Chapter One: Whispers of a Ghost in the Wind
The wind whispered through the trees like a secret never meant to be spoken aloud.
On the edge of the Everfall Woods, where the human world bled into the realm of the fairies, a presence stirred one that left no footprints, no scent, no trace. Just a cold tension in the air, a hush in the leaves, and an uneasy feeling crawling across the skin of those who dared come too close.
He had no name the world would speak. No face it remembered. For he was invisible not only to sight but to history, erased by design and feared by decree.
He stood beneath a twisted yew tree, his breath shallow though he hadn't needed to breathe in years. The curse was still active, binding him tighter than any prison could. Once, long ago, he'd tried to count the days, but time became meaningless when you had no reflection, no shadow, no way of knowing whether the sun rose or fell.
He was the ghost they told stories about. The monster used to frighten children. And yet, he had once been human.
Now he was something else.
The fairy kingdom of Elowen shimmered in the distance, a glowing mirage built atop a hidden waterfall and woven from starlight and root. He could not cross into it. The wards would incinerate him before he set foot on its soil. He knew. He'd tried.
But he could watch.
And he did, often. Especially when she appeared.
Princess Lysaria of the Glimmering Crown.
She wasn't like the others. She laughed too freely, danced barefoot through the meadows, and argued with the palace priests about the future of the realm. She wore sapphire silk in winter, gold braids in summer, and a curious gleam in her eye all year round. Her people called her reckless. He called her radiant.
He should have turned away.
He should have never watched.
But even monsters crave warmth.
The wind shifted again, and his senses flared. Sound, movement, emotion, all more vibrant to him than to any living man. A bird stirred in a nearby tree. A rabbit fled underground. And something else… someone… approached.
Footsteps. Soft. Bare.
Her.
She walked without guards again. Foolish, he thought, but part of him admired her for it. She didn't know he was there. She never did. Not truly.
Lysaria reached the clearing, her dress catching in the wind. She dropped to the grass with a sigh, plucking a wildflower and spinning it between her fingers.
"Another boring meeting," she murmured. "Another lecture about duty, tradition, betrothal."
She leaned back on her elbows and stared up at the sky. "I want something more."
He didn't move. Not a sound. But something about the air changed and she noticed. Her brow furrowed.
She sat up quickly. "Who's there?"
He froze.
Lysaria scanned the trees. "I felt something."
Of course she did. She was a fairy royal, after all attuned to magic. Sensitive to shifts in energy.
"I know someone's here," she said, standing slowly. "You're hiding. But not from me."
He should run. He should vanish into the forest and let her think it was the wind or a trick of light. But for the first time in decades… he didn't want to.
"Why aren't you answering?" she called again, her voice firm but not afraid. "Are you a scout? A spy?"
The temptation to speak was overwhelming. His voice, once forgotten, itched at the back of his throat. He hadn't used it in so long, hadn't heard his own words in ages.
He stepped forward. Just once. A twig snapped beneath his foot.
Lysaria's eyes widened. "There you are."
He stopped.
"I can't see you, but I feel you." She paused. "Why are you hiding? Are you cursed?"
Silence.
"Are you…" She tilted her head. "Are you the one they call the Vanished Phantom?"
That name. The one the fairies used in hushed tones. The name that replaced his real one.
He didn't reply.
"You're supposed to be dangerous," she said, not moving. "But you're standing there, silent. Watching. If you wanted to harm me, you would have by now."
Her confidence startled him. No one had spoken to him with calm in their voice, not in decades. Most screamed. Ran. Threw spells or steel. But she was studying him like a puzzle.
"Can you speak?" she asked.
He hesitated, then nodded, knowing full well she wouldn't see it.
"I'm not here to hurt you," she said. "But I don't like being spied on."
His voice came at last, low and hoarse. "I'm sorry."
She gasped, eyes searching the space in front of her. "You can talk."
"I don't usually."
"Why?"
"Because no one listens."
Her expression softened. "Well… I'm listening."
He said nothing.
She waited a moment, then took a step forward. "Will you tell me your name?"
"I don't have one anymore."
"That's sad," she whispered.
He swallowed. "I had a name once."
"Then let me give you a new one."
The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. "You don't even know me."
"I know you didn't run away, and you didn't hurt me," she said. "That's more than I can say for most suitors who call themselves noble."
Silence fell between them.
She smiled faintly. "I'm Lysaria."
"I know," he replied before he could stop himself.
"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched. "Been watching me long?"
He stiffened.
Her smile widened. "Relax. I'm flattered."
He wanted to turn away. To leave before he got tangled in this. But he didn't. He couldn't.
"Will I see you again?" she asked.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether or not your kingdom sends hunters after me."
Lysaria's eyes gleamed with a mischievous light. "Let them try."
Then she turned, walking away without looking back.
But her voice floated behind her like a promise:
"Next time, I want to hear more than whispers."
And for the first time in a long, long while…
He wanted a next time.