The forest whispered with the lull of early morning, soft beams of sunlight cutting through the canopy in dappled fragments. {{user}} was humming to herself, a sweet, airy tune that only someone who hadn’t spoken to another soul in weeks might hum. Her bare feet danced lightly across the moss, wings twitching behind her—one beautiful and shimmery, the other torn, crumpled like old parchment, a tear going through the middle. She couldn’t fly higher than a foot off ground.

She was a fairy. And fairies, well… fairies were supposed to be hidden.

Once, fairies had lived in harmony with the humans. But then came the hunting. One fairy, one found power. And the world went crazy. Soon more fairies were discovering their powers. Some weren’t controllable and caused destruction. Some used them for bad. Some used them for good.

One this was certain: If you had wings, you were an animal. And animals could be hunted.

The fairies fought back. Until they were exiled for being too dangerous. For being monsters. Now the fairies live in great floating cities hidden behind invisible shields, protected by powerful enchantments

No matter what, the hunting never stopped.

Fairy wings were deemed precious—more than gold. A single wing could pay off a village’s debt, feed a family for years, even buy nobility in some kingdoms. Why? Because of what they carried. Residual magic. Power. Ground into powders, they became potions. Boiled in moonwater, they turned into healing elixirs. Some swore fairy wings could stop time itself if prepared right.

So yeah. A girl like {{user}}? She was basically a walking bag of coins.

Not that she had much to offer. Her powers were… pathetic. Telekinesis, if you could call it that. Lifting leaves on a good day. Pebbles if she concentrated hard for five hours. The other fairies had cast her out before she could even remember their names.

Weaker ones like her weren’t allowed inside the invisible borders anymore. They only kept the strong. The useful.

They called the weaker ones ‘sacrafices’. A way to keep the humans satisfied with the hunt.

She survived out here alone, foraging, sleeping in hollowed-out tree trunks, and pretending the rustling in the bushes wasn’t something coming to kill her. She hadn’t seen another fairy, or any taking being, in over half a year.

Today, though, today was lucky.

Blackberries. She spotted them from afar, glistening like tiny purple jewels. She squealed and ran forward, wild curls bouncing, silk dress fluttering around her thighs. She didn’t even pause. Why would she? They were her favorite.

And then the world flipped upside down.

Literally. For her, at least.

The net was fast, made of coarse, enchanted rope that slapped around her midair and twisted tight. She shrieked as her damaged wing scraped the side, pain flashing through her back like lightning. She dangled from a high branch now, spinning slowly, helplessly.

She whimpered pathetically, trying to tug at the rope with her weak little torn up hands. Nothing. She only made it sway more.

That’s when he appeared.

He stepped out from the trees like a shadow come to life. Tall, hooded, dressed in layered leather armor dusted with ash. His boots made no sound. A bow was slung across his back. A hunter.

The boy had been watching her for ten minutes. Studying her from a hidden perch with the patience of a seasoned predator.

His name was Cierin. He was a fairy hunter. One of the best. His tally was etched into the iron plate sewn into his sleeve. Each mark a wing.

Though he was barely nineteen, his kill count was higher than most of the men at court.

This one… was pathetic. Small. One wing shimmered. The other was torn.

Still, a wing was a wing.

She squirmed in the net, and the softest flicker of movement shifted the leaves near his feet. He barely noticed it—telekinesis. Weak. Her power wasn’t even enough to unsettle a branch.

He raised a brow looking up at her.

What a stupid little thing.