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  Finn was three years old, he ran through a white void.

  There was no sky. No ground. No edge to the world. Only light—soft, endless, warm—like being held inside a breath that never ended.

  A voice called from somewhere within it.

  “Finn…”

  His small bare feet moved quickly, though there was nothing to step on. He ran toward the voice with blind certainty, with the simple bravery of a child who did not yet know fear.

  A man waited for him.

  Tall. Gentle. Smiling.

  He wore robes of white, green, and gold, fabric flowing as though woven from wind and leaves. Across his chest shone a sigil: a tree whose roots, branches, and vines intertwined into a perfect circle.

  The man lifted Finn easily.

  Strong arms. Warm hands.

  “My brave little one,” he whispered.

  King Birog—though Finn did not know the name—pointed into the endless brightness.

  Finn followed his hand.

  And laughed.

  Birog laughed with him. A deep, joyful sound that felt older than mountains.

  He began to sing, his voice steady, familiar:

  “Roots will guard you through the night,

  Air will rock your dreams so light.”

  Finn echoed it.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Until it lived in him.

  Then the white world cracked.

  Light folded into wind.

  Sky unfolded.

  They stood upon a mountain cliff.

  Sunlight warmed Finn’s cheeks. Wind tugged at his small hair. Birds cut sharp arcs across a wide blue sky. Far below, a river flashed like silver as fish leapt through its skin.

  The air shifted.

  A pressure.

  The sky bowed.

  Something descended.

  A dragon.

  White scales gleaming. Green underbelly curling smooth and strong. Golden horns rising in twin points above its crown. Its jade eyes—split by dark slits—studied Finn with quiet ancient intelligence.

  It bowed to King Birog.

  Finn lifted his hand.

  The dragon leaned closer.

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  It breathed.

  A gentle rush of air passed over Finn’s fingers and cheeks. It smelled like pine needles, fresh rain, and deep forest soil. Finn laughed instinctively.

  The dragon allowed his tiny hand to touch its nose.

  Warm.

  Alive.

  Present.

  It did not feel like a beast.

  It felt like a promise.

  Then the dragon folded inward.

  Massive body softening.

  Bones tightening.

  Wings pulling close.

  Until it became no larger than a kitten.

  Small. White. Soft wings trembling. Jade eyes shining brightly.

  Finn slid from Birog’s arms and walked forward.

  He hugged the baby dragon.

  It was warm.

  Safe.

  Real.

  When he turned—

  Birog was gone.

  Only a silhouette of him remained, fading like a memory almost lost.

  Fear touched Finn’s heart.

  Loneliness.

  He ran.

  The small dragon ran beside him.

  They chased the shadow of the vanished king over tall grass and soft stone, through wind and gold light. But no matter how hard Finn ran, the silhouette remained beyond his reach.

  They fell into a cave.

  Cool darkness wrapped around them.

  The air smelled of wet stone and ancient earth. Somewhere, water fell in slow, steady drops. A deep sound pulsed through the cave—rock breathing.

  Inside stood a hill.

  A hundred carved stone steps.

  At the top: a tree.

  The Diospyrus Tree.

  Golden.

  Shimmering.

  Alive.

  A single shaft of sunlight pierced the cave ceiling, bathing its bark in warmth. Upon its trunk: the same sigil—roots, branches, vines forming a perfect circle.

  Finn climbed.

  The baby dragon’s claws clicked softly on the stone beside him.

  Step by step.

  At the top, Finn turned.

  Far below, he saw a circular platform from where they start their ascend.

  He stood beside the tree and inhaled.

  He smelled:

  Soil.

  Roots.

  Stone.

  Life.

  The white returned.

  But Finn was no longer three.

  He was sixteen.

  Stronger. Taller. Heavier with memory.

  The dragon was no longer small.

  Now it stood like a house of scales, wings half-folded, presence vast and calm. Its breath warmed the endless white.

  A voice whispered his name.

  “Finn…”

  Soft.

  Familiar.

  The air shifted.

  It smelled of jasmine.

  She ran toward him.

  Katherine.

  She collided into him, and together they fell. Her body landed on top of his. Her arms wrapped around him tightly.

  She didn’t move.

  She cried.

  Tears burned against his neck.

  A tiny glow fluttered in from the edge of the white.

  A fairy.

  Small as a thumb.

  Four wings, flipping rapidly.

  Flowers crowning her head, blooming across her breast and thighs.

  White and gold dust trailed behind her.

  Chummy.

  She hovered near Katherine.

  Then floated toward the dragon.

  The dragon lowered its massive head.

  Their gazes met.

  Ancient and young.

  Spirit and nature.

  Water echoed.

  Stone sighed.

  Roots whispered.

  Then—

  Finn opened his eyes.

  Wooden ceiling.

  Cloth.

  Firelight.

  The steady glow of the undrying candle on the small table.

  The smell of herbs. Of earth. Of clean air.

  And jasmine.

  Katherine lay across him.

  Her shoulders trembled.

  Her hands clenched his shirt.

  He lifted his arms.

  Slowly.

  Carefully.

  Wrapped them around her.

  She froze.

  Lifted her head.

  Her eyes were red.

  Wet.

  “You…” she whispered.

  She struck his shoulder weakly.

  “Idiot. Idiot. Idiot…”

  Then she broke completely, pressing her forehead to his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” Finn whispered. “If I made you worry.”

  Her body collapsed into him.

  After a while, they moved.

  Down the stairs.

  Light.

  Voices.

  Warmth.

  “Dad?” Finn asked.

  Maxi turned.

  And vanished.

  He was running before anyone spoke. He slammed into Finn, arms wrapping tight.

  The lynx padded forward, rested its head firmly against Finn’s leg, warm and steady.

  “Bro…” Maxi spoke so fast the words tangled. “I knew the candle would work. Let me tell you how I got it—there was this girl and she was super annoying and she grabbed the first one but I fought her—like not literally fought—kind of fought—and—”

  Finn didn’t follow every word.

  He didn’t care.

  The last thing he remembered was a cloaked man beating Maxi in the ruined castle.

  Now Maxi was loud.

  Alive.

  Whole.

  Durante stood.

  One step.

  Two.

  Then he was across the room.

  Hugging Finn.

  Long. Hard.

  He kissed the top of his head.

  “Dad?” Finn asked. “Why are you here?”

  Durante almost laughed.

  Almost smacked him.

  Instead, he kissed his son’s head.

  “It’s a long story.”

  Lir came next.

  She hugged Finn.

  Kissed his cheeks.

  “You scared us.”

  Finn bowed slightly to a woman he didn’t know.

  Bona smiled like old bark and soft leaves.

  Then—

  A familiar face near the door.

  She walked closer.

  She tossed something.

  Finn caught it.

  A ring.

  “Alice?” he asked.

  The woman covered her face.

  Uncovered it.

  Soraya.

  “In this world,” she said softly, “they call me Soraya.”

  She hugged him.

  And Finn finally felt real.