The afternoon heat makes the air shimmer above our garden wall as I sit in my favorite shady spot, back pressed against the cool stones. It's the perfect place to read - just enough breeze to keep the pages from sticking to my fingers.

  The book in my hands is one of Dad's favorites - full of legends about ancient heroes and their battles against creatures from the Upside Down. Maya, my little sister, loves when I read them to her before bed, though I always have to soften the scarier parts. I trace my fingers over the yellowed pages, thinking about how many times Dad must have read this as a child.

  "Wait! Wait! Come back!"

  Claire's voice breaks through my quiet reading spot. I lower my book, curious about what's got my best friend so worked up. The summer sun nearly blinds me as I lean forward to peer around the corner of our house.

  I fidget with the hem of my dress - a nervous habit Mom's always scolding me for - as I try to spot Claire between the houses. The village of Aldenvik stretches out before me, familiar as my own reflection. Every hill, every ancient oak and silver birch like old friends I've known all my life.

  A flash of movement catches my eye near the forest's edge. Claire bursts into view, her braids coming undone as she chases something through the afternoon light. I squint past the sun's glare trying to make out what has her so excited, and that's when I see it - a wonderful drakeling. Its deep violet scales shimmer like the strange crystals Elder Gondo keeps locked away in his workshop. The creature is barely larger than Mrs. Hedda's cat.

  I've never seen one inside the village before - they're incredibly rare, these visitors from the other side. Grandmother's stories say they appear only during the height of summer, when the veil between worlds grows thin. Sometimes, if you're very lucky, you might catch a glimpse of them at the forest's edge, hunting small prey in those uncertain hours between day and night. But they never venture this close to human dwellings, where the scent of fresh bread and herb gardens should keep such otherworldly things at bay.

  "Just... just a moment!" Claire calls out between breaths. She stumbles to a stop, doubling over with her hands on her knees. I can't help but smile - she's always chasing wonder, my best friend, whether her feet can keep up with her heart or not.

  The creature seems to be playing with her, hovering just beyond reach on wings that look like stained glass caught in sunlight - first amber, then emerald, then rose. The moment Claire stretches out her hand, it spins away with fluid precision, its long tail trailing behind like silk in a stream. Each beat of those translucent wings sends tiny rainbows dancing across the water's surface below. Around and around the old stone well it leads her in a dance.

  I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle - it's like watching a performance where only one dancer knows the steps.

  Claire and I have explored every corner of Aldenvik since we were old enough to walk. We know all the hidden spots, all the passages between houses, even the exact places where the floorboards creak in the old bakery. Today, though, the village feels... peaceful. Perfect in its summer afternoon contentment.

  "Julie! Julie!" Claire spots me in my hiding place. "Help me catch it! And don't you dare laugh at me again - I saw you hiding your giggles!"

  I can't help another small laugh escaping - Claire's enthusiasm has always been as catching as spring fever. "Coming!" I call back, pushing myself up from my hiding spot.

  The excitement in her voice is infectious. I abandon my book in its shady nook and race to join her, the warm cobblestones smooth under my feet. We chase the little trickster through the villagers' gardens, the air sweet with lilies and roses. It leads us on a merry chase through carefully tended rows of carrots and onions, making us zigzag and stumble after it.

  "Girls! Mind those vegetables!" Mrs. Weber shouts from her window. "Those took months to grow!"

  "Sorry, Mrs. Weber! Sorry, Mr. Lars!" I call out as we crash through their gardens, my face burning with embarrassment. Great, now Mom will hear about this at the market tomorrow. She already thinks I spend too much time running wild with Claire instead of helping with chores.

  We run past house after house - I know every one of them, every creaky board and weathered beam. The stories they could tell about Claire and me, about all our adventures and mishaps. The drakeling suddenly swoops toward the wheat field, sending ripples through the golden stalks like waves on a summer lake.

  I pause to catch my breath, leaning against the old elm tree. The red cat sitting on a high branch watches us with lazy interest, tail swaying gently back and forth. Usually, he comes running for pets and attention, but today he just observes with quiet indifference, his eyes half-closed in the warm afternoon sun.

  "We should probably head back," I say, realizing how far we've strayed from the village center. But Claire's already moving forward, following our mysterious guide deeper into the outskirts.

