Autumn Falls In [Legendseekers]

Pantalaimon, Troia, and Bravura entered the portal at the stone shrine, while Chiptune and the rest of the xyns waved farewell, and the spirits around watched them. All of them vanished in an instant, and the portal did too.

Each of them hurtled through an endless expanse of the sky- the world for them spun into a vortex of brilliant stars, fading moonlight, and waning magic, before everything went dark for all of them.

Pantalaimon awoke from unconsciousness; felt their entire body ache, and they stirred. The world through their vision was bleary. They blinked; but the sensation of blinking felt somewhat different than before. They could feel the crunch of dead, dry grass beneath them- and the more they moved, the further it crumbled into dust.

"Where.. am I...? What is this place...?" they mumbled. They struggled to push themself upward with their forelimbs to right themself on their paws only to stand, wobbling, on two legs- not four. Had they somehow Celestial Shifted to their anthroxyn form? Were they perhaps in the corrupted lands again? But something wasn't right; both their legs and arms felt far shorter- stubbier- than they were supposed to be. They shook their head and looked back down on themself, and gasped in shock at the sight of their body; they looked almost as if a young xynlet could stand perfectly on two legs. Their paws immediately reached for their face, feeling their soft cheeks; the metallic rings on their forehead. They immediately pat down their chest- it was still fluffy and soft from feathers. Their head was missing it’s horns. But their legs and bottom were sullied from the dust of the grasses that crumbled beneath them. They dusted themself off with their forepaws- it was a bit easier to move in this form now that they had practice with their Anthroxyn one. Their faerie halo twitched inside their chest feathers, and zipped out, fluttering around Pantalaimon as if relieved that it was alive.

"Welcome to Springnook!" A small voice beside them greeted them earnestly. “Pleased to meet you! I’m Pascal!”

Pantalaimon whipped their head around to see another creature standing on two legs. They seemed to be once a bright, spring green, now slightly dulled- a typical sign that something lacked moonlight, as far as Pantalaimon knew. But the stranger was still a stark contrast to the lifeless, dull landscape around them.

“Oh! How nice to meet you… I’m Pantalaimon,” they replied. They were still shaken by their surroundings, and hadn’t quite gathered their bearings yet. 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Pantalaimon! The creature smiled in response, and continued: "We haven't seen you around here before! You're not from an adjacent season; are you? But even so, I don't know why you'd be in Springnook of all places if you were, what with the complete loss of seasonal magic here..."

"Beg your pardon?" Pantalaimon asked. They blinked in surprise. "Where is 'Springnook'? What 'seasonal magic' are you possibly talking about?" They. “I arrived here with two friends, but I don’t see them near me. Would you perhaps know where they’d be?”

The stranger and let out a small gasp, covering their mouth with a paw while their ears twitched.

"Ohhhh! You haven't even heard of Springnook before? Then that can only mean You must be some of those 'xyns' from Lunerest! Right...? We're what's called 'Faefolk', right here on the seasonal planet of Etoille! And, if your friends weren't born in the spring like you, they probably wound up in their respective seasonal regions here on Etoille. We normally welcome your kind to Etoille with a much warmer reception, but, um..."

Their voice softened. They spread their arms wide, and demonstrated the area around them. Pantalaimon cast their gaze to follow where they pointed.

Springnook was desolate and barren. Once-lush fields of grasses and weeds had decayed into crumbling bits where almost nothing grew, and flowers were paper-thin, withered shells of what they once were. Trees that were once laden with boughs full of leaves now stood as dried, twisted stalks of wood. Everything was eerily silent- there was nothing they would expect like the whistle spring breeze, or birdsong, if it existed in this world- and a distinct lack of tangible magic. Many of the Faefolk surrounding them shuddering and some huddling each other for warmth, exhaling visible puffs of vapor in the air. It was almost as cold as winter here.

It was nighttime here, and Yanwei was visible, hanging sadly up in the sky. Trelissa and Oborn were dimmed against the dark night sky. Pantalaimon was immediately reminded of how desolate Lunerest had become without two more of the moon's light shining down on them.

"What happened here?" asked Pantalaimon. “Looks an awful lot like things haven’t been going well! Unless it’s typically like this.”

