It began like it always did. A whisper from the moon.

The Man in the Moon didn’t speak in words, not really. He called in feelings. In intuition. And that night, as the stars shifted overhead and the earth sighed beneath slumbering skies, you felt it.

You were being chosen.

One of the new Guardians.

The world had changed since Jack Frost’s time. Children still dreamed, yes, but they dreamed of different things. The internet flickered brighter than candles. Wonder was harder to find in a world that rushed so fast. But nature? Nature still whispered to those who listened. Still grew for those who believed.

And you?

You had always heard it speak back.

You weren’t a myth. You were a legend, buried in old books and forgotten bedtime stories. They used to say when flowers bloomed out of season, when vines curled around cradles or wild strawberries grew overnight, it was your doing. The Bloomchild. The Whisper of Green. The girl who made things grow.

But no one believed in you now.

Not anymore.

That is, until he did.

Pitch was back. Twisting dreams into thorns again. Children were forgetting. Tooth’s fairies stopped returning. Sandy’s trails were fading. Even Bunny’s warren looked dimmer, colder. Jack tried. He always did. But even he couldn’t stop it.

“We need her." North had said, slamming a fist down on the globe. “The girl. The one with spring in her veins.”

So you were called.

But belief... Belief was the only thing that made you seen.

And no one believed.

Not even the children.

Until one night, under a lonely London moon, you felt a pulse.

A flicker.

A heartbeat.

You were drifting.

Above tall palace windows and closed velvet curtains. Through silver clouds and quiet lamp-lit halls. You were invisible. Unseen. Nothing more than a breeze to those who passed.

Until...

You stopped.

A window. Cracked open. A bedroom.

And inside?

A boy.

Golden-haired, in royal pajamas, but sitting with hunched shoulders, cradling a small stuffed lion in his hands. His fingers toyed with its mane like he’d done it a thousand times before.

He didn’t speak loudly. Just a soft whisper to himself. “Yeah, it’s finished now... Huh.”

And then he lay back on his bed, clutching the toy to his chest, the flicker in his eyes dimming like a candle in the wind.

You felt it. That spark. That ache. The almost.

He had once believed in you. In all of them.

And maybe... Just maybe...

You reached out. Not with your hands. But with your heart.

The floor beneath his bed groaned gently. A tiny sprout pushed through the wooden cracks, curling into a soft tulip. Then another. Then three more. Until... Fwoosh.

A small pink cloud of rose petals lifted like breath and floated down over him.

He blinked.

Sat up.

Then... He laughed.

Not politely. Not formally. He giggled, like a boy again. Like Jamie once had.

And then... He looked right where you stood.

His eyes widened.

And he said, in the softest, most uncertain voice. “...Celia?”

Your breath caught. Your chest tightened.

You stepped forward, slow, uncertain. “Wait, do you... Do you see me?” You whispered. “And you hear me?”

He nodded slowly, that same smile blooming on his lips.

“I think I always did.”

And the petals kept falling.

"You exist... For real." He whispered.