"An invitation?" Bob stared at the compass in Adom's hand, then at the expectant expression on his face. The leprechaun's bushy eyebrows drew together. "To the Fae Realm? Lad, are you absolutely mad?"
Adom nodded. "That's the plan."
"That's not a plan. That's a death wish." Bob paced a small circle, his shoes clicking rhythmically against the wooden floor. "Listen here, lad. The Fae Realm isn't for humans. No offense to your kind, but you lot don't fare well there."
"I need to go," Adom insisted.
Bob stopped pacing. "You don't understand what you're askin'. Humans who visit the Fae Realm... they don't come back right in the head. If they come back at all." He tapped his temple. "Time moves differently there. Logic bends. Reason breaks. You might think you're stayin' for an afternoon tea and return to find your grandchildren have died of old age."
Biggins cleared his throat. "It was my suggestion, actually."
Bob turned slowly toward the old shopkeeper, genuine surprise in his eyes. "Your suggestion? You of all people should know better."
"Circumstances are... unusual."
"Unusual?" Bob gave a humorless laugh. "Next you'll be tellin' me the sky's a bit blue or water's somewhat wet." He looked between them. "Are you sure about this? Absolutely sure?"
"Absolutely," Biggins said without hesitation.
Bob fell silent, studying the dragon in disguise. The tension between them wasn't hostile — more like the cautious respect between two old warriors who had once found themselves on opposite sides of a battlefield.
"Well then," Bob finally said, turning back to Adom. "Tell me what's so important that my old acquaintance here is willin' to risk your sanity."
Adom leaned against the counter. "I've been having this dream."
"Dreams? We're riskin' your life over a few bad dreams?" Bob snorted.
"Not just any dream. The same one, night after night." Adom's voice dropped. "I'm in this cave, and there's an apple tree in the center, basking in sunlight. Which makes no sense since it's a cave. At the base of the tree, there's an egg. It's on fire, but it doesn't burn up. And there's... someone there. A woman, I think. Probably a dryad. She keeps asking me to come to her."
Bob stared at him for a few seconds. "Let me get this straight. You have a nightmare where a mysterious creature is beggin' you to visit her secret underground lair, and your response is, 'Sure, why not?' Have you never heard a single cautionary tale in your life?"
Adom shifted uncomfortably. "When you put it that way..."
"That's exactly the way to put it!" Bob threw his hands up. "This is literally how every story about a human disappearin' into the fae realm begins. Next you'll tell me she promised you power beyond your wildest dreams."
"She didn't," Adom said defensively. "She just keeps saying I need to come."
"Oh, well that's much better," Bob said. "A deadline. Nothing suspicious about that at all."
"The dream won't let me sleep," Adom argued. "It's been weeks. I'm lucky if I get a few hours without waking up in a cold sweat. It's getting worse each night."
"So drink a sleeping potion," Bob countered. "A lot cheaper than a funeral."
"I tried. Tea, potions, charms. Nothing works."
Bob shook his head. "And you think the solution is to walk right into whatever trap this is?"
"It was my idea," Biggins repeated firmly.
Bob paused, looking back at the shopkeeper. His expression shifted subtly. "You're certain about this? You, specifically?"
"Yes."
Bob's demeanor changed, almost imperceptibly. "Well. That... changes things."
Adom looked between them, confusion evident on his tired face. "Wait, just like that? He says it's his idea and suddenly you're reconsidering?"
Bob ignored him, still focused on Biggins. "The egg on fire. You think it's...?"
Biggins nodded once. "I do."
"Bollocks," Bob muttered, the word carrying the weight of resignation. "This is exactly the sort of trouble I try to avoid."
"What just happened?" Adom asked, frustration evident. "Why does it matter that it was his idea?"
"Because," Bob said without looking at him, "your friend Biggins here isn't known for flights of fancy or misreadin' signs." He sighed. "And because he saved my life once, a very long time ago, when he had every reason not to."
