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Chapter 238: Faerie Grove
🕑 Added 2025-03-04 01:15:03 +0000 UTCChapter 238: Faerie Grove
/These words are proof of the accord struck between Yr’enzel, Star of Hope, Mercury Rainfall Starlight, saviour of the fae realm, and the faerie queen Titania as well as all sixteen courts of the fae.
These words exist to preserve our world. Our existence, and our future. They exist to honour our culture and preserve it to the best of our abilities, while discarding the bits that are no longer suitable. We, as fae, are eternal. We live long, unending lives. We remember ancient histories.
And now, we change.
These words exist as proof of that change. Our vow to work for our own future. Our solemn promise that we will do our best to continue our own existence.
We swear to uphold this bargain in words and in spirit, for to go against it would be no different from damaging our own self-interests. We swear to keep to it to the best of our abilities, with a few exceptions to be denoted later, namely a threat to our lives or those of our servants or fellow fae.
As the accord upholds:
We will uphold Hospitality to humans who were tricked into the fae realm. It may be to a lesser degree, but we shall do our best to ensure they do not come to permanent, irreversible harm.
We will treat fairly anyone who beats our puzzles. Anyone who handles our tricks. We shall engage with other species not as toys but as living creatures deserving of some amount of respect.
We will be true to the maintenance of the fae realm. In harvesting fear and secrets as we need to exist, but not in excess. We will maintain our own limits, and ensure that other rulers do so, too. We will be deserving of our names, of our titles, and of our stature.
Should we fail to uphold this bargain, then may our station be usurped and the mantle taken by one more deserving. May our words and our truth bind us to these words, and may the fae realm be stable against the encroaching void.
So we swear./
The beginnings of “The Fae Accords”, negotiated between Mercury Rainfall Starlight and all sixteen rulers of the fae realm.
- - - - - -
Lionel of Loneliness leaned against a tree. It was still growing, not too tall, but cast a nice bit of shade from the silver sun in the patchwork sky. “Your gardener does good work, Yr’enzel,” he said.
Mercury nodded. “I’m rather grateful to have gained an assistant as valuable as them. Kim is very helpful,” he said.
The buzzing static of emptiness looked up at the sky, seeing light filter through the leaves. His face, if it could be called one, seemed almost wistful. “So, it’s come to this.”
“It has,” Mercury said. “I am rested. I can see you, even if this world seems to slide off of you. If you’d like, we can begin.”
“Another moment,” the old ruler said. He stretched what passed for a hand to the sky, casting a buzzing shadow on his face. The world curled around him, the light warping to pass by his hand unbothered. The shadow on his face wasn’t a shadow at all, just an impression of one.
Lionel sighed. “I didn’t expect it to be this hard, you know?” he said. “All I’ve wanted is to find companionship again, and now? I’m scared.” For a brief moment, the static of his featureless face shifted, the buzz of black and white and nothing at all forming a wistful smile. “Who will I be? Will it be me, still?”
Mercury closed his eyes, humming. “It’s a complex question, that,” he said. “But… who are you, now? Aren’t we always changing? Me and you, right now, we’ll be shadows on the wall by tomorrow. In a decade, we’ll be forgotten, replaced by things that remember and resemble us, but are not us.”
He took a deep breath, smelling the grass and the flowers and the air that smelled just a little of rain. “My past self was worse than me, but doesn’t deserve scorn. It was me, once, and while I am not different, and, I’d like to think, better, I accept what I did. The wrongs and the rights. It’s hard to say that I forgive them, but I try.”
“As for my future self?” he smiled, just a little. “That, too, is me. What I will be. And that person will be different from who I am now. A little, maybe a lot. And I hope that they will look back at me, knowing that he is better and loving me for who I am still. I shall love my future self in hopes that he might remember me fondly.”
