Ronny gazed out the window of his shop, the one he’d ‘purchased’ from the baron earlier that year. It was the same general store that had always been in Sagewood, originally owned by the former baron, Gregor Ramsguard. Since he’d disappeared and Otis had become the new baron of Sagewood, Ronny had paid one etherchip for the deed to the store he’d dutifully run for years. But now, it seemed like a storm was going to uproot the building and all the work he’d poured into making it his own. He walked over to the window, eyeing the strange thunderheads that had formed in the distance.

  “That’s odd…” Ronny remarked off-handedly. They seemed to be getting closer at an alarming pace. To him, it looked as if the clouds were almost alive with energy, with flashes of jagged light piercing the dark clouds at random, yet frequent, intervals.

  He heard the doorbell jingle, signaling someone had stepped into the store. He reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the window and turned to see who it was. He was just about to greet whoever had entered with his signature ‘welcome in’ when he stopped himself, surprised to find no one at all. He glanced out the window again to see if someone had changed their mind about coming inside, but the street, too, was empty. There wasn’t much of anything going on outside. Except for the strange weather.

  Ronny tilted his head, frowning as he thought he heard footsteps—many of them—echoing across the floor of his shop. But that was impossible. No one had come in. Silently, Ronny propped himself up onto the counter, leaning forward to peer over the edge, half-expecting to see some woodland creature that had wandered in seeking shelter from the storm.

  His heart nearly stopped when he saw them. Three small figures stood no taller than his knees and were huddled together in the middle of the aisle. They were dressed in rough woodland garb, each wearing a distinct hat—one gray, one red, and one purple. Ronny had heard of creatures like these before, whispered in bedtime stories and woven into the campfire tales meant to frighten children.

  Sprites. The legends were true.

  His mind reeled, racing through every terrifying story he’d ever heard about these magical beings, from trickster pranks to darker, more dangerous encounters. He swallowed hard, realizing he was face-to-face with the stuff of myth.

  He ducked behind the counter, his pulse thundering in his ears. Bloodthirsty creatures that could shapeshift into monsters at will—that’s what the old stories said. Thankfully, they hadn’t noticed him yet. The two sprites, the one with the gray hat and the one with the red, appeared too engrossed in a heated argument to pay him any mind. Their tiny voices, sharp and quick, bounced off the walls of the shop as they jabbed their fingers at each other, completely unaware of Ronny hiding behind the counter.

  He peeked over the edge, watching in disbelief as one with a purple hat wandered over to a snack display, seemingly entranced. She pulled out a tiny notebook and began sketching, oblivious to her companions’ squabbling.

  “…and I would appreciate fewer mean jokes about me and Fern, Holly,” a male voice hissed. “They’re getting out of hand.” Ronny noticed that it was the sprite with the gray hat.

  “Oh, lighten up, Flint,” came the reply, dripping with sarcasm. Ronny noted that it was the female sprite with the red hat.

  The bickering intensified until suddenly the one called Holly pushed the one called flint. He went sprawling across the floor with a yelp.

  “Real mature,” Flint grumbled, picking himself up with a sigh as he dusted himself off. “There are no humans here anyway. We should move on.”

  Ronny saw his chance to escape while the sprites were still occupied. Heart in his throat, he began crawling toward the back door of the general store. He inched away from the counter as he heard the sprites move toward the front. Freedom was so close—

  His elbow bumped one of the displays, making a few trinkets fall to the floor. Ronny froze, praying it hadn’t been loud enough for the sprites to hear up at the front of the store. He turned to look back where he’d come, his blood chilling when his gaze landed on the sprite with the purple hat. The one he’d forgotten about until now. A high-pitched scream pierced the air. The sprite bolted, shouting, “Flint! Holly!”

  Ronny froze, paralyzed with terror as three tiny faces suddenly appeared around the corner of the counter. The one with the purple hat cowered behind the others, while Flint and Holly regarded him with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

  “Well, well,” Holly smirked. “Looks like we found ourselves a human after all.”

  “Please, don’t eat me!”

  The sprites exchanged glances, ranging from confusion to outright disgust.

