Elder Thorne's voice was soft but carried perfectly in the stone hall, each word chosen with the care of someone who'd told this story many times and knew its weight.
"The Shadow King was not always a king," they began. "And he was not always shadow. His name, before the corruption took him, was Aldric Greystone. He was the kingdom's greatest scholar, beloved by the people, advisor to the Crown. He devoted his life to the study of old magic, seeking to understand the forces that shaped our world."
Emma listened intently, trying to reconcile this image with the faceless evil she'd imagined. In the book her father had read, the Shadow King had been a simple antagonist—dark, mysterious, evil because the story required evil.
"What changed him?" she asked.
"Loss," Gareth said heavily. "His daughter fell ill with the Wasting Sickness. You won't have heard of it—it's been gone from the kingdom for thirty years, thank the old gods. But in its time, it was merciless. It took the young, drained them slowly until..."
He trailed off, but Emma didn't need him to finish. She'd watched her father waste away, had seen disease hollow out someone she loved. She understood exactly what the Wasting Sickness must have been like.
"Aldric searched for a cure," Elder Thorne continued. "He traveled to every corner of the kingdom, consulted every healer, every hedge witch, every ancient text. Nothing worked. In desperation, he turned to the forbidden archives—scrolls and books locked away because the knowledge they contained was deemed too dangerous."
"He found something," Emma said. It wasn't a question.
"He found a way to cheat death. But the magic required a price—balance, always balance. To save one life, another must be taken. Aldric refused at first. But as his daughter weakened, as her life slipped further away with each passing day, his resolve crumbled."
One of the other council members, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, spoke up. "We don't know whose life he took. Some say it was a servant, someone whose absence wouldn't be noticed. Others claim he sacrificed a stranger, picked at random from the street. But take a life he did, and the magic worked. His daughter recovered."
"For a time," Elder Thorne added grimly. "The borrowed life sustained her for perhaps a month. Then she began to fade again. Aldric realized the horrible truth—the magic wouldn't hold. To keep his daughter alive, he would need to keep feeding it. Keep taking lives."
Emma felt sick. "He did it. He kept killing."
"Not at first. He tried to find another way, threw himself back into his research with manic desperation. But time was against him, and his daughter was dying. So yes. He killed again. And again. Each death bought a little more time, but the intervals grew shorter. The magic was consuming him as surely as the disease consumed his daughter."
"How did no one stop him?"
"They tried," Gareth said darkly. "But Aldric had grown powerful from his dark studies. The lives he took didn't just sustain his daughter—they fed his own magic, twisted it into something new. Something wrong. When the Crown's guards came for him, he killed them all with a wave of his hand. When the king himself confronted Aldric, demanding he surrender..." He shook his head. "The king's body was never found."
"The kingdom fell into chaos," Elder Thorne said. "Aldric retreated to the mountains with his daughter, built a fortress there. He surrounded himself with creatures born from his corrupted magic, twisted things that fed on fear and darkness. He declared himself the Shadow King, claimed that he would remake the world into something where death had no power, where no child would ever waste away from disease again."
"What happened to his daughter?" Emma asked, though she was afraid she already knew the answer.
The hall was silent for a long moment. Finally, Mara spoke, her voice heavy with sorrow.
"She died anyway. The magic could only delay the inevitable, never cure it. By the end, Aldric had killed hundreds—maybe thousands—and it still wasn't enough. When she finally passed, they say he held her body for three days and nights."After she died, he changed," Mara continued. "Whatever humanity remained in him died with her. He stopped pretending his actions were about saving anyone. The killing continued, but now it was about power. About revenge against a world that had taken his daughter despite everything he'd sacrificed."
Emma wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the hall. "How long ago was this?"
"Seventy-three years," Elder Thorne said. "The dark magic has kept him alive, kept him strong. Each life he takes adds to his power, extends his existence. And the creatures he creates—the dragons, the shadow-serpents, all the nightmares that serve him—they're extensions of his will. When they kill, he grows stronger."
"So every time I fight them," Emma said slowly, "I'm not really hurting him. I'm just... holding them back temporarily."
"The Lake Fairy of legend was supposed to be able to do more than that," Gareth said, leaning forward intently. "The prophecy speaks of her purifying the corruption, healing the wounds in the world itself. Where the Shadow King spreads death, she brings life. Where he corrupts, she cleanses."
"But you don't know if I can actually do that," Emma said. "You're hoping I can, based on a story."