Lionel sighed. It was a staticy, crackling noise that buzzed in Mercury’s ears, like the crackling of an old tv, and a little like that sound a taser makes. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. It’s… I get you. That’s nice, y’know? Loving my future self, forgiving the past, and all that.”
He leaned further into the tree, and the wood bent around him, leaving a circular bit of emptiness. Mercury found it curious. There was something to be learnt there, he thought. He wanted to understand it, and he would, in due time.
“Ready?” the mopaaw asked.
The fae ruler nodded. “Ready,” he said.
A moment passed. It took about a second for Mercury to focus. To split his mind into four pieces, each sharp and <True> like a surgeon’s tools. For him to break the veil of gold and reason, the veil of iridescence and reality. For him to awaken the slumbering pieces of himself, well rested and ready to act.
It took only a moment longer for him to <Unravel> Lionel.
There was no resistance. The fae ruler actively let the process happen. His concept, though, was a different beast entirely.
Lionel was made from Loneliness. It was, inherently, antithetical to being touched and interacted with. It shied away from touch, trying to warp Mercury’s mind when he tried to interact with it. His rijn bent like light around a black hole, warping and stretching. It felt like digging his fingers into thick jello that shifted to pull him away.
But that sensation, too, was familiar. Mercury had been alone a lot, after all, in his past life. He’d grieved alone, he’d eaten alone, lived alone for well over a decade. He’d felt isolated, in a dead-end job, with barely any friends to spend time with. He knew what loneliness was about.
And this, too, was something he understood. Lionel, somewhere deep down, was scared of being touched. It was okay. There was nothing wrong with that, with that fear of interaction. Mercury had it, too. Being touched was intimate to him, and he didn’t like anyone but his close friends doing so.
Still, in this case, it was necessary, and so, Mercury pushed.
His knowledge and mind pressed against the invisible barrier that Lionel didn’t even know was there. It picked apart the static, pierced through the thick shield of isolation, and saw the deep emptiness within Lionel.
It ached. It was like a festering wound, a fear, beaten into him by decades of belief and action. Mercury knew it. He saw the similarities, learnt what he had been so curious about. He decoded the static, putting black to black and white to white until the static resolved into a picture of monochrome.
Of someone who was so scared that the hole dug itself deeper. In a vicious cycle of wanting to do but being unable to. The amount of energy that went into a single bit of outreach, the amount of bravery it took for him to take the step to even talk to Mercury.
And he saw the deep, aching pit of horrible loneliness.
[Your understanding of <Nothingness> has increased! <Nothingness (low) -> (medium)>]
He saw the connection. That being alone, too, was like being nothing. Without being seen, did one exist? If one perceived oneself, was that enough? He saw the deep hole that the absence of others and of care could leave, and the connection almost drew itself.
In the same way that <Nothingness> didn’t want to be perceived, could barely exist, and hardly wanted to be interacted with, loneliness was the same, and the other way around. It helped Mercury make a breakthrough, and for that he was grateful.
Now that he understood, too, he could dig into it.
The scalpels of his mind cut through that warping barrier, and remade Lionel.
Of course, they’d talked about it before. Lionel had made a wish about who he wanted to be, and Mercury was happy to oblige. And so, in the span of the next hour or three, Lionel was remade.
[<Medicine> has levelled up! <Medicine lv. 6 -> 7>]
[<Veil> has levelled up! <Veil lv. 4 -> 5>]
And then, just like that, it was done.
Lionel was now ruler of the court of Serenity.
The static around his face had disappeared. Mercury looked at the picture of an older man. Dark skin, a short but full beard, caramel eyes and curly hair that reached his shoulders. He wore a tracksuit and a pair of jeans, looking entirely average.
For a moment, Mercury felt almost like he was back on Earth, sitting in a park with a guy who might be a dad, and night be a little bit homeless. It felt quiet and calm. Like there could be birds chirping in the sky, but it was a little too cold for them. Like an autumn evening.