  “Why would we eat you?” Flint asked, his voice calm but incredulous. “We’re here to help you.”

  Ronny paused, his panic faltering for a moment. “But... aren’t you guys… bloodthirsty monsters?” He felt ridiculous the second the words left his mouth.

  The three sprites shook their heads vigorously.

  “You really need to check your sources,” the one in the purple hat muttered, still avoiding Ronny’s gaze.

  “Do you have a safe room in here? Maybe a freezer with metal-lined walls?” Flint asked, smoothly changing the subject.

  Ronny blinked, still trying to process the absurdity of this conversation. “Uh, yeah... there’s a freezer room,” he said slowly, struggling to believe he was engaging with creatures from bedtime stories.

  “Good,” Holly snapped briskly. “Get in there and don’t come out until one of us says it’s safe.”

  The sprites turned to leave, but curiosity gnawed at Ronny. “Wait! I thought you guys were... you know, magical. Shapeshifters, right? Are all the legends lies?”

  The sprites shared another glance, as if having a silent conversation amongst them. Finally, Holly spoke up. “No, that part’s true.”

  With that, they vanished through the door, leaving Ronny standing alone, still trying to make sense of everything.

  ***

  Harvey stood at the door of the inn, glancing out at the grey sky now clotted with clouds. Just ten minutes ago, it had been its normal, unbroken azure.

  He’d come to the inn for lunch and to see his wife, Cindy, but before he could return to his office, he’d noticed the odd shift in the weather. Things had been off in Sagewood lately, and today seemed no different. The dull gray sky stared back at him, almost angry in its foreboding, darkening state.

  It was windy as well, but the wind seemed unable to choose a direction, switching every few minutes. Something felt amiss in the air that made Harvey’s stomach twist.

  He jolted at the sound of Cindy’s scream, his heart leaping into his throat. Without thinking, Harvey spun and sprinted inside the inn, bracing for the worst. Relief washed over him when he saw her standing there, unharmed, but her face was pale, and she was pointing toward the fireplace.

  He followed her gaze, dread rising in his chest as he turned to see what had left her so frozen with fear.

  Harvey blinked, then rubbed his eyes, certain he must be imagining things. But no, there it was—a massive bull moose, easily the largest he had ever seen, standing right by the hearth. Its enormous head was buried in the pot of soup that had been simmering there all morning, slurping away as though it were a guest of the inn.

  Harvey glanced at his wife, who watched the strange spectacle in stunned silence. “Sweetheart,” he began, his voice heavily drenched in disbelief, “How did a moose get inside our inn?”

  “I—I’m not entirely sure. I was in the back, making croissants, when I thought I heard a customer—” Cindy abruptly stopped talking when the moose raised its head out of the stew pot and calmly glanced over at the couple. Harvey instinctively reached for Cindy’s hand, gently pulling her around the corner, out of sight of the moose. His heart pounded in his chest as they ducked into the hallway, out of sight of the massive creature.

  “What do we do?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Male moose were notoriously dangerous, especially one of that size. It seemed calm right now, almost placated by the soup, but wild animals were unpredictable.

  Cindy, equally shaken, kept her voice low. “Maybe if we open the front door, it’ll just... walk out?”

  Harvey opened his mouth to respond, but a small voice cut him off.

  “Sorry! That moose is with me.”

  Both Harvey and Cindy snapped their gaze toward the window. There, perched on the windowsill, was a tiny woman. She had a sword strapped to her waist, fitted leather boots, and a cloak draped over her simple clothing. A pink hat sat atop her blonde hair. With surprising grace, she hopped down from the sill and gave them both a polite curtsy.

  The sight was so absurd, it left Harvey momentarily speechless. Cindy on the other hand, spoke up. “What do you mean by the moose is with you? Is he your pet or something?”

  “No, of course not,” the small woman said with a slight giggle. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  Cindy and Harvey were both rendered speechless now, staring at the small woman before them.