Adom turned to Biggins, surprised. "You never mentioned that."
"It never came up," Biggins said simply.
"Never came up?" Adom's eyebrows shot up. "How does something like that never come up?"
"When you've lived as long as we have," Bob said, "the list of things that 'never come up' would fill several libraries." He straightened his jacket. "But that's a story for another time. Right now, we need to discuss your little suicide mission to the Fae Realm."
"You don't know?" Adom's voice rose slightly. "How can you not know?"
"Because Law didn't say," Biggins replied simply. "What he did tell me was that in many of the potential futures he saw, you would have a companion. A phoenix familiar."
Bob whistled lowly. "The phoenix? As a familiar? Now that's something."
"Without this companion," Biggins continued, "the coming tasks would be significantly harder for you. Not impossible, perhaps, but Law's mission was to maximize your chances of success. And so..." He gestured vaguely around them. "Here we are."
Adom stared at the floor, processing. The silence in the shop felt heavy, broken only by the faint ticking of an oddly shaped clock on the wall.
"A phoenix familiar," he finally said, tasting the words. "And the dryad is what... its keeper?"
"More likely its guardian," Bob offered. "Dryads are protective types. If a phoenix nested near her tree, she'd defend it with her life."
Adom nodded slowly. "And the burning part? Is that normal for a phoenix egg?"
"Completely normal," Bob confirmed. "They burn hotter as they get closer to hatching. The fire you see in your dream means it's nearly time."
"Which explains the urgency," Biggins added.
Adom ran his hands over his face, fatigue evident in every movement. "This is... a lot."
"Welcome to my world," Bob said dryly. "Where 'a lot' is the starting point of every day."
Adom looked up at him. "Will you help me?"
Bob held his gaze for a moment, then let out a dramatic sigh. "I suppose I will. Though I maintain this is madness."
"It's madness either way," Adom countered. "Either I go slowly insane from lack of sleep, or I risk going suddenly insane in the Fae Realm. At least the second option comes with a potential solution."
"Fair point," Bob conceded. "Though I'm not promisin' anything about finding this cave of yours. The Fae Realm is vast, and not exactly well-mapped."
Adom nodded at the compass in his hand. "This should help us find our way back, at least."
"A Wayfinder's Token," Bob acknowledged. "These still exist, eh?"
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Adom turned to Biggins. "Why don't you come with us? You seem to know more about this situation than either of us."
Biggins and Bob exchanged a look that contained volumes.
"That won't be possible," The dragon said carefully.
"Why not?" Adom pressed.
"Because he's banned from the entire Fae Realm," Bob said bluntly. "Has been for the last few centuries."
Adom blinked. "Banned? How does one get banned from an entire realm of existence?"
"It's a complicated matter," Biggins said, adjusting his spectacles. "Nothing for you to worry about."
"I think it is something to worry about if I'm walking into a realm where my primary advisor is prohibited from entering," Adom countered.
"You won't be going alone," Biggins assured him. "The leprechaun will accompany you."
"Aye," Bob agreed. "I'll be your guide. Someone has to keep you from accidentally pledging your firstborn to a bridge troll." He shot Biggins a pointed look. "Since you can't exactly join us, given your... situation."
"I can invite the lad as my guest," Bob continued. "Not you. Dragon or not, you'd be recognized the moment you crossed the boundary, and then we'd all be in trouble."
Adom set the compass down on the counter with a firm click. "Enough. Both of you." This was getting annoying. "I may not be thousands of years old, but I am eighty, not eight. I don't appreciate being treated like a child who can't handle difficult information."
The two ancient beings fell silent.
"I'm about to risk my sanity, possibly my life, based on your recommendation," Adom said to Biggins. "I think I deserve the whole story. Why were you banned from the Fae Realm?"
Biggins sighed, removing his spectacles to polish them. "The current King of the Seelie Court and I have... history."
