They made it to the first Spirit Glade, and the sight halted the duo. A sight so devastating that Bedwyr reactively reached for his lyre, feeling the urge to play a melody of sadness and devastation. 

It was a landscape of decay and stench. A swamp of disease. The Starlit fae had visited a Spirit Glade in his youth. It had been a place of life and promise. An ancientness found in the roots.

But this, this mess before him, was alien. Death hung over it like an autumn mist preparing for winter. 

The mighty trees whose branches reached to the sun and stars now hung limp and weeping. In another time, the willows would have moved to comfort them, such as the sorrow in this place.

“Well, dear lady, this is not at all good.” Bedwyr spoke softly.

Gwyn was staring ahead, taking in the wound of the land. The Forgotten Forest had hounded them for good reason. It was ashamed of the corruption.

She continued to stand, unblinking. Anger and sadness were the same in her heart.

“How is this possible?” she asked painfully.

Wondering that very thought, Bedwyr took the first step of the two. The ground under his boot squelched. An acidic odour rose, and the pair could smell it. Bedwyr continued forward. They needed to speak with any of the Spirit Trees that were able.

He stepped cautiously, weaving through the pools of rotten ichor, seeking out the tree with the brightest spark. All were dulled, but the Fae had marked one. The horror about him wasn’t the strangest thing. It was the lack of Dryads. Bedwyr would have expected to see a few, even if sick, or worse, dead. 

Without their presence, the Spirit Trees didn’t stand a chance. The Dryads were bonded protectors of the glades. Each with a piece of their essence linked. Whatever this poison was, it was powerful.

Bedwyr rested his hand upon the broken bark. He immediately felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. The pain echoed around the halls of his mind. Screaming in agony. He let go and slowed his breathing. The tree was in its death throes. 

“I am so sorry, old one.” he whispered towards the roots, scarred and raw. The limbs of this ancient creature looked burnt and painful. 

“We are here to help. Tell me who did this to you.” His palm went back to the bark. Now better prepared, he hummed softly, a calming tune. The Spirit Tree reacted and then calmed, the sound giving it some momentary pain relief. 

Bedwyr closed his eyes, maintaining the hum. Then, the memory was shared. Beauty was all about him. A glade filled with so much vibrant flora, he clung to it. Dryads lived, loved, and learnt. He saw them sword dancing, witnessed their lovemaking, and heard their lore keeper speaking the tongue of the old bark. 

They had a guest, at least they were a guest to begin with. Something changed. Bedwyr strained to see their features, death and decay cloaked them. They embodied a darkness not of the night, but of nothingness. He could hear the hiss of words he didn’t understand, and saw a shimmer across gold and black scales. 

The bard hummed harder, letting words join the melody; it had become a song of calm. The Spirit Tree was slipping, time was fleeting. 

“Under moonlight and stars, the old bark stands.” The Starlit Fae pulled away and finished the song. He shed a few more tears, knowing the Spirit Tree would again be in agony.

“You ok?” Gwyn put her large hand on his shoulder. An acknowledgement of what was going on in this place.

Their eyes met and shared the moment. In this breath, there was no friction between the Stars and the Sun. 

“I believe we are in much danger, fair lady. There is a Dread Drake within our realm.” he looked to the sky, it was approaching sunset. The night belonged to his kin, their magic more potent in those hours. But a Dread Drake fed on shadows and darkness.

Gwyn let the fair lady comment slide; she was getting used to it now, and whether it was a deliberate attempt to wind her up or just how he talked, she cared not. A Dread Drake was a creature hungry for souls, and it mattered not if you were sunlit, starlit, a bard or a fair lady.

“We need to head back to the wall and warn everyone. Command will need to send out a hunting party for it.” Her eyes scanned the edges of the glade. The decay did not extend beyond its border. The rest of the Forgotten Forest seemed untouched and unafraid. 

“Have you ever faced a Dread Drake before?” Bedwyr stood at her side and followed her scanning eyes. 

“No.”

“A single party will not be enough. Trust me.” the starlit fae proceeded to retrace his steps back the way they had come. 

“Wait, there is something at the edges.” Gwyn lowered her stance, ready for another attack from the forest's many options. 

She wasn’t wrong; pulling itself into the glade was an overweight slug of a creature, thirty feet in length. It had many hairy arms protruding from its mass, and tiny, spine-like hands came together to shovel in the rotten clumps of flora throughout the glade. It was slimy and gluttonous. Sharp teeth filled the rubbery mouth as it chomped loudly. Acidic drool dripped slowly to the floor, dissolving the flora and making it easier to consume. It moved slowly, eyeless, driven forward by its greedy needs. 

Bedwyr and Gwyn shared a knowing look. It was the thing responsible for the state of the glade. They could feel its decaying aura. This abomination had either eaten the missing Dryads or something else. 

The Ray of Dawn levelled her great blade and stalked towards it. The Soldier of Dusk approached from its flank. There was no telling what it was capable of, but both had silently agreed to end its existence.  

It hadn't noticed them, its focus was on gorging. Bedwyr waited for the moment his companion struck, which was a heartbeat later. The creature reared its blubbery form up and revealed more slick, hairy arms beneath.  

