Chapter 1: The last flower
A light that won't let go
Lu woke to the sound of nothing.
Not the gentle whisper of wind through grove leaves, not the soft hum of her sisters weaving threshold-songs at dawn, not even the distant chime of the Dream Bells that had marked time since the world was young. Just silence, stretched thin and brittle as old bone.
She opened her eyes to gray sky through gray branches, everything leached of the jewel-bright colors that had once painted her world. The Between-Space looked like a memory left too long in sunlight, all its vibrancy faded to pale echoes. Lu's translucent wings, once shimmering with aurora greens and purples, now seemed dull even to herself.
The flower at her feet caught her attention. A single bloom of soft blue light, stubbornly bright against the colorless earth. Lu sat up slowly, her fox-body stiff from another night of restless sleep, and stared at the impossible thing. All her other flowers had withered within hours of blooming in this harsh place. The trail of luminescence she'd left behind during her first desperate weeks here had dimmed to nothing, leaving no trace of her passage.
But this one flower pulsed with gentle radiance, its petals unfurling as she watched.
"You're not supposed to last," she whispered, her voice rough from disuse. In the Deep Groves, her flowers had been eternal, living lights that marked safe passages and celebrated moments of joy. Here, they flickered and died like candle flames in a storm.
Once, the Deep Groves glowed with color and light, alive with songs and laughter.
She touched the bloom with one careful paw, and warmth spread through her pad. For a moment, she could almost smell the sweet-earth scent of home, could almost hear her mother's voice calling her name across the threshold gardens.
Lu, little light-bringer, come help tend the new bridge.
The memory hit her like a physical blow. Her mother's gentle hands showing her how to coax flowers into bloom along the pathways between sleeping and waking. Her father's deep laugh as he watched Lu's first successful threshold-weaving, the way reality had bent like water around her small attempts. Her siblings—one sister and one brother—working together to maintain the delicate balance that kept their world safe and whole.
Gone. All of it gone.
The Harsh Winds had come on what should have been a celebration day. Lu's youngest sister, Nira, had just completed her first solo threshold-keeping, successfully guiding a lost dream back to its sleeper. They'd been preparing a feast, weaving flower-crowns, singing the old songs of connection and gratitude.
Then the sky had turned the color of old blood, and the Winds began to whisper.
You're too trusting. Too weak. Others will take what little you have.
Why help strangers when your own family needs protection?
They call you gentle, but they mean naive.
They call you sensitive, but they mean broken.
The whispers had worked their poison slowly at first, then faster. Lu watched her neighbors begin to eye each other with suspicion. The Forest Guardians accused the Season-Keepers of hoarding resources. The Dream-Weavers claimed the Soul Guides were stealing their work. Ancient friendships cracked like drought-stricken earth.
And when the real destruction came, the wind-razors that tore through the groves, the shadow-fire that consumed the threshold-paths, everyone was too busy protecting their own to help each other.
Lu had been separated from her family in the chaos. One moment she was running toward them, the next she was falling through a rent in reality itself, tumbling into this gray wasteland where nothing grew and no one remembered how to be kind.
She'd been searching for them ever since. Following rumors and whispers, tracking the faint traces of threshold-magic that sometimes flickered at the edges of her perception. But the trail always went cold, and she was left alone with the growing certainty that she might be the only one of her kind left.
The flower pulsed brighter, drawing her attention back to the present. Lu leaned down and breathed in its fragrance: something that reminded her of hope.
"What are you trying to tell me?" she asked.
As if in answer, she felt it—a gentle tugging sensation deep in her chest, like a thread being pulled taut. It pointed north, toward the jagged mountains that formed the border between the Between-Space and whatever lay beyond.
Lu had felt this pull before, faint and intermittent. She'd followed it for weeks, but it had always faded before leading her anywhere significant. This time, though, it felt stronger. More insistent.
The flower's light pulsed in rhythm with the pulling sensation, and Lu understood. This wasn't just any flower: it was a message. A sign that she wasn't as alone as she'd feared.
She stood, her joints protesting after another night on the hard ground. Her silver-script markings, once bright as moonlight against her purple-green fur, had faded to barely visible traces. But as she prepared to follow the pull, they flickered slightly brighter.
The flower remained steady at her feet, its light undimmed.
Lu took a deep breath and started walking north. Behind her, she heard the soft whisper of more flowers beginning to bloom. Not the explosive gardens of her youth, but small, determined points of light that refused to be extinguished.
For the first time in months, Lu allowed herself to hope.
The pull grew stronger with each step, and she quickened her pace. Somewhere out there, beyond the gray wasteland and the whispering winds, something was calling to her. Someone who might remember what it meant to tend the spaces between, to choose gentleness over hardness, to believe that sensitivity was strength rather than weakness.
Lu spread her wings, translucent and shimmering with faint aurora light, and lifted into the air. The Between-Space stretched endlessly below her, but she was no longer walking aimlessly through it.
She was going home. Not to the Deep Groves (that paradise was lost forever) but to something new. Something that might be built from the connections she'd thought were broken, tended by those who remembered how to be gentle in a harsh world.
The flower behind her pulsed once more, then settled into a steady glow that would burn long after she was gone. A beacon for others like her, if any remained. A promise that even in the darkest places, beauty could still bloom.
Lu flew toward the mountains, following the thread of hope that pulled her ever northward, leaving a trail of small, stubborn lights in her wake.
🎧 Sway
One small light Won't let go Tells me things I need to know Gray can't last Gray can't stay Something pulls Me away Hmm-mm, hmm-mm Wings remember How to fly Even when I want to cry One small light Shows the way One small light Says to sway
🦊 About Lu's Story
Lu is searching for her family in a world that's forgotten how to be kind. When the Harsh Winds turned communities against each other, Lu's people were scattered like seeds. Each step of her quest reveals how deep the corruption runs, and what it will take to heal it.
The beginning of something so epic!
It's amazing, Lillian! Congratulations! I'm looking forward to reading more.