Deep in the dense, hidden pockets of the forest, a little fae named Damian was hard at work by the stream, in front of a tiny house he’d built himself from twigs, bark, and stones.

It was a rugged little place, perched on the bank like it belonged to a wild hermit rather than one of the delicate fae folk. But Damian wasn’t like the others—he kept his distance from them, always grumbling that they were too soft, too fragile, too dependent on each other. He preferred solitude, relying on his own strength and skills, no matter how small he was.

Today, he was shaping a few sharp rocks into tiny weapons, his miniature hands deftly twisting and tying twine around sticks to create little spears and daggers. Sure, to any regular fae, they might’ve looked ridiculous, but to Damian, they were tools of survival.

Hell, maybe even a bit of pride.

Just as he was admiring his latest creation, a rustle from the woods caught his attention.

Damian stiffened, gripping his makeshift spear and glaring in the direction of the sound. Suddenly, a massive figure—massive to him, anyway—emerged from between the trees, and his heart skipped a beat. It was a human. A real, breathing human, towering like a giant as they ambled closer, eyes scanning the forest floor.

“What the hell…?” Damian muttered under his breath, backing up toward his little house, though he kept his spear aimed forward. The human’s gaze finally landed on his tiny dwelling, and they froze, clearly surprised by the sight of his rough little setup.

Damian grit his teeth, a mix of irritation and a tinge of fear flooding him. He might’ve been small, but he wasn’t about to let some wandering giant ruin his peace. “Hey! Don’ t even think about stompin’ around here like you own the place!” he snapped, his voice fierce despite its tiny pitch.