  "Julie, Julie! Look up there!" Claire bounces on her toes, pointing up through the elm's branches. "It's resting right there! Can you believe how pretty it is? Look at those wings - they're like rainbow glass!"

  The drakeling hovers near Mrs. Hedda's red cat, its rainbow wings casting tiny prisms across the branch. The cat's lazy afternoon nap transforms in an instant - his tail puffs up like a bottle brush and his ears flatten against his skull. With a sharp hiss that sounds more scared than angry, he bolts under the porch so fast he nearly falls off the branch first.

  "Did you see that?" Claire's laugh rings out across the garden. "I've never seen that old cat move so fast! He's usually too lazy to even chase mice."

  "Void take me! Julie, its tail! Did you see how it curled up? And those scales - they shine just like Gondo's prettiest gems!" Claire grabs my arm, shaking me in her excitement. "It's looking right at us! Julie, are you even watching?"

  I try to focus on where she's pointing, but something else catches my attention. Whispers brush against my thoughts, soft and distant, like when you try to hear what your parents are saying from another room. My head feels fuzzy, and for a moment, everything seems to drift away, like I'm underwater.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "I..." I stammer, my tongue feeling thick and clumsy.

  "You totally missed it!" Claire's excitement shifts to concern. "It was the most amazing thing ever, and you were standing there like you were sleeping or something. Are you okay?"

  "I just... I heard these weird whispers and-"

  "Whispers? What whispers? Never mind that - you should have seen it! The way it moved was so graceful, like a dancer or something, and when it spread its wings -"

  A flash of violet scales catches my eye as the drakeling darts between Mom's rose bushes. Claire's already moving to follow, her earlier worry forgotten in the thrill of the chase. I hurry after her, grateful she didn't press about what just happened.

  We stop at the edge of the wheat field, both of us panting and grinning like fools. The drakeling flits just out of reach, its shimmering wings catching the sunlight.

  "That thing’s impossible to catch," Claire says, laughing.

  I hear them again, those strange, soft whispers, faint as the rustle of wind through tall grass. But this time, they’re stronger, clearer, as if they’re coming from the creature itself. The world around me seems to blur, the golden wheat and bright sky melting together as its violet eyes glimmer, holding mine for a fleeting moment. My chest tightens, and I stagger, gripping a stalk of wheat to steady myself. The whispers... they’re not just sounds. I’d swear I heard some… words.

  "You're acting weird," Claire says, throwing me a sidelong glance as we run. "Are you even paying attention? Look, it’s over there!"

  I try to focus, but the whispers are back, stronger now, filling my mind like a low hum of bees. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but Claire notices. She slows her pace, her earlier excitement dimming.

  "Julie?" she says, her voice softer now. Her brow furrows as she studies me, her earlier laughter fading into concern. "You okay? You really don't look so good. Maybe we should get something to eat? The Millbrook traders should be here by now, I think I smell fresh bread from the square - they always bring those honey cakes you love. And with this winter being so harsh, Grandpa says they're bringing twice as many supplies as usual."

  I manage a weak smile. "Yeah, that sounds good," I say, forcing a steadiness I don't feel.

  The afternoon sun beats down as we walk down the main street, Claire still bubbling with excitement. Her voice fills the quiet streets with plans and possibilities, each word brighter than the last. I try to focus on her joy, but the whispers from earlier still brush against my thoughts, like fingers testing the edges of a wound.

  "We could make a map! Can you imagine if we found its nest?" Claire spins to face me, walking backward with practiced confidence. She's already moved on from the drakeling to her next grand idea. "Maybe there are more of them, and we could mark all their favorite spots, and-" She stops suddenly, remembering something.

  Claire plants her feet firmly, lifts her chin, and places her hands on her hips - the exact pose she takes whenever she's about to share something important about her grandfather. "Oh! Speaking of special things, did you know about the traders? After such a harsh winter, Grandpa's been planning something big."

  Her earlier enthusiasm about the drakeling transforms into a different kind of excitement. "He was going over all the arrangements at breakfast - three different merchant families this time! Says we can't take chances after a winter like that." Her chin lifts even higher with familiar pride. "He's been planning this trade for months. Extra grain, more supplies than usual..." She bounces on her toes, hands still planted firmly on her hips. "I bet the square will be packed with the biggest carts we've ever-"

  A sound cuts through the afternoon quiet, stopping her mid-sentence. Not thunder, though the air feels heavy like before a storm. A woman's cry - raw and broken, carrying something that makes the shadows between houses seem deeper.

