Wirhin the heart of the Faerie Kingdom pulsed with an ethereal light. Not from the sun, for the canopy above was a tangled mess of forgotten foliage, but from a mystical pool nestled amongst the ancient roots of a colossal tree. Elder Faerie Cookie, his once vibrant dough now etched with the passage of ages, stood vigil beside it. His gnarled staff, once a symbol of flourishing magic, mirrored the dimmed luminescence emanating from the water.

"The whispers grow stronger," he murmured, his voice a dry rasp against the rustling leaves.