FOURTH BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭. 𝘈 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘈 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦.
Xanthiene Vivenca, a fairy with a bounty for her soul, is caught between...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
2412, Iclis 19, Daleth
Xanthy sniffed at the thick fog coating not just the entire plain but the smooth wall made of rock that stretched to the sky as well. It wasn't this bad in Drodham but then again, this was Gustead, the city of mystery. She stepped out of the way as a masked person clad with gray robes from head to toe hurried past her. A hasty and rather breathy excuse reached Xanthy's ears. If she hadn't been paying attention, she would've missed it. The person vanished into the fog not long after.
More people donning masks and robes milled in the city, amid the bulk of patched houses and mass graveyards. Why the banshees even need graveyards was something Xanthy didn't want to know.
Still, the white masks called to her. She couldn't tell if the people she met on the road were female or male, old or young, fairy or human. It's a great place to disappear and to start over. If only she got the chance. She glanced at the mass of people milling about in the streets. If she leads the Sovereign and the Heiress here, would they kill these people too?
Her intestines swirled into a tight knot. She needed to finish this. Quickly. Where in Gulstead was the final clue? Xanthy glanced at Cirasa only to find him in front of a tombstone five steps back with his hands folded together. His lips moved in a silent prayer no doubt blessing the departed. Xanthy rolled her eyes. Why would people even need to do that? To make themselves feel better, thinking they were doing a good thing?
Let the dead rest. Honestly.
She shook her head as she went forward without him. A single tree with gangly branches and zero leaves stood in the distance. Let people believe what they want to. Let people do what they want to do so long as it's not hurting the world.
Xanthy's throat constricted. This choice that she's going to make...would it harm the world or save it? Rutoria didn't even elaborate on that part. She glanced at the tombstones decorated by more fairy squiggles that she didn't care to read. Candles of different sizes burned and melted on a number of their bases. Black lilies swayed with the wind from different jars.
Cirasa finished his prayers and headed to the next tombstone. Xanthy frowned. Gods, this was taking forever. They didn't have that much time! She exhaled, stirring the fog when her own breath misted by her nose. Was it that cold? Whatever. She left him standing there with his eyes closed and strode forward. Where was the clue?
She came close to the dry tree and felt a sense of awe inside her. How could something alive exist in a place full of death? It's wonderful. Her fingertips brushed its rough bark and came away with brittle pieces that bled off it. Just like life itself. Fragile. Brittle. Eventually, they'd all be dried like this tree.
The world was a massive graveyard after all.
Alright. What else was here? Tree. Fog. Tombstone. Skull. Masks. Grass.
Xanthy paused. Skull. What was it doing here? She raked her eyes down at the tree's dried roots where a single skull was placed in their embrace. Should this belong under the ground somewhere? Or burned like how the humans free their dead? She bent down and reached forward. Her fingers touched the skull's cranium.