  We follow the sound through winding streets where herbs grow in every available space - gardens carefully tended despite the poverty that clings to these houses like old paint. The crying grows louder, taking on layers that make my chest hurt. Not just grief, but something deeper - the kind of pain that changes the air around it.

  Claire's excitement drains away as the sound sharpens. Her face has lost its excited glow, replaced by something more uncertain. Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with instinctive urgency.

  We find Mrs. Thora in her doorway, and the sight stops me cold. She stands clutching a small bundle to her chest, her whole body shaking with sobs that seem to tear right through her. Her husband's arms encircle her shoulders, his weathered hands trembling. He holds her so carefully, as if she might shatter.

  "The baby," Claire's voice catches. "Didn't she just...?"

  Words fail us both. The bundle in Mrs. Thora's arms - so small, so still - makes my chest ache. It's wrapped in the blanket her mother spent months knitting, each stitch a prayer for the grandson she'll never meet. Just days ago, Mrs. Thora had stood in this same doorway, radiant with joy. Now her neighbors hurry past with averted eyes, as if grief might be catching.

  Old Mrs. Weber pauses as she passes, crossing herself three times as she mutters prayers under her breath. But her eyes drift to Mrs. Thora's herb garden, and I follow her gaze. Between the rows of lavender and rosemary lie a crystal. Each pulse beneath the earth feels like a heartbeat, drawing something up from depths where Temple law dares not reach.

  "We need to go," Claire's voice rises, panic sharpening her words. Her fingers dig into my arm, pulling harder. "Julie, please, we can't - this isn't for us."

  But I can't move.

  Mrs. Thora's husband guides her toward the garden with infinite tenderness. Their steps follow a pattern I've never seen but somehow can recognize, born from desperation and love. She kneels among the herbs, still cradling her burden. Her tears fall onto dark earth as her fingers begin to dig, each motion heavy with purpose.

  Mrs. Thora's husband guides her toward the garden with infinite tenderness. Their steps follow a pattern I've never seen but somehow recognize. She kneels among the herbs, still cradling her burden. Her tears fall onto dark earth as her fingers begin to dig.

  "Better the garden than the Temple's cold ground," someone whispers. "At least this way she'll have protection..."

  The words make me look closer at what they're doing. The crystal pulses stronger as Mrs. Thora places it carefully in the earth, her tears falling onto its surface. Her husband arranges herbs around it - lavender for memory, rosemary for protection, and other plants I don't recognize.

  Then Mrs. Thora begins to sing. The lullaby starts soft, almost normal, but the words twist into shapes that make my teeth ache. Her husband's deeper voice joins hers, steadying the melody. Other voices join - so quiet I almost miss them at first. Women watching from their windows, adding harmonies that feel like memories of grief.

  I understand now, though I wish I didn't. They're not just burying a child - they're planting a guardian. In the poorest parts of Aldenvik, where Temple protection comes with too high a price, families find other ways to keep themselves safe. The crystal will merge with what they bury, drawing power from a mother's grief and desperate love. Something will grow here, fierce and strange and protective beyond reason.

  "Julie," Claire's fingers dig into my arm so hard it hurts, her voice trembling. "We shouldn't- this isn't-"

  She's right. This isn't for children's eyes - this desperate ritual born from grief too deep for Temple comfort. I've heard whispers about such things, about what grows in gardens where hope and despair take root together. About mothers who choose darker blessings when the Church's light grows cold.

  As we drift away, Mrs. Thora's sobs fades quieter, then to silence. The last thing I hear before we turn the corner is the sound of earth being patted down over freshly planted hope, accompanied by cries and prayers that sound more like promises than pleas. Whether Mrs. Thora's ritual will bring the protection she seeks, I don't know. But in Aldenvik, mothers learn early that some prices are worth paying, even if the Temple calls them sins.

  The bustling sounds of the Millbrook traders grow louder ahead, but they feel disconnected now. Claire's hand trembles in mine as we hurry forward, both of us trying to forget what we've witnessed.