Emma woke to the smell of woodsmoke and herbs.
Her body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry, every muscle aching with the kind of deep exhaustion that comes from pushing past every limit. For a confused moment, she thought she was in her own bed, that everything had been a fever dream brought on by too much reading and grief.
Then she opened her eyes.
The ceiling above her was made of rough-hewn timber, gaps between the beams showing a thatched roof beyond. Sunlight filtered through a window to her left—not glass, but oiled parchment that glowed amber in the afternoon light. She could hear voices outside, the clatter of tools, the laughter of children playing some game.
And she could feel the lake.
It was a constant presence now, like a hum at the edge of her awareness. She knew, without knowing how she knew, that it was exactly two hundred and thirty-seven steps away to the northeast. She could sense its moods, the way its waters moved and settled, could almost hear it breathing in rhythm with her own lungs.
"You're awake."
Emma turned her head—even that small movement sent aches radiating down her neck—to find a woman sitting in a chair beside the bed. She was perhaps forty, with dark hair streaked with gray and eyes the color of storm clouds. She wore simple clothes, a homespun dress and apron, but carried herself with quiet authority.
"How long?" Emma's voice came out as a croak.
"Two days." The woman reached for a cup on the nearby table, holding it to Emma's lips. The water was cool and sweet, and Emma drank greedily. "You collapsed after the battle. Young Finn and his father, Gareth, brought you here to Last Light. That's our village, such as it is."
Two days. Emma tried to remember what had happened after the dragon. She recalled the wall of water crashing into the creature's black fire, remembered the steam and the screaming, remembered holding the magic together through sheer force of will until the dragon retreated, shrieking its rage. Then... nothing.
"The dragon," Emma said. "Did it—"
"It fled back to the mountains. You drove it off, Lady Fairy. You saved us all." The woman smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm Mara. I've been the village healer for twenty years, but I've never treated someone like you before. Your wounds closed themselves while you slept. By the second morning, even the scar was gone."
Emma looked at her arm where the creature had clawed her. The skin was smooth and unblemished, as if it had never been broken. She touched it wonderingly, then noticed something else—her hand was cleaner than it had any right to be, her nails neat and oval, her skin soft. She looked down at herself and found she was wearing a simple nightgown, her strange water-dress nowhere in sight.
"The dress," she said. "Where—"
"We couldn't remove it at first," Mara said softly. "It seemed part of you. But when we brought lake water and poured it over you, the dress dissolved into it, and we could finally tend to you properly. It's hanging by the window now. Or rather, it's reformed itself there."
Emma looked and saw it: her dress, hanging on a wooden peg, still glistening as if perpetually wet. Even at this distance, she could feel its connection to her, a gentle tug like a reminder that it was waiting.
"This is insane," Emma whispered, letting her head fall back against the pillow. "This whole thing is completely insane. I'm a high school student. I work in my dad's bookstore. I can barely swim, for god's sake. I shouldn't be able to do any of this."
Mara studied her for a long moment. "You remember another life."
It wasn't a question. Emma turned to look at her, startled. "How do you—"
"The old stories speak of it. They say the Lake Fairy is born from memory and story, from the dreams of those who came before. Perhaps you carry memories of another world, another life. But you're here now, in this one. And this world has need of you."
Emma wanted to argue, to insist that there had to be a way back, that she didn't belong here. But Mara's expression stopped her. The woman wasn't looking at her with the awe she'd seen in Finn's eyes, or even the desperate hope in Gareth's. She was looking at Emma with something like understanding, and maybe a little pity.
"I know it's difficult," Mara said quietly. "To be called to something you never asked for. But sometimes we don't get to choose our purpose. We only get to choose whether we'll answer the call."
Before Emma could respond, a knock came at the door. Mara rose and opened it to reveal Finn, the russet-haired boy from the boat. His face lit up when he saw Emma awake.
"Lady Fairy! You're all right! Father said you'd wake today—he felt it in his bones, he said, which usually means he's right about things, even though Mother says his bones can't feel anything except when it's going to rain—" He caught himself, blushing. "I'm supposed to tell you that the Council has gathered. They'd like to speak with you, if you're strong enough."
"The Council?" Emma pushed herself up to sitting, ignoring the protests from her muscles.
"The village leaders," Mara explained, moving to help Emma despite her gesture of independence. "Last Light is the only settlement left on this side of the mountains. When the Shadow King rose three years ago, most fled south to the kingdom's capital. Only those with nowhere else to go remained here."
"Or those too stubborn to run," Finn added with a grin.
Emma swung her legs out of bed, testing her weight. Everything hurt, but nothing felt broken or damaged—just tired, bone-deep tired. "I need to talk to them anyway. I need to understand what's happening here, what this place is, how I—" She took a breath. "How I get home."
The look that passed between Mara and Finn told Emma everything she needed to know about that possibility. Her heart sank.
"Let me help you dress," Mara said gently. "The Council will wait."
The dress felt strange against her skin—cool and warm at once, moving like water given form. When Emma had touched it, it had flowed onto her body like a living thing, molding itself to her shape. Looking down at herself now, she understood why Finn had immediately recognized her as the Lake Fairy. She looked like something out of a storybook, ethereal and not quite real.
Which was ironic, given that she was apparently the only real thing in a story.
Mara led her through the village of Last Light, and Emma tried to take it all in. The settlement was smaller than she'd expected—maybe thirty buildings in total, arranged in a rough circle around a central square. Most were simple wooden structures with thatched roofs, though a few were stone, built to last. Everywhere she looked, she saw signs of hard living: patched roofs, mended fences, clothes worn thin from use.
But she also saw flowers. Window boxes full of blooms, vines climbing up walls, gardens bursting with vegetables and herbs. The people had made beauty wherever they could.