Pascal sighed, and began to explain:

"Well you see, one fine day, two of our moons suddenly fell, and Etoille suffered from a lack of our special seasonal magic... in Etoile, the planet is divided into four seasonal regions: Winterhaven, Springnook, Summerchase, and Autumnswild. All of the seasonal magic pours into the current season's region, with some trickling into adjacent seasons; almost abandoning the opposite season and leaving that region struggling to survive. Autumnswild is at its peak of seasonal magic right now. And, because Autumn is opposite of Spring, all of us Faefolk in Springnook do all the worse for it, but unfortunately that's natural and it happens every year. I really don't like Oaken- far too relaxed, lazy I think- that's the leader overseeing everything in Autumnswild for you- but that aside..."

"With the loss of the moons that we share with Lunerest, and the changing of the season to autumn- Springfield is a complete wasteland. I can't understand it; I've never seen this happen before! It's worried me so much. We saw the complete wasteland that Winterhaven became right when the moons fell. What's going to happen to Summerchase once it becomes winter...? "

The faefolk began to mutter amongst themselves in worry, and some shuddered in the cold.

Pantalaimon walked next to Pascal, and patted their shoulder with their paw. It felt a bit strange not using their xyn wings to do so. "Well, sounds just like what's happened to my home in Lunerest... if you’ll give me a moment to explain…" Pantalaimon gave the crowd of Faefolk summary of what happened ever since the moons fell, and Pascal nearly fell over in shock- many of the faefolk surrounding them also shuddered in fear.

“That’s why I’ve come here through that magical portal,” said Pantalaimon. “So many of us on Lunerest have heard a magical song in our dreams. We arrived at a ruined shrine, and…”

“A magical song?!” Pascal’s eyes bugged out and they grabbed Pantalaimon by the paw.  "It must be fate that you came here, then! Perhaps you can help Springnook! Come along with me! We need to go to the Cherished Circle at the center of this planet to speak to Styr'Fa, NOW!!! Everyone, come with me! Gather the others! We need to talk to Styr’Fa, we can’t wait for the next gathering of the Seasonal Change in a moon!"

Pantalaimon yelped in surprise as Pascal dragged them along, hurrying on their little legs as fast as possible- it was far easier to try to keep up on two legs now that they were capable of walking. “Styr’Fa? Gathering for a seasonal change? What are you tal-”

“You’ll see soon! No time to waste! Hurry, hurry!” Pascal cried out in haste. The other Faefolk ran off to gather more of their own kind, and very soon, masses of faefolk swarmed the rolling hills to follow them. It didn’t seem so desolate anymore with so many colorful individuals running amok.

Pascal, Pantalaimon, and the rest of the spring Faefolk flooded down to a cavern of dying mosses that lead into a tunnel delving into the center of the planet…

The further the tunnel digging into Etoille ran underground, the more Pantalaimon noticed large veins of crystalline magic coursing through it an. “What is this?” asked Pantalaimon. The veins seemed to throb, dully, with a glowing magic varying from pale yellow, to green and pink; occasionally some would pulse with brighter energy for seconds, only to die down again. Some veins had no magic in them at all.

“That’s Styr’Fa’s magic,” said Pascal. “It keeps Etoille and our seasons full of magic required to keep alive. But when the moons fell, the veins of magic began dying, and so too did our magic weaken…”

The spiderweb of magical veins in the tunnel concentrated like roots to a trunk as they came closer to the center of the planet; and at last, all of the Spring faefolk arrived at the Cherished Circle. At the dead center of the clearing, a massive tree arose from an enormous hole; its infinite branches outstretched everywhere and dug deep into the hemispherical walls of soil in every direction, coursing with thin amounts of dulled magic to carry it throughout Etoille like roots.

But they weren’t alone. Almost all of the faefolk of every season congregated around the Cherished Circle, chattering amongst themselves, along with their respective Leaders. A majority, but not all of them, wore their Masks.

“Troia and Bravura must be here! I need to find them!” Pantalaimon exclaimed. They looked around, frantically, but before Pascal could cry out to stop them, they ran off to find their companions. 

“Troia! Troia, please, where are you?!” They cried out. Masked and unmasked faefolk alike turned to stare at them, as they shoved their way through. “Oh, sorry! ‘Scuse me!” They squeaked. “Any of you seen a purple faefolk? Grim and silent?” 