  “He’s never been to an inn before, so he doesn’t know he needs to pay before he drinks any of your soup.” The small woman walked over to a barstool, climbed up onto it, and then stepped onto the bar. She reached inside her bag and pulled out several etherchips. “I hope this covers the cost.” She gave them both a genuine smile.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Harvey glanced at his wife, who looked like she was about to scream again, but he spoke up before she could. “Um, what exactly are you and your—uh, moose… boyfriend—doing here?” He regarded the small woman in a way that he hoped was friendly. “I don’t think I ever caught your name.” This small woman seemed pleasant enough, even if her companion wasn’t. The moose had dipped its muzzle back into the soup, gulping loudly.

  “I’m Ivy,” she said, giving another curtsy. “And Rock isn’t a moose, he’s a sprite, like me. We’re here to make sure you two are safe.” The small woman looked around the inn before turning back to them. “Do you have a basement? Or a safe room of some sort where you can shelter? And can you shelter a few of the other townspeople if Rock and I find any outside?”

  Harvey blinked, slowly processing what the tiny woman was saying. Sprites? In Sagewood? Is that why there had been so many strange events lately? “Why?” he finally asked.

  Ivy shifted uncomfortably, rocking back on her heels slightly. “Well, let’s just say there’s something out there you don’t want to get in the way of,” she pursed her lips before continuing, “and let’s leave it at that.”

  Harvey turned to Cindy, taking her by the shoulders. “Sweetheart, go get Martha and take her to the cellar. I’ll be down shortly.”

  “But—” Cindy began, before Harvey cut her off.

  “Cindy, something strange is going on here,” he lowered his voice, casting a quick glance at Ivy and the moose before looking back into his wife’s eyes. “I’m going to find out what it is and stop it. But I need to know you and Martha are safe. Can you wait for me in the cellar?”

  Cindy nodded reluctantly, then disappeared upstairs. There was a brief, hushed conversation before Martha and Cindy came down the stairs together. The color drained from Martha’s face as she spotted the moose near the hearth, but Cindy quickly tugged on her daughter’s hand, leading her downstairs to safety.

  Harvey turned his gaze back to Ivy. “What’s going on here, Ivy? Spare no details.”

  Ivy opened her mouth, but just then, something loud crashed outside.

  Harvey and Ivy rushed to the window, their eyes widening in horror. The sky, once darkening with an ominous shade, now churned violently. A tornado unlike any Harvey had ever seen spiraled towards the town. It glowed with a strange, ethereal green light, and crackling arcs of magic split the air with deafening roars.

  “That,” Ivy said, drawing her comically small—but still large for her—sword, “is the reason we’re here. You need to go down to the cellar and take care of your family.”

  Harvey watched in horror as the tornado whipped debris around wildly, moving at an alarming pace toward the inn. He’d never heard of a tornado in Sagewood, and the earthquake a few weeks ago had Harvey and Cindy only making quick trips to the cellar for fear of collapse in the event of another.

  Ivy’s small voice piped up, pulling him from his thoughts. “Please, you’ve got to go down there. It really isn’t safe up here for you.”

  Harvey hesitated as he shifted his focus to the small woman standing on the windowsill. “And it’s safe out there for you and… the moose?”

  “Honestly, it’s just another day in Sagewood for us.” Ivy shrugged and turned to her animal companion, “Come on, Rock, time to go.”

  Ivy climbed out the window from which she’d come, while the moose pulled his muzzle out of the stew pot, his antlers scraping slightly against the hearth. He jostled the pot, sloshing broth everywhere, before he lumbered towards the door, which Harvey quickly opened. In a blink, the strange duo was gone, disappearing into the swirling debris outside. Harvy heard footsteps coming back up from the cellar, and judging by the footfalls, he knew it was his wife.

  Harvey closed the door against the wind and turned back to Cindy, who stood rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Harvey,” she said slowly, “we’re not going crazy, right? There was a sprite and a full-on moose in here just now?”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Harvey couldn’t help but let out a short, incredulous laugh. “If we’re going crazy, then we’re doing it together,” he replied, moving to embrace his wife. “But yes, I saw them too. A sprite… I thought they’d all been hunted down. She was very polite, though, nothing like what I’ve been told. The moose on the other hand…” Harvey glanced at the broth spilled across the floor, but Cindy didn’t seem to notice.