And now they stopped to stare at her.
Men and women paused in their work, tools hanging forgotten in their hands. Children ceased their games, eyes wide with wonder. An old woman by a well actually dropped to her knees, her lips moving in silent prayer. Emma felt her face flush with embarrassment and something else—an uncomfortable weight of expectation pressing down on her shoulders.
"They've been waiting for you all their lives," Mara said softly, noticing her discomfort. "Their parents told them the story, and their parents before them. The Lake Fairy who would come in the kingdom's darkest hour. You're not just a person to them. You're hope made flesh."
"But I don't know if I can give them what they hope for," Emma whispered. "I don't even know how I'm here."
"Then perhaps it's time to learn."
The Council met in the largest of the stone buildings, a hall that might have once been impressive but now showed signs of age and neglect. Inside, a long table had been set up, and around it sat seven people—three men, three women, and one person whose age and bearing suggested they'd seen more winters than everyone else combined.
"Lady Fairy," the eldest said, rising. Their voice was dry as old paper but steady. "I am Elder Thorne, and I welcome you on behalf—"
Emma's world tilted.
"What did you say?" she interrupted, her voice barely audible.
The elder blinked. "I am Elder Thorne. I—"
"That's my name," Emma said, her legs suddenly unsteady. "My last name. Thorne. Emma Thorne."
A murmur ran through the Council. Mara's hand on her elbow steadied her, guided her to an empty chair. Emma sat heavily, her mind racing.
"Not possible," one of the men at the table said—Gareth, she recognized, Finn's father. "The Lake Fairy has no family name. She's born of the water itself, not of human lineage."
"Unless," the eldest said slowly, "the stories have grown confused over the years. There are older versions, fragments, that speak of the Lake Fairy being called from somewhere else. A place beyond the world, beyond our understanding." They looked at Emma with ancient eyes. "What is your world like, child? The one you remember?"
Emma's throat felt tight. "Different. There's no magic there, or at least none that I ever saw. We have machines instead—cars and computers and phones that let you talk to anyone anywhere. We have cities with millions of people, buildings that scrape the sky, medicine that can cure diseases that would kill you here in days." She swallowed. "And we have books. Stories. Including one about a place like this, about a Lake Fairy who rises to fight the Shadow King."
"You read the prophecy," one of the women said. "In your world, our story exists as a tale?"
"My father read it to me. Over and over, when I was little. It was his favorite." Emma's voice cracked. "He died two years ago. Cancer. I was reading his copy of the book when I... when I came here."
The Council exchanged glances. Elder Thorne leaned forward, their expression thoughtful.
"There are legends," they said, "of the worlds beyond worlds. Of stories that bleed between them, creating bridges where none should exist. Some say that's what the Shadow King is—a story that escaped from somewhere else, something written into being by dark imaginings. If that's true, then perhaps you are the answer, a story written to oppose him."
"But I'm not a story," Emma protested. "I'm real. I have memories, a life, people who—" She stopped. "Oh god. My mom. She must think I'm missing. Or dead. I just disappeared, I—"
"Time flows differently between worlds," Elder Thorne said gently. "If you return, you may find that no time has passed at all. Or that centuries have gone by. There's no way to know."
The words should have been comforting, but they only made Emma's chest tighten with panic. She'd been so focused on surviving, on understanding the magic and fighting the monsters, that she hadn't let herself truly think about what this meant. She might never see her mother again. Never finish school, never go to college, never have the life she'd planned.
Unless she found a way back.
"How?" she asked, looking around the table. "How do I get home?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
"We don't know," Elder Thorne finally admitted. "The stories never speak of the Lake Fairy leaving. They end with her defeating the Shadow King and bringing peace to the kingdom. After that..." They spread their hands. "After that, the tale simply stops."
"So I'm trapped," Emma said flatly. "Stuck here, in a children's book, expected to fight an evil king I know nothing about, using magic I don't understand." She laughed, but it came out bitter. "And even if I somehow manage to win, there's no guarantee I can go home. Perfect."
"You don't have to do this," Mara said quietly. "You could leave. Walk away. Find somewhere safe and quiet and try to build a life."
Emma looked at her, surprised. "I thought you said I was supposed to answer the call."
"I said you get to choose whether you'll answer. That's not the same as having no choice at all."
For a moment, Emma was tempted. She could feel the lake calling to her, sense the magic waiting to be explored. Maybe she could find a peaceful cove somewhere, a place where dragons and shadow creatures never came. Maybe she could learn to accept this new world, this new life.
Then she thought about the people outside, the ones who'd knelt when they saw her. The children playing in the square, the gardens full of flowers. Finn with his bright smile and his father's steady courage. Mara's kindness in tending to her.
She thought about her own father, about the way he'd loved this story, about how many nights he'd read it to her even when he was exhausted from treatments, even when his hands shook too much to hold the book steady and she'd had to help him.
Why did you love it so much? she'd asked him once, near the end.
Because it's about someone who finds the courage to be more than they thought they could be, he'd answered. And that's the best kind of story there is.
Emma took a deep breath and met Elder Thorne's eyes.
"Tell me about the Shadow King," she said. "Tell me everything. If I'm going to do this, I need to know what I'm up against."
The relief on their faces was almost painful to see. But as Elder Thorne began to speak, laying out a history of darkness and corruption that had slowly consumed the kingdom, Emma felt something settle in her chest. Not certainty—she was far from certain about any of this. But purpose, maybe. Or at least direction.
She was the Lake Fairy. Born from story and memory, from her father's love and her own imagination, called into being by a world that needed her.
She might not have asked for this role.
But she'd be damned if she didn't try to play it well.