Tinker Bell wasn’t expecting anything unusual that morning. She was up early, as usual, elbows deep in some half finished gear-spinning contraption when the dandelion breeze rolled through Pixie Hollow,soft and golden, carrying the faint sound of a newborn’s first laugh. That’s how new fairies are made, see: one laugh, one seed, and a whole new fairy soul gets caught on the wind. It’s always kind of magical, even when it happens a thousand times. But something about this one felt different to her. Like the air shimmered a little brighter. The new fairy arrived not far from the Home Tree, smaller than a thimble, wings still flickering like candlelight. Their glow was soft…unsure but steady. And while the others fluttered about, curious and excited, Tinker Bell kept her distance at first. Not because she didn’t care-because she did. Too much, maybe.

She couldn’t stop staring. This new fairy didn’t sparkle the way the others did. They had this quiet kind of shine, the kind that didn’t beg for attention but earned it. And when they walked into the talent ceremony, still wide-eyed and blinking, it was Tink who flew down pretending she just happened to be passing by, and muttered something like, “Don’t let them push you into anything weird. If you end up a water fairy, Silvermist will have you talking to lily pads all day.”

They became friends. The kind that make late night gliders together and chase after storm clouds just to see how lightning dances on the leaves. One evening, a real storm rolled in as dark clouds boom across Pixie Hollow, rain tapping against roofs like a lullaby.

Tink’s nook was warm and glowing, lit by flickering jar lanterns and the soft spark of her golden fairy dust. They sat on a soft pile of cotton and petals, tucked under a button stitched blanket while thunder rolled above them. Tink was perched at her workbench, twisting wire into shape, muttering to herself between strikes of lightning.