But it wasn’t Earth at all. He was still in his dream, his body made of astral flesh and stony mana veins. Lionel’s lips moved, but he only managed a few weak sounds, like a fish gulping out of water.
He stopped, looked down at himself, and laughed and cried at the same time. The laugh was empty and sounded more like hiccuping, like he had no idea what to do with this body of his that actually interacted with air.
Mercury found that a little funny, too. They laughed, quietly, together. And then, more time passed. Slowly, bit by bit, Lionel found his voice, and Mercury helped him figure out how to breathe. The mopaaw was a bit of an expert in that, after all.
Minutes turned into an hour, then a little more. By the end of that time, Lionel finally found his voice. It was a little hoarse, like someone who hadn’t drunk in a while, but Mercury wove him a glass.
It took him a while to figure that out, but he had held glasses quite often, since he was renowned for drinking water, too. As many humans were. It was almost as familiar as printer paper, and so, he managed to construct one after a little while.
Filling it with water only took a small application of <Water>, <Rainstorm> and <Ice Magic>.
The man downed the glass in one long gulp, then gave a snicker. It was a small laugh. “Haaaah,” he said. “It’s been so long since I’ve had water.”
Mercury just nodded, letting him talk.
Lionel smiled. It was a big smile, and it made his whole face light up. “Serenity, huh?” he asked.
“Yep. As you asked,” Mercury said, smiling softly.
“I did,” Lionel said. “I think it suits me. ‘Lionel of Serenity’. Has a certain ring to it, no?” he asked, grinning.
“Sure does,” Mercury agreed readily. “Why serenity?”
“Ah, that.” The fae scratched the back of his head in a motion that was surprisingly human. “Well, y’see. Silence and Secrets aren’t for me. They’re so… rigid and formal, y’know? Serenity, on the other hand, it’s simple. Casual. You’re quiet when you need to be, you get to think, you get to enjoy someone else’s company without interacting much. It’s like, rather than being all formal, I get to just feel out when it’s right, right? And it’s a more positive connotation,” he said.
Mercury smiled. “Yeah, it suits you alright.”
“Haha. I s’pose it does.”
Then, the two shared a moment of serenity.
- - -
“This is goodbye, then?” Arber asked.
“Yeah,” Mercury said. “For a little while, at least. Unless you can institute an avatar in the mortal realm.”
Arber shook their head at that. It was just slow enough to be wistful and amused, in a way their blank face couldn’t otherwise communicate. “No,” they said. “I can’t.”
“Then it’s goodbye. I’ll see you again, friend,” Mercury said.
“Now, I wouldn’t say that,” Arber noted. “We do have some options.”
Mercury tilted his head. “Oh?”
Arber nodded. “Ancient ones are a little special. We can all communicate, as you know. Me, Sibori, Omori, Nether, Sera and all the others. So, if you started a court with your own ancient one…”
“Absolutely not!” Mercury said. “Nope! Nah-uh! I worked dang hard to establish balance in this place, I’m not gonna cause more uproar this late.”
“Yohohoho,” Arber laughed. “Shoulda seen your face, scallywag. Yohoho. No, of course you wouldn’t. But y’know, some of the fae have already started calling you the Silver King after that stunt you pulled at the court of… what’s now Lifeblood, I suppose.”
Mercury grimaced. “Oh gods. Well, it could be worse than Silver King, I guess…”
The ancient one held back another snicker, and instead stood up straight, to their full height, enhanced by the large pirate hat they wore. “Now, let me be serious. I cannot make an avatar in the mortal realm. However.”
“We’ve found a bit of a… workaround,” Orin supplied.
“Right,” Arber said. Then, the avatar reached up into their head, and pulled out a large feather. The delicate wooden structure proceeded to twist in on itself, and with a grating crunching noise, it turned into a pale acorn. That one, Arber handed to Orin.
