Stot nodded. Ferry and Matilda supported him as they made their way toward the gates of the western tower, where Raghnall awaited them. When they arrived, Stot looked at them again, and a faint light appeared in his hollow eyes. "Thank you for everything," he whispered. "I'll never forget this..."

Raghnall handed him over a leather satchel filled with dry garments, provisions, and a sturdy staff, which Stot clutched with trembling hands. They stood in silence, watching as he limped away, his frail form shrouded by the mist that had crept in after the storm. The swirling fog seemed to claim him, and soon he was but a shadow fading into the otherworldly haze.

Moments later, Oona emerged from the gloom, her presence ethereal as ever. She smiled at them a knowing smile, her silence more powerful than any words. Without a word, they each turned and left, melting into separate paths under the watchful gaze of the storm's remnants, seeking to leave no trace of their shared secret.

Before passing through the towering gates of the fortress, Ferry cast one final glance over his shoulder. But Matilda was already gone, her absence as heavy as the storm that had now given way to stillness.

***

In the days that followed, Ferry tried his utmost to avoid Matilda. This proved rather easy, as she seemed equally intent on avoiding him. Besides, the entire fortress buzzed with the news of Stot's disappearance. Ferry overheard whispers in corners, hinting that Stot had turned out to be a far more powerful fae than they had imagined. Many suspected that he had transformed. The guard was doubled, especially around Lord Stephan's chambers and the entrance to Ferry's room. Amongst the Solacers, words like vengeance and betrayal began to surface in hushed voices.

During training, Ferry caught glimpses of Leomh on several occasions. He seemed preoccupied, a sadness etched across his features, no matter how hard he tried to mask it by focusing on sparring with the fellow Solacers. Like Leomh, Ferry sought solace in the relentless rhythm of training, which had become increasingly grueling. He dedicated himself so completely to the techniques and nuances of combat—mastering the use of every conceivable weapon—that he rarely allowed himself time to eat or rest. From dawn until the hour of rest, Ferry trained tirelessly. Most often, Raghnall accompanied him, but it was Thyme who taught him the most intricate methods of battle, a testament to the wealth of experience Thyme had gained from countless skirmishes.

One day, Ferry even managed to surprise Thyme with a swift sword movement, pressing forward again and again until Thyme was forced to step back, finding himself against the cold, damp wall of the grotto.

"Very well done, Ferry," Thyme said between gasps, his chest rising and falling heavily. "You've done well. The time will come when there's nothing left for me to teach you..."

Ferry felt his confidence swell. "Well enough to accompany you to the village? To fight alongside you and the Amalghams against the Hollowers?" he ventured.

Thyme's expression darkened. He avoided Ferry's gaze as he replied curtly, "You're not ready yet."

Gathering his weapons, Thyme turned to leave, but Ferry hurried after him. "When will I be ready, Thyme?" he asked earnestly. "Let me join you on the next expedition. I could be of help to you."

Thyme kept walking. "You're not ready yet," he repeated. "And even if you were, you've yet to master your powers. That could endanger not only you but others as well."

Ferry stopped in his tracks, disheartened. He wanted desperately to tell Thyme how he had moved three massive sycamores aside to free Stot, but he couldn't. The suspicion that he might be involved hung heavily in the air. He felt it, saw it in the way the Solacers fell silent whenever he appeared. He heard it in the whispers at the stables as he brushed Wind's mane or in the peculiar looks cast his way by the Amalgham women in the kitchens on the rare occasions he stopped by for a meal.

Whenever Ferry gazed at the sky, the star's light seemed weaker, dimming with each passing speck, a harbinger of the Long Night drawing near. He felt the fortress walls closing in, stifling him with their weight. To escape his brooding thoughts and avoid the risk of crossing paths with Matilda—after agreeing they would not meet again after freeing Stot—Ferry often chose to roam the hills and groves surrounding the castle, riding Wind. Only in these moments, with the wind in his face and the earth and sky blurring past, did he feel free. Wind became an extension of him, a part of his soul, and together they galloped as one with the wild. At times, he would stop to rest in a clearing, quenching his thirst at a cool, clear spring, or reclining beneath the boughs of an ancient tree whose thick branches stretched to embrace the heavens.

On one such excursion near the fortress, he heard whispers coming from the spring in the closest glade. Dismounting quietly, he sought shelter behind the trunk of an ancient tree, its shadow cloaking him like a shroud. From his hiding place, he saw Oona and Raghnall.