It let out a high-pitched screech like a thousand cats wailing all at once. Masses of broken teeth ran along its underbelly. Four longer arms unfolded from its gut, each with talon-like fingers. They moved to grab Gwyn as she struck with her great sword. It slid from the beast as the natural slime of it gave it protection. 

A wild swing of those talons caught Gwyn, and a long, vicious wound opened up across her back. Her flesh peeled back, acid burned the edges, seeping from the attack.

Gwyn roared in pain, not allowing any to call it a scream. She threw herself sideways to avoid the secondary swipe. She hit the ground and rolled. Ignoring the decay that was now likely filling the wound. The creature moved with a speed that defied its physique. Its maw opened wide enough to swallow her whole. It coiled and leapt at her.

“Is this the Dread Drake?” she called, throwing herself again backwards to avoid being eaten.

Bedwyr laughed out loud as he darted in towards its side and thrust his silver blade deep into the blubberers flank. The sword sank in easily and caused a spasming twist as the massive slug snapped towards the Starlit Fae. It took experience and luck to keep hold of his weapon as the creature tried to dislodge it by using its body as a battering ram against him.

Bedwyr’s light footwork was rapid, keeping him from being crushed. He danced to each side, moving with the lump until he could free the sword.

“Far from it, fair lady! However, I believe its intentions are the same.” he spun quickly and went to Gwyn.

“Less of the slashing, more of the stabbing. I can teach you if you would like.” he offered with his most sarcastic of smiles.

Her reaction was one he expected. Rage and fury poured from her. Nearly sending him into a red mist of his own. He duly noted that toying with her aura was going to catch up with him one day.

Gwyn rose and appeared bigger than before. A titan among the glade, a warrior not to be tested. As none could. Her eyes told Bedwyr if he were in range, he too would be getting her blade put through him. 

She ran at the massive slug, planted both feet and jumped high and forwards. The giant blade was held in both hands, the point aiming downwards. The creature rose, teeth and thick lips waiting to catch her in its hunger. Gwyn obliged, using her momentum and the slug's eagerness to enact her self-acclaimed perfect plan.

Into its flesh-tearing maw she went, slamming her blade downwards through its lower jaw. The teeth tore at her. Acid burned at each bite. Her attack had been successful, the tip of her sword went through the flesh inside its mouth, out through its under jaw and deep into the ground. For a brief moment, it was pinned. 

Whilst still in its mouth. The creature was now aware she was too big to swallow. At its core, it was a beast, living by instinct. Its prey was not meant to fight back in such a way. It panicked and threw itself in every direction. Gwyn had two axes from her hip in hand and was swinging wildly against its gums, teeth, tongue and any bit of flesh she could. The hairy arms that funnelled its food were hacked off. 

Bedwyr held his stomach in check. The sight was violent and gore-filled. He could not determine who was wounding whom, or who would be the victor. Watching the young warrior of Dawn was terrifying. The story he would sing of her at court would be a grand one indeed. 

He sheathed his blade and cupped his palms together. Putting his lips to them, he whispered in song. His hands collected the music of his voice. A purple hue filtered through the gaps between his fingers until it looked as though he was holding a globe of violet light. 

Bedwyr let the sight sit in the air before him, continuing the tune. It held a dark edge to its melody. He then flicked it towards the horrific scene. It hit the creature, and its light splintered, following the shape of the wounds it had received, like ink filling the gaps of a spongy moss. It widened them, made them longer. The rubbery flesh peeled away. Its face, mouth and head are now subject to a terrifying torture. He continued the song, encouraging his spell. His focus had to be absolute, not to allow the magic to cling to Gwyn as well.

The slug started to slow, the wounds too much for it to ignore. It had dislodged the massive blade, pinning it to the ground, but remained in its mouth. The giant Fae had hacked and hacked relentlessly. Now the magic that tore through it, flaying it alive. It was too much. It couldn’t retreat. Death was the only way out of it. 

“Gwyn! It's dead, Gwyn!” Bedwyr remained distant as he shouted.

Her arms pumped, one strike after another. The pain of its bite fueled her to keep swinging. It took a moment, but the pain was gone. Only music, a horrible tune, she thought. A violet light, then someone calling her name. It was Bedwyr. She stopped swinging, her breathing heavy. She was covered from head to toe in blood and guts. Her furs were soaked and home to chunks of flesh. The beast was dead. A lifeless hunk of slimy flesh beneath her boots.

She stepped from it, letting her thoughts settle. The rage had consumed her, and she knew what followed. She hadn’t meant to, but now she was down on one knee. She didn’t know where her sword was, and couldn’t remember dropping her axes. It took every last bit of will she had not to pass out. She wouldn’t allow herself to do it twice now in front of the Starlit Fae.

Bedwyr had approached softly as if he were tending a wild animal and didn’t want to spook her. 

“Are you well?” his words were calmly spoken.

She looked up. Her head felt heavy.

“Couple of scratches here and there.” she thought about standing, but as soon as she shifted her weight, she felt sick.