“See, if I then use my <Superposition>,” the fae said, and suddenly split into two copies of themselves, each holding an acorn, “then these two are linked. And since part of your dream realm travels with you, and is kind of made up of bits of the fae realm, we can plant one acorn here, one acorn there, and it’s a little like… putting light through multiple polarizing filters to keep a chunk of it, rather than through two opposite ones.”
“What?” Mercury asked.
Orin rubbed their eyes with their paws. “Right,” they said. “So. Think of the mortal and fae realm as… offset. Thing from one don’t like existing in the other. This is like making steps. Rather than dragging Arber into a space hostile to them, you’re creating an easy transition step to another copy in the fae realm. Then another, slightly more difficult step to your dream realm. Then another step, using you as an anchor, to the mortal realm. Rather than one huge step, it’s like multiple smaller ones.”
Mercury blinked. “Right,” he said. “That makes sense.”
“Sooo,” Arber said, more chipper than they ought to be. “You plant one acorn in the fae realm. One in your dream realm. And I get to grow a big tree in your inner world, what do you say?”
“And whenever I cast <Dream Manifestation>, you can show up in the mortal realm?” Mercury asked.
“Bingo,” Orin said, smiling. “It’s like adding even more steps to the chain, each one possible by itself. Like building a staircase instead of a deadly fall.”
With a nod, Mercury accepted the acorns. “Right,” he said. “I suppose I need to find some land in the fae realm, then.”
“Way ahead of you,” Arber said. “See, the other ancient ones want in. We’ve prepped a plot.”
“Alright. Where?” Mercury asked.
At that, the avatar seemed elated. Beyond pleased, really. “I’m not telling,” they said. “You gotta find it.”
Mercury would have rolled his eyes, but… there was no malice there. This was a puzzle. In a way, it was made as a gift to him. Where would they have hidden it? Which of the sixteen courts would be the sanctuary of his connection.
He focussed.
The world started to come apart in front of his eyes. Each thing, each bit of it taken apart into a tangled mess of interests, connections, meaning and pointlessness. Mercury sifted through it, picking it apart, string by string.
A hundred connections were passed aside each second, dismissed and discarded. And then, he found one.
From Arber, there was a tether. It seemed rather integral to the ancient tree, leading into the distance somewhere Mercury could not yet see. But it felt familiar. Resonated with him, and the tiny acorns he’d been handed.
<Itinerant> triggered. The world warped, and Mercury felt himself be pushed and pulled to match a path that should not fit him. His <Truth> kept him in one piece, maintaining that he was inviolable. And then, a moment later, the pulling stopped.
Mercury was in another room. Well, to call it a room would be disingenuous.
It was a grove. A faerie grove, complete with all the features such a place would need. There were rings of mushrooms, a thick fog at its edges that confused the senses and seemed impassable. There were trees and growths dispersed through it, both orderly and yet natural.
And there were twelve plants, specifically, that he took note of.
Each one was a copy of one of the ancient ones; those that he could identify, and those that he had not seen before.
The faerie grove wasn’t just that, though. It was quiet. There were gravel paths throughout it. Wrought metal benches, arrayed by the side. Cobblestone framing for the paths, and a light mist in the air that tasted of ice and somber silence.
“Hello traveller,” the caretaker said. “You’ve found me again.”
Mercury smiled. “So it seems.”
“And you’ve held your bargain,” she noted, smiling underneath that dark hat of hers. “You’ve saved my brother.”
“I tried,” Mercury said. “In some ways, he is the same. In others, he is different.”
The woman shrugged. “Change is life’s only constant, is it not?” she asked. Then she smiled. “Enough of that. You have my gratitude. Not in the way a fae would promise, but in the human sense that you and I understand. Come, let us walk.”
And so they did. Through the mist, through the grove. For a while, neither said anything. They both knew the gravel-strewn paths would be long enough to let them say whatever needed saying.