The young Solacer sat at the base of an old hazel tree near the quick spring. Oona was bent over him, carefully sewing a button onto his tunic. Her red curls brushed his cheek, and her hands, steady and sure, moved swiftly against his chest as the needle darted through the thick fabric, catching the star's faint light and glinting like a slender sliver of silver. Raghnall barely dared to breathe under her touch, his eyes fixed on the leaves above, as if afraid he might be undone by her presence.

Oona finished sewing the button, and then cut the thread with her teeth, her lips touching the young Solacer's chest. She looked up at Raghnall, and their eyes met. They gazed at one another for what felt like an eternity, neither speaking a word. Time itself seemed to pause, allowing them to lose themselves in each other's gaze. And then, at last, their lips met. They surrendered to the kiss, melting into one another, locked in an embrace so fierce, so full of longing, that they seemed unwilling to ever let go.

Ferry retreated quietly, guilt pricking over him for having intruded on such a raw, pure moment.

He urged Wind into a gallop, racing back towards the castle, his heart a tangle of emotions—troubled yet glad for his friends. As they sped along, he caught sight of Matilda and Sage. He barely had time to observe them, but the sight of them together, so close to the fiery intensity of Raghnall and Oona's connection, tore at his heart.

He dismounted before Wind had come to a full stop and bolted to his quarters. Slamming the heavy door shut behind him, he collapsed onto the cold stone bed, hoping in vain that the bitterness within him would somehow fade.

***

"Teach me how to grow my powers," Ferry said loud and clear, standing before Lord Stephan. In the cold, unwelcoming Council Hall, the Pan studied him, his yellow eyes piercing into the very depths of Ferry's soul.

"Before that," the Pan's deep voice echoed, "you must learn to control them."

"Very well," Ferry agreed with a determined nod. "Teach me how to do that."

The Pan began pacing around him, scrutinising his every move. "Your powers, Prince Garrett, are already within you. You've just not had the opportunity to reveal them. Or perhaps... you have?"

Ferry's breathing quickened. Did he suspect that Ferry had freed Stot? But he couldn't have any proof of it. Or did he?

Ferry tried to stay calm. "I want to help. That's why you brought me here, isn't it?"

"And what stirs this sudden, fiery desire to master your powers?" the Lord asked, his tone calm but unwavering.

"I want to join Thyme on his next expedition," Ferry said. "He thinks I'm not ready. But if you tell him I am, he'll let me come with him."

The Pan fell silent for a few moments, his gaze unrelenting. "Very well," he said at last. "You will be here as soon as you wake. There may be times when you won't sleep or eat at all. The Long Night approaches, and you must be prepared. Only the journey to the village invaded by the Hollowers can prove your worth. You must be ready—for anything. Even the very loss of your powers..."

Ferry frowned, not understanding what the Pan was implying. But he didn't have time to ponder further.

"We begin now!" the Pan thundered. "Your first lesson, though it may seem simple, is to learn how to draw energy from everything around you. For this, we must climb the mountain's peak, as close as possible to the star. As close as possible to Solace."

"Very well, my Lord," Ferry said. "I'll inform Raghnall to prepare the horses."

"There's no need," the Pan replied calmly. "We shall fly to the peak," he added, striding toward the enormous window carved into the stone wall.

Ferry hesitated, following cautiously. They now stood at the edge, the howling wind screaming in their ears and lashing against their faces. Peering down, Ferry could barely make out the tops of the trees rooted in the cliffs below the castle.

He watched as Lord Stephan lifted off the ground and began gliding effortlessly out of the window. The Pan paused, waiting. "Are you coming?"

Ferry took a deep breath. He hadn't flown in this world for some time, and everything here was different from what he once knew. He closed his eyes and felt the sky's call. His body became as light as a feather, his feet lifting off the ground. When he opened his eyes, he was already floating outside the Pan's chambers.

Lord Stephan glided ahead of him towards the peak. He didn't seem to fly but rather floated, unaffected by the wind or the star's light.

Ferry followed, feeling the wind hit him him as the treetops bent slightly below. He struggled against the strong gusts, trying to keep his course steady towards the summit. At times, he allowed the currents to carry him, twisting and looping like a leaf caught in the breeze. Unlike him, Lord Stephan floated gracefully, commanding the air currents, which seemed powerless to disrupt his flight.

As they climbed higher, the air grew colder, and a fine mist began to weave itself around them, making the star's light even fainter.

When they reached the mountaintop, the wind became fierce and unyielding, as though it didn't want them there. The star's light pierced through the dense fog, casting slender spears of brilliance onto the barren rock.

"Look!" the Pan shouted, his voice cutting through the roaring gale. "Behold the star! Behold Solace in all its power!"

Ferry raised his gaze to the star, which appeared larger and brighter than he'd ever seen before.