  She leaned into his embrace, her voice muffled against his chest. “What’s happening to our town, Harvey? First the earthquake, now this strange storm, and sprites appearing out of nowhere?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart, but we can talk about it in the cellar.”

  ***

  The air in Titus’ shop felt different. It was hot and swampy, as his forge always was, but it was tinged with something else… something magical. He wiped the sweat from his brow and set down his hammer, the metallic clang echoing in the stifling heat. Unease prickled at the back of his mind, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. Leaving the forge, he sauntered to the door of his shop and opened it to glance outside.

  The sky, once a calm expanse of blue, had become a roiling mass of green energy. Tendrils of lightning crackled through the swirling vortex, alive with an unnatural fury. It wasn’t just a storm. No, this was something far worse—magic, raw and untamed, lashing out at the land below. Trees were uprooted, fields torn apart. And it was moving fast.

  His breath caught as he traced the storm’s path. Straight toward the middle of Sagewood.

  “What is that thing?” Titus whispered to himself. The tornado was moving so quickly, he seemed to have mere minutes to act, but he remained frozen, his legs unable to move.

  The threat loomed ever closer, but before it could reach him, something even more terrifying appeared on the horizon: a massive wolf with white-blond fur. Tornadoes and now giant wolves? What in the world is happening?

  The wolf circled the tornado, careful not to get too close to the swirling vortex. It seemed like the tornado was reacting to the wolf’s snapping jaws and circling, almost like it was playing a twisted game of cat and mouse.

  “Excuse me, but don’t you think you’d be much safer inside?” a gravelly voice asked. Titus spun around, eyes darting every which way, finally looking down to see what looked like a child with tan skin and wavy white hair. He had a staff strapped to his back, and it looked like more than just an innocent child’s plaything—it looked like a weapon.

  “What the—?” Titus stammered, utterly bewildered.

  The child pointed towards Titus’ forge, smiling despite the chaos. “We can wait together while Reed tries to chase off the storm.”

  To Titus’ astonishment, he calmly walked past him and into the forge. He turned and motioned for Titus to follow. “We can watch from a window if you’re really so intrigued.”

  Titus, still reeling from the surreal scene, hesitated for a moment before following him inside. As he entered the forge, he cast one last glance at the bizarre spectacle outside. The wolf continued its dance with the tornado, seemingly undeterred by the chaos it was causing. Massive trees were uprooted and swallowed up by the wind, but the wolf continued to lead it away from the forge.

  “I’m Clay, by the way.” Inside, Clay had already found a spot by the window, peering out with an almost casual curiosity. “Quite the show, isn’t it?”

  Titus shook his head, feeling like he’d stepped into a fever dream. “First tornadoes, now giant wolves… What’s next, flying pigs?”

  Clay chuckled, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Oh, you’d be surprised. It already tore apart Matt’s chicken coop, so maybe there are a few chickens in that thing.” He continued to stare out the window, eyes fixated on the surreal spectacle.

  Titus sucked in a breath. “Matt Miller? The farmer? Are he and his family all right?”

  Clay nodded, still not tearing his gaze from the window. “You should come watch this. The Goddess is chasing Reed. Reed’s really fast though, she probably won’t catch him.”

  “Goddess?” Titus whispered, moving to stand beside Clay. As he drew closer, he realized that the person who had entered his forge wasn’t a child—he wasn’t even human. It was a sprite. The sprite had only one arm, the other sleeve of his tunic pinned up at the elbow. Titus eyed the sprite warily. Sprites were fae creatures, supposedly evil and full of tricks. Was this whole scene a conjuration meant to deceive him? Were both these beings sprites, conspiring to lead him to his doom and steal his riches? Then he blinked, shaking his head. What riches? He glanced around at his forge, half-laughing at the thought. If they’d come to steal, they’d chosen a poor target.

  His gaze drifted back to the window, and he jolted at the sight of the wolf loping towards his forge. In a flash of light, the wolf transformed into another sprite, similar to the other one but with lighter skin and blonde hair—the same color as the wolf’s fur. This new sprite sprinted to the forge’s front door and entered, slamming it shut behind him.