"What kind of history?"
"We were once friends. Then we weren't." Biggins's expression grew distant. "There was a disagreement about certain boundaries. About what constitutes appropriate use of power. I thought his methods were becoming excessive. He thought I was becoming soft."
"Is it bad enough that he'd hold a grudge against someone associated with you?" Adom asked. "Like me, for instance?"
"Not at all," Biggins said firmly. "Oberon's quarrel is with me alone, not with humans or anyone connected to me. He's prideful and can be cruel, but he's not petty in that particular way." He placed his spectacles back on. "The point is, I cannot enter the Fae Realm. If I could, I would have retrieved the egg myself and simply presented it to you."
Adom nodded slowly, processing this information. "So how does this work? How do I enter the Fae Realm with Bob as my guide?"
Bob stepped forward, his demeanor shifting subtly. There was suddenly something more... otherworldly about him, as if a veil had been lifted. "I extend my invitation and protection to you as my guest."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver pin shaped like a four-leaf clover. "This marks you as under my hospitality. While wearing it, you'll be able to see the entrances to the Fae Realm that would otherwise be invisible to human eyes."
Bob held the pin out on his palm. "But there are rules, Adom. Important ones. Breaking them doesn't just endanger you—it endangers me as your host."
"What rules?"
"First, you must accept my invitation of your own free will. No coercion." Bob's tone was formal now, almost ritualistic. "Second, while in the Fae Realm, you must not eat or drink anything I haven't personally approved. Third, you must not make promises, deals, or trades with any fae without consulting me first."
"Is that all?"
"Those are the critical ones. There are others I'll explain as needed. The Fae Realm operates on very specific rules. Breaking them has... consequences."
"And if I accept these terms?"
"Then I pin this to your collar, and you're officially my guest." Bob's expression was serious. "This isn't just a trinket. It's a magical contract. Breaking the terms voids my protection."
Adom glanced at Biggins, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
"I accept your invitation and agree to your terms," Adom said formally.
Bob stepped forward and carefully pinned the silver clover to Adom's collar. As it touched the fabric, it seemed to shimmer for a moment, the metal briefly taking on an inner light before settling.
"There," Bob said, stepping back. "Now you're officially under my protection." His formal demeanor dropped away as quickly as it had appeared. "And if you do anything stupid that gets us both killed, I'll be very cross with you in the afterlife."
Adom touched the pin gingerly. "I don't feel any different."
"You won't until we cross the boundary," Bob explained. "But trust me, it's working."
"So what now?"
"Now we wait for midnight," Bob said. "The entry opens for non-fae exactly at the witching hour. Every night. We can go whenever you're ready."
"Tonight?" Adom asked, surprised at the immediacy.
"Tonight, tomorrow night, next week," Bob shrugged. "Time works differently there, but the entry point is consistent. Midnight to midnight. One full turn of your human clocks."
Biggins cleared his throat. "Speaking of ready..." He turned to Adom with a measured look. "Where are you at with your control? The strength issue."
Adom flexed his hand unconsciously. "Better. Much better, actually. I've found that the less I think about it, the more normal it feels. Like learning to walk again after an injury—once you stop overthinking every step, the body remembers what to do."
"Interesting." Biggins nodded, his eyes sharp behind his spectacles. "And when you channel Fluid through it?"
"Still in control," Adom said. "I haven't broken anything in weeks. Not even accidentally."
Something in Biggins's demeanor shifted, like a switch had been flipped. The serious, measured academic melted away, replaced by the barely contained excitement of a child with a new toy. His eyes lit up and his whole body seemed to vibrate with sudden energy.
"Excellent! Marvelous! Oh, this is perfect timing." He clapped his hands together once, the sound surprisingly loud in the cluttered shop.
Bob rolled his eyes so dramatically that Adom could practically hear it.
"Here we go," Bob muttered.