"Imagine the power that comes from our mighty star as water," the Pan instructed, his voice steady and commanding. "It flows naturally, but we can guide it into a cup. That is what you must do. Guide Solace's light and shape it into your desire."

Ferry closed his eyes and visualised the star's light as shimmering streams flowing around him.

"You must see the energy in your mind before drawing it to yourself," he heard Pan's voice again.

"Now breathe deeply, imagining the light pouring into your body with every inhale. As you exhale, picture the starlight settling within your core, like liquid silver pooling in your chest."

Ferry followed the instructions and felt a warmth ignite in his chest, spreading to his palms. He cupped his hands and opened his eyes to find himself holding the starlight—soft, luminous, and alive.

"Now think of how you wish to shape the light. And when you've given it form, release it towards the dead branch of the tree before you. Destroy it."

Ferry envisioned the light transforming into a spear. The glowing orb in his palms shifted, sharpening into a dazzling, powerful lance. With all his might, he hurled it at the brittle branch of an ancient tree. The branch fell as though severed by an unseen blade.

Ferry took a long breath, a smile spreading across his face. He'd done it. Lord Stephan gave a curt nod of approval before gesturing towards the Fortress of Clouds. Together, they took flight back to the castle, leaving the solitary peak behind, embraced only by the star's light.

***

In the following days, Ferry dedicated himself entirely to the magical lessons taught by Lord Stephan. He learned countless ways to manifest his magic, master it, and control it at will. He marvelled at how much he had learned in such a short time: how to connect with the wind and sense its movements, how to draw natural energy from plants, trees, or the earth to enhance his magic, or how to summon his inner magic when no other sources were available.

The lessons lasted for days on end, according to the calendar Ferry kept etched into the rocky wall of his chamber. Yet, he never complained. In fact, he felt relieved to focus solely on his training, free from distractions. More importantly, his busy schedule left little room for thoughts of her. But sometimes, just as sleep pulled him into its deep embrace after days of toil, his last thought was still of her... and her face would appear, vivid and radiant, even as sleep claimed him.

Ferry had come to understand his mentor, Lord Stephan, in a way. He knew that, for the formidable Pan, duty and honour stood above all else. Through his sacrifice and unwavering dedication, countless beings who had placed their trust in him now lived in safety, ever loyal and devoted to the master of the Fortress.

Sometimes, when Ferry succeeded in controlling his magic—an occurrence growing more frequent—he could see pride flicker in the Pan's piercing eyes. Ferry found himself trusting and growing loyal to Lord Stephan, just as the inhabitants of the Fortress had.

Yet one thing puzzled Ferry each time their lessons or training sessions on the mountaintop neared their end: Lord Stephan would always ask him to recall the charm Far and Away, a spell capable of transporting entire armies to distant locations with a mere clap of the hands.

After Ferry explained, in the finest detail, the mechanics of the spell—unable to practise it, as doing so would strip him of his fairy powers and render him mortal, such was its immense power—the Pan would have him recite The Crossing, A Riddle of Paths and Truths, as he called it.

Each time, Ferry would obediently recite the cryptic riddle:

*Rise and roam, O seeker bold,
To the grove where secrets hold.
No more can shadows cloak your guise;
Truth's reflection never lies.

The winds shall guide where spirits stray,
In shrouded realms where shadows play.
Stand with their lord, so fate may shift,
Yet know—a beast must meet your gift.

Amidst the crossroads, tangled, vast,
You'll ponder blame for every past.
Yet before your mortal sight,
Freedom dances, wild as light.

When the trail lies clear and true,
And fate's embrace encircles you,
Rise and face the trial's cost—
For strength is found in what you've lost.*

"Lord Stephan, what does this riddle mean?" Ferry finally summoned the courage to ask one day, at the end of their lesson, after reciting the strange verses once again.

Lord Stephan frowned. "Well, it's a riddle. Its meaning must be discovered, just as a child must find sense in the cryptic lullabies whispered by their nursemaid at bedtime. But you see, this riddle is peculiar. It means something different to each person. To uncover its meaning, you must decipher every line and follow it to the letter. Only then could you recover your magic, should you ever lose it—whether through folly or misfortune..."

Ferry nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced.

That night, as he drifted into slumber, his dreams were as tangled and tangled as always, like an intricate tapestry of riddles and shadows. Yet, when he awoke, a peculiar sensation lingered—a foreboding sense that something terrible was about to happen. And, as always, his instincts did not deceive him.