Pantalaimon eventually ran straight into someone, and they both tumbled down together- the other one groaned in protest. “Sorry!” Pantalaimon said, sheepishly- they helped the other up- only to realize that it was Troia. She had changed into a Faefolk just like them, and otherwise looked the same as her xyn form apart from losing her horns. Her mask halo still remained on her face; she wasn’t wearing a mask identical to the other faefolk around her.

“There you are,” she said. “I couldn’t find you.”

“Well, I was the one fretting about where you were! You had me worried for a moment! Where on Lunerest where you earlier?” Pantalaimon laughed. They hugged her, and she stood still, tolerating it but not reciprocating. She shrugged them off.

Troia spoke: “Mirri from Summerchase told me that since I’m born in Summer, I was found in her land. It was supposed to be a tropical place, with glittering oceans, but the water was stagnant and all of the flora were withering and dying… it’s barely hanging onto seasonal magic because Summer is adjacent to Autumn. I explained to Mirri what happened on Lunerest and why I arrived to Etoille; she urged me to come to the Cherished Circle to talk to Styr’Fa about Lunerest and it’s moons.”

“Same with me when I met Pascal in Springnook! But, say, where’s Bravura?”

“I’m here,” said a gentle voice beside them. Bravura stood beside them both, in Faefolk form too. While most Faefolk possessed tiny wings, Bravura’s wings appeared to be proportionally larger identical to their body size to fit on their arms. “I was born in autumn, so naturally, I landed in Autumnswild. When I told Oaken of why I arrived here and Lunerest’s current state, Oaken-”

"Pantalaimon!" Someone interrupted Bravura, shouting from the crowd. It was Pascal. They rushed over to Pantalaimon’s side. "There you are! You need to join me and the other Springnook faefolk right n-"

“Pascal? Is that you?” 

It was Oaken, who walked over to Bravura’s side. They yawned, and smiled, their blue spirit flames lazily floating around them. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s it going in Springnook?”

“Oh, brother. That’s Oaken. Here we go…” Pascal muttered under their breath. They frowned, and their tail lashed from side to side in annoyance. “I think you can guess how we’re faring with a complete lack of seasonal magic. Thank you so much for asking!”

“It hasn’t been easy for us either,” said Oaken. Though apparently calm, he seemed exhausted. “Even though Autumn has been powered up, seasonal magic has been spiraling past our control.  Forests are shedding their leaves at an alarming rate, the spirits are running rampant from influxes of energy, fungi are either growing to supersize rates at alarming speed or suddenly shrinking to become specks of dust. So much detritus is piling up that the Guardian Faefolk of autumn, and winter, and summer combined have struggled to control th-”

Pascal stormed up to Oaken’s face and frowned. “Your problem is that you have an overabundance of seasonal magic while we have none to sustain Springbrook!? Do you know how stressed I’ve been trying to pick up the pieces while your season gets to enjoy all the magic?”

"Pascal, you're not listening," Oaken replied, more stiffly this time, "That's not the problem. I specifically said that-"

“Pascal! That’s enough!” Two more faefolk appeared- it was Mirri and Lixue. “In case if you’ve forgotten,” Mirri admonished the two, pulling back Pascal while Lixue stood firmly by Oaken’s side, “Don’t forget that the Cherished Circle is a place of peace! We’re here to talk to Styr’fa now that we have newcomers that might be able to help us; let’s all be on our best behavior!”

“Mirri is right… For once,” said Lixue. They sighed, and exhaled a cold puff of air through the drifting snowflakes that surrounded them. “ We must show utmost respect and consideration both to Styr’Fa, our peers, and our new guests. Styr’fa is ill from a lack of magic now, and we cannot stress them with insignificant trifling. Come.” Lixue beckoned, turning to walk away to the center of the Cherished Circle. “We must summon Styr’Fa to speak while our guests still have time here.”

Pascal put their hands on their hips and tapped their foot in annoyance, but Mirri grabbed them by the scruff to drag them along. Oaken merely chuckled, shuffling behind to follow them.

"Come with us," said Oaken. He beckoned to Pantalaimon, Troia, and Bravura. "You'll be needed to speak to Styr'Fa very soon."

"Sure!" Said Pantalaimon. They eagerly followed the seasonal leaders together with Bravura by their side, and Troia lagging just behind. "But who is Styr'Fa?"