  “Do not go out there,” he said, breathless and wide-eyed.

  Titus blinked, his mind struggling to process the rapid succession of events. The presence of two sprites in his forge, the tornado of green lightning, and the mention of a Goddess left him reeling. Yet, the urgency in the blonde sprite’s voice cut through his confusion.

  “What’s happening?” Titus asked, his voice tinged with a mix of fear and curiosity.

  The blonde sprite, Reed, leaned against the door, catching his breath. “The Goddess is out there, and she’s not at all what we thought she’d be.”

  Titus blinked, not knowing what the sprite meant, but grasping that it was bad. He glanced at Clay, who still watched the unfolding chaos with a grim expression. “At least your forge is safe now, it looks like the tornado is heading in the other direction.”

  “All right, you two,” Titus glanced from one sprite to the other, “I need some answers, and nothing cryptic. What was that thing, and who is this Goddess you’re talking about? Is she a force of nature?”

  Clay finally tore his gaze from the window, meeting Titus’s eyes. “She is nature, I’m pretty sure. Her magic is out of balance and her power is out of control. We’re trying to contain it, but it’s not easy. Matt’s farm was the first to feel her wrath, and now it’s here, in Sagewood.”

  Titus felt a shiver run down his spine.

  “I don’t think she’ll come back this way, but we’ll stay with you until we know for sure,” Reed said, still sounding winded. “I tried to pull her away from the town, but we’ll see.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to keep you safe,” Clay said, turning his attention back to the window.

  As Titus stood there, accompanied by the strange and magical beings, he felt a surprising sense of calm. Despite the legends that painted sprites as dangerous tricksters, their determination to protect him was evident as they peered out his window, easing his apprehension. He found himself trusting these strange little men. After all, the blonde one—Reed—had led a tornado of magic away from his home, saving his forge and his entire life’s work. His eyes drifted down to the sprite with the missing arm.

  “How long has your arm been missing?” he asked, almost without thinking.

  Reed, the sprite with blonde hair and both arms, turned sharply on Titus, looking angry. “What kind of question—”

  “It’s okay, Reed,” Clay cut in, giving Titus an apologetic smile. “It’s been a few years since I lost it. I hardly even notice it now.”

  “Have you ever considered making a prosthetic?” Titus asked, his mind already churning with possibilities. He had plenty of metal on hand, and the forge was hot. All he’d need to do was take some measurements of the sprite’s other arm. After a few tests and some adjustments, he could create something truly useful. Maybe even turn this bystander sprite into more of a sprite of action, like his friend.

  “Can’t be done,” Reed cut in, still sounding annoyed. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Anything I make for a replacement either gets broken, doesn’t work, or catches on fire.”

  “That only happened once,” Clay said sheepishly.

  “Have you ever used metal? I'm something of a craftsman myself,” Titus said, gesturing at his forge to prove his point.

  Reed shrugged, obviously disinterested. Clay, however, seemed intrigued as he glanced around at all the tools. When he finally spoke, he sounded a bit embarrassed. “It’s not really my missing hand that’s bothered me all these years, although that is a small part of it.”

  To Titus’ surprise, a flash of light filled his forge, and where the sprite once stood was now a snowy owl. The owl spread its wings, revealing a lopsided span. It hopped around the forge before transforming back into the sprite with tan skin and wavy white hair, a hopeful glimmer now in his striking amber eyes. “If you could make a replacement for my wing, something so I could fly again, even just glide from tree to tree, that would be amazing.”

  Reed sighed, giving Clay a pointed look. “Clay, we’ve tried that before too, remember? You broke your other arm when the fake wing fell off midflight.”

  “Hmmm,” Titus thought. A replacement wing would be tricky, but not impossible. He’d made prosthetics for a few old folks in town and could probably find a way to keep it fixed to the sprite, even during flight. He had some spare leather that might work nicely to stretch across for the wing. It would be a challenging project, but one he was willing to take on for the small sprite, as a thank you for helping keep the forge safe.

  “Turn back into an owl, I’ll take some measurements.”

  Clay’s eyes lit up before he shifted back into his avian form.