The palace of Aelfrey rose from the heart of the kingdom like a memory frozen in time.
It stood upon a small hill, encircled by a vast lake that had long since surrendered to ice. Once, its waters were said to mirror the sky and sing softly when the wind passed over them. Now, the lake lay silent—its surface sealed beneath an unbroken sheet of frost, pale and lifeless.
Four towering citadels guarded the palace, their spires piercing the gray sky like steadfast sentinels refusing to bow to despair. From their heights, one could see the entirety of Aelfrey spread below, a kingdom caught between endurance and exhaustion. A wide, arched stone bridge stretched from the mainland to the city, its stones dusted white, leading to a massive iron gate embedded in a high white wall that fortified both city and castle alike.
The gate loomed heavy and imposing, as though it had not been opened freely in a very long time.
Three lookout towers stood vigilant at the east, north, and west, while two bell towers flanked the gate itself. Their bells, once used to announce festivals and homecomings, now rang only in warning—or not at all.
Beyond the wall lay the outer curtain of the kingdom, where life struggled on.
Villages clustered close together for warmth, their homes built of pale stone and thick timber. The town's marketplace and infirmary occupied the central stretch of the outer curtain, though neither bustled as they once had. Faye houses were scattered east and west, their roofs curved and reinforced to bear the weight of frost, while the kingdom's barn occupied the northwest corner, large and carefully guarded.
Within its walls lived the Neighfreys—winged horses of proud lineage. Their powerful forms were cloaked in thick, brightly colored caparisons embroidered with Aelfrey's crest. Even so adorned, their breath fogged heavily in the cold, wings tucked tight to preserve warmth.
At the barn's heart were the Sheefreys.
They resembled goats of the human world, save for their thick, woolen hides that rendered them nearly impervious to frost. Nearly. In a week's time, their coats would be sheared—a necessary sacrifice. From their wool came the thick robes and cloaks that kept the fayes alive. They were among the most vital of all animal-freys, and the only ones born without wings.
Nearby, chickfreys and rabbifreys nestled together, their feathered wings uncoiled and relaxed, fur thick enough to shield them from the cold. Awwfreys and Meowfreys roamed freely among the villages and even within the castle walls, treated as companions and comforters in a land sorely lacking both.
At the center of the outer curtain stretched the marketplace.
Once, it had been alive with laughter and argument, with merchants calling out prices and children darting between stalls. Now, voices were low, conversations brief. Vendors sold roots, preserved crops, dried delicacies, and necessities for surviving the frost—robes, gloves, tunics, scarves. Weapons were sold as well: spears, swords, bows, arrows. Hope had become a traded commodity.
Above it all rose a wide marble staircase—white, pristine, and unapologetically extravagant. It climbed the hill toward the castle proper, each step a reminder of power and distance.
At its summit stood another high stone wall, enclosing the king's castle. The inner gate was smaller than the outer iron behemoth, but no less forbidding.
Beyond it lay the palace courtyard.
The ground was paved with polished gray marble, etched faintly with sigils of protection. Four flagpoles stood at its corners, each bearing Aelfrey's banner—a square of deep blue cloth, embroidered with the sacred spirit-frey in gleaming silver.
At the courtyard's center stood a narrow, circular pool.
Frozen.
A towering statue of a Neighfrey reared above it, wings spread, hooves lifted toward the sky in defiance. It was breathtaking—and devastating. The fountain, once a symbol of life, was now nothing more than solid ice.
Northward loomed the gatehouse, the sole entrance into the castle itself. Only a select few were permitted beyond—high-ranking warriors, elders, and those summoned directly by the King.
Once, Aelfrey had pulsed with vivacity.
Now, it endured.
Gala was escorted through the main street under the watchful eyes of Alvaro's patrol.
Her steps were slow and unsteady upon the frost-dusted cobblestones, her body still weak from the cold. Thick ropes bound her hands, drawing curious—and wary—glances from the fayes who passed her. They wore heavy robes, faces drawn tight with worry.
Her head hung low.
They must think I did something terrible, she thought miserably.
Her stomach growled, loud enough to betray her. She squeezed her eyes shut.
I am starving.
"I remember Puffhill and Duffhill being… well—tiny," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Are all fairies here that small?"
The question earned a few raised brows.
Deviro, walking near her side, let out a quiet chuckle. "All fayes of Aelfrey are roughly your size," he explained kindly. "What you saw were tarafreyshio. We shrink when entering the human dimension."
Gala nodded, relieved. At least one of them was willing to speak to her.
She glanced sideways at the man leading the group.
Alvaro.
Commander. Warrior. Intimidation incarnate.
He noticed her gaze and studied her in return. She appeared fragile—too thin, too pale—but her platinum hair caught the light in a way that unsettled him. There was something about her that prickled at his senses.
If she spoke the truth, she was a problem.
Dylafreyia, the sacred spirit-frey, had shielded their kind from human sight since the dawn of Aelfrey. Humans were never meant to see them.
The frost, he feared, was weakening the barriers. Leaving them vulnerable not only to humans—but to darker things.
Gala quickly lowered her eyes under his stare. His presence alone made her uneasy. She sensed she was unwanted—tolerated only until judgment could be passed.
Deviro continued asking her questions about her world, until—
"Enough," Alvaro snapped. "We are forbidden from interacting with their kind."
Deviro fell silent.
"I don't understand," Gala said softly. "What harm could a friendship between a fairy and a human do? Is there proof of danger—or is it just fear?"
She remembered the sharp silence that followed.
The stairs loomed ahead.
Gala groaned quietly. Cold feet, tied hands, no breakfast. Fantastic.
Still, she climbed.
I'll convince their King, she resolved. I'll go home.
Her stomach betrayed her again.
Alvaro sighed. "We are close. Deviro—untie her. She won't escape."
The ropes fell away.
"Oh, thank you," Gala breathed, flexing her hands.
At the summit, she turned and looked out over the kingdom.
Frozen.
Silent.
Nature can be both beautiful and terrifying, she thought—remembering she had said the same thing that very morning.
And now, she stood in the heart of that truth.