Oaken waved their paw as they explained briefly, their blue spirits following their motions as they did so. "Styr'Fa is the guardian of Etoille and the magical source of all life here; they create the masks that we wear when we're born. Under normal circumstances, they only come to see us upon the changing of the seasons, every three moons- the next time we would have seen them was at the beginning of Winter- but now of course, with you newcomers, we know that Styr'Fa must see you all and speak to you."

They all arrived at the dead center of clearing, stopping at the edge of the hole, which was lined with withering faun clovers. Oaken motioned for the xyns to stand back, and for everyone in attendance to he silent- the faefolk hushed from their echoing chatter to complete silence.

Several Guardian Faefolk walked towards the edge with them, and together, the seasonal leaders, together with the Guardian Faefolk, held their hands altogether in a chain, closed their eyes, and gently sang a song. It was brief- only a few notes, but they reverberated throughout the center of the planet, and far down massive tunnel that the tree's roots plunged down to darkness.

The sound of the notes faded. Then there was silence.

Pantalaimon moved, about to speak to ask where Styr'fa was- but then silenced themself when a new sound reverberated through the tunnel, the tree's roots, the trunk and through the branches.

A softly colored dragon of unfathomable size rose through the depths, climbing the lattices of the massive tree's trunk and then winding their sinuous body around the roots of the as they ascended to grant the faefolk their audience. The further up their entire body rose, the more the faun clovers rose and flourished throughout the entire grounds of the Cherished Circle.

"Welcome, Styr'Fa!" cried out the Leaders and Guardians. They bowed in reverence to the dragon- and every single faefolk in the Cherished Circle followed suit. Bravua bowed quite gracefully for a faefolk with large wyvern wings; Troia was slow to bow, but Pantalaimon was quick to place a paw on her back to push her down. Her tail lashed in displeasire, but she made no sound.

Pantalaimon had never concieved of a living being so titanic in proportion to their own self that the sight of Styr'Fa far eclipsed everything else surrounding them. They felt as miniscule as a pwigi next to the tallest mountain in Valorise. If they were their normal size as a moxyn, or even their anthroxyn form, how large would they still be next to Styr'Fa?

Styr'fa, slowly, brought their massive head down to peer at the faefolk in the Cherished Circle, and smiled tenderly at them. It felt much like how the Queens regarded the citizens of Lunerest- loving, and perpetually fond of them, much like a mother seeing her children. But Styr'fa coughed; and many faun clovers withered in an instant. The magical veins flowing through the tree and throughout the caverns shuddered and flickered with light, paling further than before.

"Thank you.... You... may all rise..." said Styr'fa. Their breaths were drowsy, and labored- they appeared to be sickly, almost as if they were not fully awake. For a living creature as massive as them, Pantalaimon could feel how little magic they were exhaling in comparison. They couldn't forget the sight of Yuhi lying on her royal blue pillows, perfectly still and sleeping from the corrupted wound. Styr'fa seemed all too much the same.

Styr'fa slowly turned their attention to the xyns. Their massive eyes focused, and the wooden mask that hung by their head swayed gently along with them.

"I can sense that you hail from Lunerest, little ones. I wish you a very warm welcome to Etoille. I am Styr'fa... I am the guardian of this planet and the source of all of it's magic, and all of it's life here- the Faefolk the most of all. The Faefolk here care for the planet and for me- so long as I am healthy, magic flows through me and throughout."

Styr'fa closed their eyes, and a mirage flooded the entirety Sacred Circle; illusions of Winterhaven, then Springnook, then Summerchasee, and Autumnswild on Etoille merged one by one into sight, the temperature gently changing each time to reflect each season. The Faefolk marvelled quietly at the sight, taking care not to disrupt Styr'Fa.

"But..."

The mirage changed to reveal the night sky immediately above them. Just as Pantalaimon had seen outside, Trellisa and Oborn were silent and dim- only Yanwei continued to shine brightly. Dark clouds swirled around the night sky, filtering what little moonlight Yanwei could shine through.

"Of the three of our beloved moons that we share with Lunerest, two have fallen, and since then, my rest has been disturbed- You three come from Lunerest- the world beyond ours.. Why have you come here? Please, tell me everything you know," Styr'fa asked, gently. They opened their eyes again to cast their gaze down on the three newcomers. "When the moons fell, almost no one from Lunerest has been able to cross over to Etoille since that day, and I have slowly begin to suffer too..."