"Based on the fact that you exist at all," Elder Thorne corrected gently. "The prophecy said the Lake Fairy would emerge when the kingdom's need was greatest. Three days ago, the Shadow King's forces began moving south in numbers we've never seen. They're preparing for something, a final assault perhaps. And on that same day, you rose from the Moonmere. That cannot be coincidence."
Emma stood abruptly, needing to move, to pace. The weight of their expectations was crushing. "In the book—the version I know—the Lake Fairy defeats the Shadow King in a final battle. But it never says how. It just says she 'broke the darkness with her light' or something equally vague and useless."
"Perhaps because how doesn't matter," Mara suggested. "Perhaps the story is simply telling us that it can be done. That someone like you can stand against someone like him."
"Someone like me," Emma repeated bitterly. "A girl who got here by accident. Who has magic she doesn't understand and can barely control. Who's scared out of her mind most of the time."
"Fear doesn't make you weak," Finn's voice came from the doorway. Everyone turned to see him standing there, looking embarrassed but determined. "Sorry, I was listening. But Father always says the bravest person he ever knew was terrified every single day. She still fought."
"Who?" Emma asked.
Gareth's expression softened with old grief. "My wife. Finn's mother. She died holding off a shadow-creature that attacked our farm, giving Finn time to run. She was just a farmer's wife, no training, no magic. But she picked up a pitchfork and she fought." His voice roughened. "And she was screaming in fear the whole time."
The silence that followed was thick with shared pain. Emma realized that everyone in this room had lost someone to the Shadow King's darkness. Everyone in this village, probably. These weren't abstract stakes in a storybook. These were real people, real lives, real grief.
"I don't know if I can kill him," Emma said quietly. "I don't know if I can kill anyone, even someone who's done the things he's done."
"Then don't," Elder Thorne said, surprising her. "Find another way. The story says you defeat him, not that you kill him. Perhaps there's a difference."
"Like what? Therapy? 'Hey, Mr. Shadow King, let's talk about your feelings?'"
A small smile crossed the elder's weathered face. "Stranger things have happened. But no—I'm thinking of something older. The magic Aldric used, the dark power that sustains him, it comes from an imbalance. Life stolen to prevent death. Perhaps if that balance could be restored..."
"You're saying I should cure him?" Emma shook her head. "That's insane."
"Is it more insane than a girl from another world rising from a lake with the power to command water?" Mara asked mildly.
Emma opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Fair point.
One of the other council members spoke up—a lean man with a scar across his cheek whom Emma hadn't heard speak before. "There's another matter we need to discuss. The Shadow King isn't our only problem."
"Marcus is right," Elder Thorne said. "Tell her about the capital."
Marcus nodded grimly. "When the Shadow King first rose, most of the kingdom fled south to the capital city of Lumina. They were led by Prince Aldren—the old king's son, who'd been traveling abroad when his father was killed. Aldren claimed the throne and promised to defend the people, to build an army strong enough to defeat the Shadow King."
"That sounds good," Emma said cautiously. "So what's the problem?"
"The problem is that Aldren became obsessed with winning at any cost. He began conscripting anyone who could hold a weapon—farmers, craftsmen, even children as young as twelve. He emptied the kingdom's coffers hiring mercenaries. And when that wasn't enough, he turned to..." Marcus glanced at Elder Thorne.
"Blood magic," the elder finished. "Different from Aldric's death magic, but no less troubling. Aldren found mages willing to enhance his soldiers, make them stronger and faster and more savage. The cost was their humanity, bit by bit. His army became nearly as monstrous as the creatures they fought."
Emma felt a headache building behind her eyes. "So let me get this straight. The Shadow King in the north is creating monsters and killing people. The prince in the south is turning people into monsters and sending them to die. And I'm supposed to... what? Fight both of them?"
"The prophecy speaks of the Lake Fairy healing the kingdom," Gareth said. "Not just defeating the Shadow King. Healing. That suggests she addresses more than just one source of corruption."
"Great. Wonderful. That's just perfect." Emma laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Is there anyone in this kingdom who isn't completely insane or evil?"
"Us," Finn said simply. "The people of Last Light. And the other small villages scattered around the kingdom. The ones who didn't run to Lumina, who didn't fall to the Shadow King's creatures. We're still here. Still human. Still trying to do right."
Emma looked at him—this brave boy who'd lost his mother, who lived in the shadow of two terrible powers, who still managed to smile and have hope. She felt something in her chest tighten and release.
"How many?" she asked. "How many villages like this one?"
"We know of seven within two weeks' travel," Elder Thorne said. "There may be others, isolated and afraid to make contact. Together, maybe five hundred souls. That's all that remains of the kingdom's middle ground—the people who just want to live their lives in peace."
