Speaker 1: Some bonds form in silence, some through magic, but the
strongest are built when Fate rolls its eyes and says, fine, you,
two idiots belong together. An old fernwood proverb, probably translated incorrectly.
Henry noun henry ancient chaos familiaris grumpus phalus. Definition a
long haired silver cat with questionable patience and undeniable authority.
A highly intelligent, magical being who supervises humans the way
one supervises Toddler's juggling knives. Probably older than most countries,
Potentially winged. This part is hotly debated. Associated symptoms excessive judgment,
elevated magical static, sudden, unexplained purring, occasional feather shedding, classified,
do not ask, warning, do not underestimate, do not ignore,
do not attempt bellyrubs. Do not remark upon the wings
unless invited. Henry was not the type to panic. He
was the type to observe, judge silently, and occasionally nap
through disasters unless someone rattled kibble. But even he had
to admit this morning had been interesting. Silver didn't walk
into the village green. She detonated into it, a wild
flare of relief and joy. After too many days of fear.
Henry watched her sprint across the grass, cloak billowing, curls
blazing like an omen written in fire. He followed at
a dignified trot. A cat of his status did not run.
Silver threw her arms into the sky, spun, collapsed dramatically
into the grass, and gasped, I found it. I really
found it. Henry sat beside her, waited, judged, as was
his divine calling. Don't you look at me like that?
She said, breathless things can go right sometimes. Henry thought,
highly debatable, but her joy softened something ancient in him.
Then she scooped him up. The softness died instantly. Oh Henry,
she cooed, squeezing him like an enchanted bread loaf. My
brave boy, my fluffy little man. Henry went limp, allowing
gravity to express his disapproval. Henry, she whispered, forehead pressed
to his I'm not alone. There's someone else, a man,
someone real. Henry's ears flicked. I know I supervised his
existential crisis. Silver Side, brushing her cheek against his fur.
Maybe this is fate. Maybe I was meant to meet him.
Henry flicked his tail. The universe always laughed at humans loudly.
She finally released him enough for him to reclaim a
sliver of dignity. I'm glad, I'm not alone, she whispered.
Henry studied her, wild, hopeful trembling on the edge of destiny,
and something shifted, a pull, a spark, a recognition older
than language itself. He lifted one paw, gently tapped her chin,
and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. For a heartbeat,
the world paused, Wind stilled, light, bent, magic inhaled. Then
wings surged from Henry's back. Soft silver feathers burst outward
in a shimmer of moonlit glow, unfurling in a graceful
arc that stirred the grass. They were magnificent, ancient, impossibly real,
feathered like a griffin's, edged in faint threads of starlight. Silver,
gasped eyes, wide, breath halted. Henry did not. He simply
closed his eyes, purring like this was a routine inconvenience.
The wings stretched once, rustling with quiet power, and then
folded neatly back into his fur, disappearing as though they
had never existed. Silver stared at him, dazed, Henry, you
you have wings. Henry blinked translation, obviously, keep up. A
bond was forged, felt rather than spoken, woven through magic
and memory and lineage, a thread connecting which to familiar, familiar,
to which Silver whispered, thank you. Henry pretended not to care.
He cared a lot toward the cottage. Silver eventually stood,
brushing grass from her dress and hair. Come on, Henry,
let's go home. Henry allowed himself to be lifted. He
had fulfilled ancient prophecy, revealed celestial wings, and accepted a
bond older than time, and she was still carrying him
like a baby. Humans had no sense of gravitas. They
walked toward the whitewashed cottage, beneath the trees, her laughter bright,
his tail curled with regal annoyance. Somewhere beyond the tree line,
Colt watched, frozen, speechless, heart pounding. He had seen the wings,
he had felt the magic, and it rewrote everything he
thought he understood. Henry's origin. Winged edition. Henry had existed
long before Silver or Colt ever crossed into this world.
He did not measure time in years, but in moon cycles, spells,
and naps. He was not born. He was summoned. Queen Eerleth,
which of the old bloodline, once whispered a lonely wish,
Let there be someone who stays. Magic answered with silver
wings and soft fur. Henry arrived, yawning. Queen Aralithe laughed, Hello,
little guardian. He decided she could stay decades past rituals,
healing heartbreak joy. When Queen Arelith feared leaving him untethered,
she placed her final spell where fernwood blood walks, so
shall you. She kissed his forehead, His wings unfurled, glowed,
accepted the charge, and Queen Aralthe left the world to
go to her destiny. Henry remained waiting, watching, guarding, until
Silver arrived. Smelling of fear and destiny. Unaware of her power,
he touched his forehead to hers. Magic roared wings returned,
bond sealed. It was the bloodline that forged this. Now
Henry watches Silver Bloom, watches Colt orbit her fate, watches
the between worlds hum louder. Each day, something ancient stirs,
something Queen Arelithe once feared. When it arrives, Silver will
need Colt. Colt will need silver, and both will need
Henry winged judgmental, powerful Henry, even if he pretends otherwise,
Because in Fernwood Hollow nothing is ever truly lost, not magic,
not witches, not wings,