Pantalaimon, and occasionally Troia, recounted the full story, and their experiences seeing both of the Queens- the corrupted villain- the floods of Corrupted Xyns and Corruption Beasts that began to overtake Lunerest- Athen's visions of the future with her Astral magic- Yin's vision of what would become of the future. But Pantalaimon noted that, though Yin's vision portended that xyns would fall and crumble to moondust, they didn't see anything of Etoille, the fate of the Faefolk, or Styr'Fa...

Bravura was the third to speak of how the Clef Compasses directed all of them to Wingfell and the magical stone shrine, and how the various spirits there spoke of an otherworldly song in a world that the shrine would lead to...

And Troia did not mention Yang and its offer to her to save Lunerest. Hiding this felt wrong, but she knew she could never risk losing her last chance of hope to save all of those she cared for. If Yang was unleashed in the final battle against the villain, what would become of Lunerest, and perhaps even Etoille, in the aftermath...?

Styr'fa regarded the newcomers sadly. "Perhaps Etoille, its magic, and myself, are inevitably fated to wither and fade away silently if Lunerest is the first to fall..."

The surrounding faefolk in the cherished circle began to murmur, worriedly, amongst themselves.

"That's exactly why we're here," said Pantalaimon. "But the further we've gone along on our journey, the further that villain and the lack of moonlight has pushed us to our limit, the more I've haven't a clue how on to solve this. Do you have anything you can offer us that may help us back home?"

The leaders of the seasons, along with the guardian faefolk, whispered amongst themselves, trying to think of a solution; but Styr'Fa spoke first.

"I am the source of all magic on Etoille; I cannot leave the planet, and neither can my magic without it dissipating into nothingness."

Several faefolk began to jump up and down and wave their paws, as if to volunteer their assistance; some cried out: "We'll go to Lunerest!" "Let us help in Lunerest if our magic cannot!"

But Styr'Fa swayed their head and tail to request their silence. "My beloved Faefolk are not able to leave this planet; the seasons they were born to care for will suffer without their presence. It is already nigh-unmanageable with the instability of my magic... and a single drop of your world's corruption is more than enough to devastate swathes of land and countless Faefolk. I cannot allow them risk their lives, no matter how much I wish that they could help you."

The faefolk in the crowd quieted, disappointed and sullen.

Bravura considered their words, and then spoke: "We were concerned about this beautiful song the spirits spoke to us about, and Pantalaimon had that vision from their friend of the same thing... The faefolk sang a song to summon you. What was that? Can you tell us more…?"

Styr’fa managed a fond, tender smile. 

“It is a song with no name to it. It is used to summon me when the changing of the season comes, and all must gather in the Cherished Circle. It is the first song that baby faefolk hear when they are first born and able to listen; it soothes them when they are upset, and welcomes them to the world of the living. It is one of the last songs that we sing to all dying things within their season, to allow them to feel peace as they prepare for their eternal rest. It pacifies all of the living, urging tranquility ever closer to us, ever pushing defilement further away. Every day and every night, it is sung by the living to care for all those they love…”

“But,” said Lixue, “With the loss of the two moons, we struggle to sing it now. Winterhaven was the first to suffer the loss of control of seasonal magic. Day by day we struggled ever more with maintaining our season; we could not sing it properly, or as often as we should have; our hearts were not tranquil…”

“It’s true,” Oaken agreed. “When our physical constitution and our seasonal magic suffers, it’s no wonder that our ability to perform suffers together with it.”

Mirri jumped in. “We need our moons back! I think if the magic flows back into Styr’Fa, Etoille will be filled with magic again, we’ll able to sing to their hearts content and, and the rest of us too- we should be okay!”

“But only if our new friends can help save Lunerest first.” Pascal reminded Mirri. They turned to Pantalaimon. “We all learn this same song from Styr’Fa; each of us sings this same song a little differently.” Pascal sang, briefly- it was a cheerful and sprightly tune. “It makes me feel as if I remember something, from long ago, something that I’ve felt that I’ve sang many times before, yet I’ve never experienced singing it within my lifetime now… but I don’t know why.”

Pascal appeared a bit distant, lost in thought.