Five hundred people. In a kingdom that once held tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. It was a staggering loss.
"The Shadow King will come for them eventually," Emma said. "If he's preparing for a final assault, places like this will be in the way."
"Yes," Elder Thorne agreed. "Which is why we need you."
Emma walked to one of the hall's narrow windows, looking out at the village square. She could see people going about their daily tasks—mending nets, tending gardens, building a new fence. Living. Surviving. Hoping.
In her old life, she'd been nobody special. A decent student with decent grades, working in her dad's bookstore after school, reading too much and socializing too little. Her biggest worry had been getting into a good college, maybe finding a career she didn't hate.
Now people were calling her Lady Fairy. Kneeling when she passed. Expecting her to save them from forces she couldn't begin to comprehend.
It should have felt impossible. It should have felt like too much to ask of anyone, let alone a seventeen-year-old girl from Seattle.
But Emma thought about her father, about the nights he'd read to her even when he was dying. About how he'd looked at her during those readings, as if he were trying to tell her something important.
You're stronger than you think you are, he'd told her, near the end. When the time comes, you'll know what to do.
At the time, she'd thought he meant dealing with his death, learning to live without him. Now she wondered if somehow, impossibly, he'd known more than that.
"I need to learn how to use this magic properly," Emma said, turning back to the council. "The fight with the dragon—I was running on instinct and terror. If I'm going to face the Shadow King, I need to actually understand what I'm doing."
"There are old texts," Elder Thorne said, hope kindling in their eyes. "Fragments of knowledge about water magic, about the ancient powers. I can teach you what little I know, and we can search for more."
"And I need to see these other villages," Emma continued, her mind racing now, planning. "If I'm supposed to be some kind of protector, I should actually know who I'm protecting. Plus, maybe some of them have information that could help. Stories, legends, anything about the Lake Fairy or the Shadow King."
"I can guide you," Gareth offered immediately. "I know the safe routes, or as safe as any routes can be these days."
"I want to come too," Finn said.
"Absolutely not," Gareth and Emma said simultaneously, then looked at each other in surprise.
"I'm not putting a child in danger," Emma added firmly.
"I'm thirteen! And I can use a bow! And I know these lands better than Father does, he's always getting lost—"
"That was one time," Gareth protested.
"It was four times. I counted."
Despite everything, Emma felt a smile tugging at her lips. There was something so normal about their bickering, so wonderfully mundane in the middle of all this madness.
"We'll discuss it," she said, in the tone that meant 'no but I don't want to argue right now.' Finn seemed to recognize it, because he deflated slightly but didn't argue further.
Mara stood, moving to Emma's side. "Before you go gallivanting across the kingdom, you need to finish recovering. And you need to eat something more substantial than the broth I've been feeding you while you slept. You can't save the world on an empty stomach."
"Is that medical advice or common sense?"
"Both. Come on."
As Mara led her toward the door, Emma paused and looked back at the council. "I'm not promising I can do this. I'm not promising I can be what the prophecy says I should be. But I'll try. That's all I can offer."
"That's all anyone can ask," Elder Thorne said, and the relief in their voice was palpable. "Thank you, Lady Fairy."
"Emma," she corrected. "Please, just... call me Emma. The other thing makes me feel like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's life."
"Perhaps you are," the elder said with a small smile. "But perhaps that's exactly what's needed. Sometimes we need to dress up as the person we're meant to become before we can actually become them."
Emma didn't have an answer to that, so she simply nodded and followed Mara out into the afternoon sun.
As they walked back through the village, Finn fell into step beside them, chattering excitedly about everything Emma would need for her journey—supplies, equipment, weapons ("Can you even use a sword? Should we find out? I can teach you!").
Emma let his words wash over her, only half-listening. Instead, she reached out with that new sense, feeling the lake's presence like a steady heartbeat. It was calm now, peaceful. Waiting.
She'd fought a dragon. She'd saved lives. She'd somehow survived being thrown into a story that shouldn't exist.
What came next would probably be harder. Definitely more dangerous.
But as they passed a group of children playing in the square—children who stopped to stare at her with wide, hopeful eyes—Emma felt something settle deep in her chest.
Purpose, maybe. Or responsibility. Or just the simple, terrifying understanding that she was the only thing standing between these people and the darkness.
I'm going to need your help, Dad, she thought, hoping somehow he could hear her across whatever impossible distance separated their worlds. I'm going to need all the courage I can find.
A breeze stirred her hair, warm despite the cool afternoon. It might have been nothing. It might have been everything.
Either way, Emma squared her shoulders and kept walking.