Nothing.
Her energy didn’t respond. It was like trying to shout, only to find her vocal chords were paralyzed.
Her fear surged. Doubt strangled her thoughts. Her limbs felt heavy and lethargic.
I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. Not here.
The mist was only feet away now. Her breath hitched, and she turned, fleeing up the nearest rocky slope. Her boots scraped against the stone, knees bruising as she climbed over jagged edges slick with sand and pebbles. Her lungs burned. Her heart screamed for Bálint.
She crested the top and froze.
The world opened below her.
An island stretched out like a dream—not much larger than a dozen football fields back on Earth and teeming with life. Ribbons of rivers sparkled like liquid crystals, weaving between low forests and sun-dappled fields filled with crops. Giant trees rose like towers, their leaves a glowing green-gold on the far side of the island where waterfalls cascaded down floating rock spires suspended above the ground.
Nestled in a hollow valley near the water’s edge, a village shimmered—homes carved from living stone and woven vines, roofs sprouting flowers that bent toward the sun. Pathways spiraled like sacred geometry, dotted with brightly colored canopies that fluttered in the breeze while an array of fishing boats bobbed in neat little rows along floating docks.
It looked like a scene out of a fairytale story.
“Where… am I?” she whispered, lifting her hand to hold back her hair when the wind tugged at it.
A breeze swept past her, light and playful, brushing her cheek like a whisper.
And then she heard it?—
A giggle.
She spun.
Mist—soft, glowing, alive—floated toward her in a cluster. Her breath caught as one of the tendrils shimmered, shifting in shape.
A figure emerged.
A girl—maybe eight or nine years old—delicate and pale as moonlight, her hair like clouds, eyes sparkling with mischief. She hovered a few inches off the ground, translucent at the edges.
Adaline stumbled back as three more clusters joined her.
A younger girl, a little older girl, and a boy who looked like he’d been caught mid-mud bath. Each misty form wavered like a reflection in a puddle—until, one by one, they solidified.
The first girl stepped forward, cocking her head. “You’re not from the palace city, are you?”
Adaline blinked, her mouth opening, then closing again. “Palace… what? No. At least, not from here. I don’t even know where I am or how I got here.”
The girl tilted her head and studied her before smiling. “I’m Breeze. That’s my sister Spree,” she gestured to the younger girl, “and that’s Droplet.” She pointed to the smaller girl, who waved shyly. “And him—” she rolled her eyes “—that’s Muddle.”
The boy grinned. “But everyone calls me Mud.”
Adaline choked out a laugh. “Of course they do.”
“I’m Adaline,” she said, firmer this time—like saying her name might anchor her to this strange new place. She continued to stare at the group, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that children had just materialized out of fog in front of her. “Have… have you seen a boy—a teenager about my age? Brown hair, a little wavy, kind of loud and bossy but in a charming way? He’s a dragon shifter. Big wings. Purple and gold.”
Mud perked up. “Oh! Yeah! We saw him. He was flying. He wasn’t flying so good.”
Adaline’s heart soared. “Where?!”
Mud pointed toward the distant tree line across the gleaming lake. “He went that way. Into the deep woods. He got caught in one of the Wind Spinner’s wind tunnels and—whoosh— he was gone.”
Adaline turned, scanning the forest. The trees there looked older, taller, like silent watchers. Shadows pooled between the trunks, thick with secrets.