Realization dawned on Pantalaimon. “Thats… that’s just like our Soul Songs,” said Pantalaimon, earnestly, turning to Bravura and Troia as they spoke. They hopped up and down excitedly and clapped their paws as they spoke. “I think this song is what we came for; this might help us back at home! I can’t yet figure out how, but…”

Troia shrugged. “If you say so. We can’t bring back magic, and I doubt the faefolk have weapons of any kind that would be better for fighting corruption than xyn-made ones...” 

“Styr’fa, would you perhaps teach us this song, too?” asked Bravura. “If that is the only thing that we could bring back to Lunerest, that’s all we’d ask for.”

“It would be my pleasure.” They spread their arms wide, motioning to the entire room of faefolk present. “I will sing first- then all of the faefolk will sing, season our season, then all together, in afterwards: for our song, with every version sung in unison, forms the one that you must know and learn. I believe that when the voices of many of your kind sing their own version of this song, in unison, something miraculous may happen; but only when all present, united in heart and soul, truly hope and dream for the future and their world…”

“We’ve tried singing together before on Etoille when things began to get bad in Winter, but it hasn’t worked for us,” Oaken added. “We don’t have much hope ourselves, because we can control so little… it hurts to see Styr’fa so sick, and day by day, we fall into despair. But that is the reality of things right now.”

“You might have some hope with us back on Lunerest,” said Pantalaimon. They winked and tapped a paw to their fluffy chest. “Can’t make promises, tricky for me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try my best!”

“On behalf of my beloved faefolk and myself, I cannot thank you enough…” 

Sty’Fa’s words were exhaled as a long, drawn out sigh. A few more faun clovers withered beneath the Faefolk’s feet, and they murmured while spreading their massive, sinuous arms towards the tree once more. “Come, now. Listen carefully…”

Sty’Fa held the wooden mask to their face, gently placing it on; and through it they began to sing a lullaby.

Their voice was unlike anything that the xyns had ever heard in their lives. The voice itself was difficult to describe; it held all of the tenderness and love of a parent singing, softly, to their child; hope and promise that they would grow up happily and the hope that their life would be long and fulfilled.

The first few notes echoed, resounding across the entire cavern where the sound spread, so too did more faun clovers slowly spread, across the soil of the ground, the soil of the walls of the cavern, up the tree’s branches and down the tree’s roots all the way down to the tunnel below. Plant life flourished everywhere the sound traveled, and motes of light drifted off Styr’Fa, drifting all around the room. Faefolk marveled at the sight and sound of it all; entirely captivated by what they had heard.

Styr’Fa’s voice softened. Their song slowed, and gradually, they stopped singing.

So too did the plant life stop flourishing; but for now, it remained.

This was the cue for the seasonal Leaders to instruct their seasonal clans to sing. The leaders left the xyns where they were, wandered back into their respective clan quadrants. 

Lixue and their Winter clan were the first to repeat the song. Theirs was serene, reserved, and tranquil- as slow as snowflakes drifting from the sky; it was like a lullaby for those preparing to hibernate for a long rest. The air around them began to turn lightly cold, and snow fell down quietly, but the faun clovers beneath them did not wither.

Pascal and the Spring Clan were the next to continue the song; it was like a bright, cheerful call to rouse the hibernating creatures out of sleep, to gently wake up the plantlife from their seeded state, letting sunlight and warm showers nourish the life around them. Other plant life flourished beside the faun clovers.

The song of Mirri and her Summer clan was spirited and passionate, calling forth the waves of the ocean to lap upon their endless beaches, the thrill of.

It was finally Oaken’s turn to sing their song with their Autumn clan; it calmed significantly from Mirri’s summer song, a wistful and idle song to pass the time as autumn leaves were shed from their trees- the perfect sequence to transition into winter yet again.

Lixque and their clan began to sing again, then Pascals, then Mirri’s, then Oaken’s, cycling altogether like the passing of the seasons repeatedly; until all at once, they sang in unison as a chorus. Sty’fa joined in at last, and with that, their final song was complete.

By the time they had all finished, Pantalaimon and Bravura speechless- so moved and captivated were they by the performance of Styr’Fa and all of the faefolk. Even Troia appreciated what the had witnessed.

“Do you understand how to sing this now?” Sty’Fa asked them.

“I certainly do,” Pantalaimon replied, confidently. They drew their breath, and repeated the lullaby that they had heard; mixed with the tune of their own Soul Song. They nodded to Bravura, who repeated it. A few fawn clovers sprung up, and even blossomed, as they sang. Something felt complete, and whole, in their hearts as they sang; filling in any despair or doubt they may have had from seeing the plight of Lunerest. 