“You will note,” the caretaker said, “that this grove is attached to my realm. My graveyard, if you would call it that.” She took a deep breath. “It is the last remaining vestige of Silence that I managed to preserve. How amusing, then, to find it repurposed for communication, no?” She smiled.
Mercury nodded. “It’s a little funny,” he admitted.
“Indeed,” the woman said, nodding. “I feel you understand me more this time.”
“I do,” Mercury agreed. “I have grieved since we last met. And so, I understand. This is, in some ways, a place of mourning. Of remembrance.”
At that, she gave him a long look. “It is,” she whispered. “It is a place to quietly listen to all those stories, and it has become a place to tell a few new ones.”
The two walked, accompanied only by the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet. Distantly, it sounded reminiscent of snow. The world here was thin, but that also meant it was easy to connect to, a place in a boundary of here and not at all. A place that was meant to be found.
“You have a question for me,” Mercury noted.
The caretaker looked at him, surprised. “I find myself with one, yes,” she said.
Mercury smiled, faintly. “Ask.”
“Your travels. There ought to be some kind of catalogue of them, I think.” She looked at Mercury. “I take care of stories. That is who I am. I ensure they’re given proper care and respect.”
“As far as I can see, you do a rather skilled job at it,” Mercury nodded.
“Would you let me catalogue your journey, then?” she asked.
“Oh. Somehow, I did not see that coming,” Mercury said “Hah. I don’t think it's worth chronicling, is it?”
She smiled. “I will have to disagree with that.”
“What would you even call it?” he asked. “Gay catman chronicles?”
The caretaker snickered. “Perhaps something simpler. Say, you chose your own name, no? And this form you have, what was it called on your old world?”
“I’d call this a cat,” he said. “And yes. I do quite like my name.”
“Then, hmmm, what would you say of Mercury - Reborn as a Cat.”
He stopped walking for a moment. It felt… silly, but having a story told about him? It seemed really cool. Like, really fucking cool. “I, uh,” he stammered, swallowing. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”
The two walked in silence for a little while. “Wait,” he said. “How the heck did you pronounce a hyphen?!”
With another, ephemeral laugh, the caretaker walked onwards through the misty grove, not deigning to answer. Instead, they came upon a small, empty patch of grove. Ringed by the ancients, Mercury held an acorn.
“Here we are, then, traveller,” the caretaker said. “Plant it.”
It was a small plot or brown earth, ringed in cobblestones. He walked forward, through the faint mist. His paws touched the soft dirt, leaving tiny imprints in it. He reached forward, digging out a little bit of soil.
Then, he planted the acorn, gently covering it again.
Pale branches sprouted, and grew, into a small sapling, then larger. They creaked and cracked in the quiet, forming into a small pedestal, no, a lectern.
And then, a book grew on that lectern. It was made from the same pale wood, its pages thin and bending, quite literally alive. They flickered through, one after another, growing in front of his eyes, and then, the book grew a cover and closed.
It was thick. The edges gilded faintly with a golden sheen, looking a little like a tarot card. The wood carved itself, tiny furrows digging into it, swirls and lines assembling into a facsimile of fur, into a facsimile of him.
And then, the title carved itself into the book.
Mercury - Reborn as a Cat.
He smiled. It was beautiful.
- - - - - -
End of Book 2:
Truth Unravelled
- - - - - -
Mercury will return next week, for book 3. Thank you all for reading.
Comments
Lump-93
They said it! I'm surprised you left off any system messages. I'm not sure where you would have put them but it feels weird to end a book without at least a mention of looking at them later. Especially with Appy being a pretty regular character. At this point, even liking the fae realm arc, I'm glad we're moving on to the next one. The accords almost feel like another world message would be issued. Maybe if this was ever a standalone book an epalogue chapter would be a diff pov chapter of various people in and out of the fae realm about Mercury's impact? Anyways, looking forward to finding out what is next. Maybe we'll finally see the elusive kin Mercury keeps getting compared too/recognized as.