***

Ferry was training alongside the Amalghams when a great commotion broke out, interrupting him. They all climbed the walls of the grotto to witness a scene Ferry couldn't understand at first. Finn was sobbing uncontrollably in Matilda's arms, his small body curled tightly against his sister's chest. Around them stood Amalghams and Solacers, all trying to pull Finn away from Matilda.

Ferry ran toward them. "Matt, what's going on?" he asked.

Matilda lifted her tear-streaked face to him. "Ferry... They're saying Finn went into Lord Stephan's chambers and touched something... something magical and important... And now they say he must be punished," she added, her voice breaking.

"Finn, what did you touch?" Ferry asked.

"N-nothing," the poor child stammered through his tears. "I was just curious to see why it was glowing so brightly..."

"What was glowing so brightly?" Ferry pressed.

But Finn didn't have time to answer. Two guards stepped forward and tore him from Matilda's arms, carrying him off toward Lord Stephan's chambers.

Matilda clung to Ferry, her eyes brimming with tears. "Please, Ferry... Don't let anything bad happen to him..." she pleaded.

Ferry met her gaze. "Don't worry, Matt. I'll make sure nothing happens to him. I promise."

***

The Council was summoned in haste to the Great Hall. All were present: Ferry, flanked by his guardians, Lord Stephan, and, of course, Finn. Even Matilda had been granted the rare privilege of attending the trial, for she was the boy's only kin.

Finn stood at the heart of the assembly, his frail form trembling with uncontrollable sobs.

Lord Stephan raised his staff, and with a sharp strike upon the stone floor, the echo of the blow rang out, casting an eerie silence across the vast hall.

"Because this boy has dared to defy the sacred laws of this realm, I have called forth this gathering to decide what punishment he must face," his voice roared, reverberating through the walls in a cacophony of echoes that made the very stones shudder.

Matilda stepped forward, her face pale. Ferry had never seen her so utterly consumed by dread. "Lord Stephan, I beg of you!" she cried. "Whatever he has done, however serious, he didn't mean it. To him, it was all a game..."

But the Pan, standing like a shadow in the corner, did not even glance in her direction. It was as though she wasn't even there.

"And not only has he trespassed into a place forbidden to him, but he has dared to lay his hands upon one of the most treasured and fragile things. He could have destroyed it! He could have shattered the orb, forever!" Pan's voice grew thunderous, his face darkening with fury, his eyes widening so fiercely that they seemed ready to burst from his skull.

Ferry recoiled, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never seen the Pan so enraged—so savage. The memory of the glass orb flashed before his eyes. He had once stood in the same forbidden chamber, just as Finn had, unable to resist the allure of its power.

"And for such a crime," the Pan bellowed, his voice now like the roar of a storm, "he must be punished without mercy!"

"Lord Stephan, please!" Matilda's voice trembled as she once more sought to reach her brother, her hands outstretched towards him. But two guards seized her, pulling her back with cold indifference.

"Therefore, it is my decree," Lord Stephan continued, his tone unyielding, "that the boy be cast into the black box, where he will remain until he breaks free."

At the cruel pronouncement, Matilda collapsed to her knees, her breath hitching in desperate sorrow. "No! Please... no! He will die in there!" Then her eyes met Ferry's. "Please, Ferry! Help him... Don't let him die..."

Sage, whose silent anger had burned like a smouldering fire, stepped boldly forward. "Lord Stephan, with all due respect, this punishment is too severe for a mere human child," he declared, his voice unwavering and strong.

Lord Stephan's eyes flashed with wrath, and he turned on Sage with a speed that seemed to crack the air itself. "Then perhaps you wish to take his place, Sage?" he spat, his words sharp as daggers. "And it is a grave mistake—an unforgivable one—to continue viewing this creature as a child of humans!" With a furious gesture, he commanded the guards, "Seize him!"

At these cold words, Finn's sobs became louder, more frantic, as he reached out with trembling hands towards his sister. She struggled, helpless, to break free, but the guards held her.

Ferry stood frozen, his gaze locked on the heart-wrenching scene before him: Matilda and Finn, torn asunder by the iron will of the Council, his Guardians helpless in their silence, and Sage attempting, in vain, to reason with Lord Stepahn already lost to his fury.

And then, amidst the suffocating murmur of the hall, Ferry's voice broke through—clear, strong, and filled with resolve.

"It was I!" The words rang out, cutting through the frozen air. "I went to the forbidden place. I touched the orb."

Merry Christmas, my lovely Ferrals! Thank you so much for the long wait! I hope you'll enjoy this small gesture of gratitude to you. During all this time, I've been reading your messages and seen your enthusiasm and loyalty. Let's make 2025 Ferry's year and share his story to the world. I'm blessed with readers like you...