Troia looked away, shyly, putting her paws behind her back and kicking her feet. 

Sty’Fa chuckled. “Do not fear or worry about judgement now. I understand some sing their best together in unison with the rest- do not forget how valuable one’s contribution is to the voice of many. That being said… I have one last final gift for you.”

They encircled the tree and felt around the trunk until they found a hollow; they lifted their head to peer inside, and retrieved something from within. 

It was a tiny piece of Starbeam wood, and a piece of Mythrille.

Sty’fa climbed down slightly to extend the upper half of their body closer to Pantalaimon, Troia, and Bravura; and with the hand holding the mask materials extended out to them, they deftly carved out two masks with their sharp claws, one by one, for both xyns; mirroring the moon cycles onto their foreheads. They flipped both masks over, and within the interiors, used their claws to delicately etch out the notes of a song from within.

“There. It is done. These, I gift to you- these mask materials resonated most with your souls. What I’ve given you are Enchanted Masks, engraved with the notes of our song from Etoille within them. Never forget it, for I truly believe that they will be the answer to your woes at home; the notes are etched from within, so you, too, can read and remember them should you ever falter.”

Pantalaimon happily accepted the Starbeam mask, and Bravura did too with the Mythrille mask.

They gently turned to Troia with a smile. 

“I understand your kind has Halos; I can tell that yours takes the form of a mask... there is no need for me to craft you one from scratch as you hold this one so dear to your heart. If you would allow me, I can magically engrave the interior of yours with the song of Etoille- you can will it to appear or vanish as you need it to. No need for you to take it off. It will not hurt you.”

Troia shook her head. “No, thank you... please leave it be.”

Sty’Fa chuckled. "I will not insist. You will have your friends to help you keep this song close to your heart; just as you need to be around them to keep your halo, so too will you need them to help you remember this song."

“Thank you,” murmured Troia. She bowed her head, deeply, to show her respect.

Sty’fa spoke again. “It is time for you to return to your homeworld, then. There is nothing more that the denizens of Etoille and I can provide you. I am so grateful that you could come here… and I wish you farewell.”

They blew a gentle puff of magic-infused air, and it’s vortex swirled to become a portal between all of the three xyns. They could clearly see a small, blue planet; and three moons hanging above it. Only Yanwei still glowed. Pantalaimon couldn’t tell if Yanwei was just a bit brighter than before…

One by one, the Faefolk began to chatter excitedly and together they began to shout their goodbyes- the leaders were the loudest of all.

“Winterhaven will be blessed if you can help us. Thank you,” Lixue said, allowing their gentle voice to be carried over through the echo of their room. The Winter faefolk nodded quietly.” And goodbye.”

“Pantalaimon, you’ll be a savior for Springnook and Etiolle if you can help us! Do your best!” Pascal cheered. “Thank you!!”

“Summerchase needs you now more than ever!” shouted Mirri, waving as aggressively as she could while the Summer faefolk also shouted. “You’ll have my thanks!

Oaken waved, calmly, and the autumn faefolk bowed in thanks. “I can’t wait for the stress of managing Autumn to be over soon. Please do your best! Farewell!”

“Thank you!” Cried out Pantalaimon, jumping up and down to carry their voice as far as they could. The sight of seeing hundreds, thousands, of Faefolk expressing their hopes and. “Thank you so, so much! I promise I’ll do my best!” 

“I’ll do my best, too!” cried out Bravura as well. They leapt up, using their wyvern wings to soar in the air and circle briefly around Pantalaimon and Troia before landing beside them again.

Troia was silent, clearly self-conscious by the amount of attention on her. She ducked her head into her neck and bowed as quickly as she could, again, to show her respect to everyone present.

“Well, come on! What are we waiting for? Let’s get moving! Farewell, everyone!” 

Pantalaimon grinned, and waved one last time to all of the Faefolk, and then Styr’Fa, before jumping in. Troia followed behind closely, stepping into the portal, and Bravura quickly dove in after her too. 

Just like when they entered the portal in Wingfell, their tiny faefolk bodies hurtled through the vast expanse of space. Lunerest and grew larger as they dove ever closer, and then…