"Before you leave," Biggins continued, either ignoring or not noticing Bob's reaction, "I have something to teach you. A little technique that very few humans have knowledge of." He beckoned Adom toward the back of the shop. "If you're entering the Fae Realm, you'll need every advantage."
"What kind of technique?" Adom asked, his interest piqued despite his exhaustion.
"Something special," Biggins said, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Something about Fluid that most practitioners don't discover until they're well into their second century, if ever."
"Is this really necessary right now?" Bob asked, exasperation clear in his voice. "We have preparations to make."
"Absolutely necessary," Biggins insisted without looking back. He was already rummaging through a cabinet, pushing aside jars and boxes with surprising strength for his seemingly frail frame. "This could make all the difference."
"The fixed center around which all else turns," Biggins explained. "It is Fluid in its purest form—not tied to any feeling, but to control itself."
"I've never heard of this," Adom said, but there was excitement rather than skepticism in his voice.
"You wouldn't have heard of it," Biggins said simply. "Because I'm the only one who knows it exists."
Bob whistled low. "Now that's a claim."
"It's not a claim, it's a fact," Biggins replied. "I discovered it by necessity. Born after our time, without elders to teach me, I had to find my own way to manage Fluid. Emotions are... dangerous for dragons. Too much anger, and villages burn. Too much fear, and mountains crumble."
Adom nodded slowly. "So you found a way to separate power from emotion."
"I did." Biggins straightened. "It took me centuries to perfect. And I've never taught it to anyone."
"Then why teach me?" Adom asked.
"Because you might actually survive learning it," Biggins said bluntly.
"Surely others have tried?"
"Only one. Law." The name fell like a stone between them. "He spent decades attempting to master it. He failed."
This caught Adom by surprise. Law, failing at something magical? "Why?"
"The human body isn't designed to channel Fluid this way," Biggins explained. "The pathways burn out. The mind breaks under the strain."
"Not exactly a ringing endorsement," Bob muttered.
"But Law didn't have what you have," Biggins continued, ignoring the leprechaun. "The White Wyrm's adaptability. The Silverback's constitution. Your extraordinary healing factor. Your body can rebuild what Axis destroys."
Adom frowned. "Destroys?"
"Initially, yes." Biggins was matter-of-fact. "Think of it like building new muscle. The old fibers tear so the new ones can grow stronger."
"You're talking about rewiring my entire connection to Fluid," Adom said slowly, working through the implications. "Creating an entirely new pathway."
"Precisely." Biggins smiled, pleased at how quickly Adom grasped the concept. "Instead of channeling through emotion, you channel through will alone. Pure, focused intention."
Adom ran a hand through his hair, mind racing. "And this Axis—it's stronger than conventional Fluid?"
"Incomparably," Biggins said. "Emotion-based Fluid is like a river—powerful but following the path of least resistance. Axis is like—"
"A drill," Adom finished. "Focused on a single point, no matter what's in its way."
Biggins blinked, then nodded. "Yes. That's... a surprisingly apt metaphor."
"This sounds too good to be true," Adom said cautiously. "What's the catch?"
Biggins sighed. "The catch is that learning it will hurt. A lot. And there's no guarantee you'll succeed, even with your unique physiology."
"How long does it take to learn?"
"Years," Biggins said. "Or days. It depends entirely on you."
"Days?" Bob scoffed. "Now you're just showing off, Dragon."
"I'm being practical," Biggins replied.
Adom considered this. A new form of power, one that didn't require him to maintain a specific emotional state. The implications were staggering. If it worked, he'd have an advantage no other human practitioner had ever possessed.
"What do I need to do?"
Biggins's eyes gleamed with something between excitement and trepidation. "First, you need to understand what we're actually doing. Axis isn't learned—it's realized. It's always been there, underneath the emotional tides of Fluid."
He moved to a small cabinet and retrieved a plain wooden box. Opening it, he revealed a series of thin, silvery needles.