“You really must learn to control your aura. Out here, we don’t want you passed out face down in the mud now, do we?” Bedwyr remembered his youth, when his aura ran rampant. It was a dark stain on his past. Many had died that night, the lust had taken him and them too far. If it hadn’t been for his friend Gal, it would have been worse. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” There was some defiance in her tone, but it was weakened. 

“Merely a suggestion, fair lady.” he offered with one of his bows. 

Gwyn shifted but had nothing to offer. She sat down now. Crossed her massive legs and slowed her breathing. Taking long, deep breaths. 

The decaying, swamp-like glade was quiet. The occasional popping of an acid bubble could be heard. Bedwyr played no music, hummed no words, and spoke no harmonies. The place was an aura of sadness, an ancient part of the forest that was at its end. The Spirit Trees were all in their dying moments, and neither Starlit nor Sunlit could prevent it. 

Gwyn was frustrated, for all her strength and power, it meant nothing in the moment. Back on Oberon's Wall, it was easy. The Gloamings attacked, and she fought them. Surrounded by other soldiers and other Rays of Dawn. It was glorious, the stuff of legends. At least that was what they told one another. But here, it was empty. The soul of the place shattered. She didn’t know how to make it right. 

Bedwyr watched her; he could read her thoughts just from the expressions on her face and the sadness in her eyes. She was young, much younger than he had first judged. It explained why her aura was raw. If she wouldn’t listen to him, he would make sure he found someone she would. He was as powerful as he had seen in a young Fae; those of the Dawn were known to burn bright, then mellow. Some of the stories told about them are that they peaked in power before ceasing to exist. But those tales were from a time when night and day fought one another. A time when Oberon and Titania walked the realms.

“We need to move from here. There is nothing for us to offer other than a goodbye and a thank you.” Bedwyr stood and adjusted his clothing. 

“Goodbye and thank you?” Gwyn didn't hide her confusion. 

“Yes, this glade will be no more in a day or two. We shall sing of the stars and sun. Realms in which the Dryads and Spirit Trees live. They give Talonia its forests and beauty. The rolling hills and valleys.” Bedwyr was making his way around the glade, laying a hand on each dying tree.

“We are eternally grateful. Know we will come and cleanse this place. We will ensure that your home is one of peace and memories. Rest well. Dawn and Dusk will carry your song.” Bedwyr did not hide his tears. Feeling every tree he touched, thanking him before going silent. 

Gwyn watched on, letting her energy build and return. Her wounds were healing themselves. It was slower than the magic Bedwyr had used before. Tiny scars would be left, joining the many others that already existed. Thin, light green lines crisscrossed her body. She closed her eyes, listening to Bedwyr and his words to each of the dying Spirit Trees. They were beautiful; there was a deep connection in them. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. 

The duo left the glade behind them, leaving the death and sorrow, leaving the disease to finish its job, and leaving the giant slug to join the Tree Spirits in their journey to what was next. The air was easier to breathe and welcomed among the dense greens and browns of the forest.

“What now?” Gwyn asked.

“Well, first of all, and without meaning offence, fair maiden. You need a bath.” Bedwyr, mocking, pinched his nose. 

Gwyn was ready to tear his head off, but the smell was potent, and she was covered in, well, everything.

“I suppose you know of a local bath house, do you?” she gestured and scoffed at their surroundings.

Bedwyr couldn’t help but smile. 

“We need to return. A Dread Drake is a dangerous foe to have at our backs whilst standing the wall.” He began.

“The Rays of Dawn will kill it.” Gwyn stated defiantly. 

“Well, of course, young warrior. They will charge its flanks with sunlight blessing the tips of their lances and driving the fire in their heart. No such beast would stand a chance against such heroes. Because, of course, they have killed many before, correct?” Bedwyr was moving his arms in grand gestures as he told the tale, his gaze now locked with Gwyn's.

Gwyn opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. It was her default to speak proudly of the Dawn in every moment. But the bardic Fae had pointed out the obvious. She had never faced a Dread Drake, or any drake of that matter. They were creatures from tales of the past. Would it truly take an army to take one on? 

“Let’s move.” she said matter-of-factly. 

The trek back to the wall was one of quiet. The forest respected what the pair had done for the Spirit Trees and allowed them restful nights. Bedwyr had thanked them in song, singing of mighty barks and incredible blooms while they camped.

As the edges of the Glass villages came into view Bedwyr tapped Gwyn on her shoulder. 

“May we talk a moment?” he didn’t add any of his jests. 

“One last dig before home?” Gwyn suggested.

“How many summers have you lived?” he asked. 

“Twenty, why?” she stood with fists on hip, making herself as big as she could.

“Not everything is an attack you must defend.”

She relaxed her stance a little. 

“I know you will not listen to me. However, I would like to introduce you to my friend Gal.”

“Why? The last thing I want is two of you Dusk lot winding me up.” she stated.

“Gal is not of the Dusk. He was a Ray of Dawn a long time ago.” Bedwyr laughed. 

The look of puzzlement on Gwyn's face was glaringly obvious. 

“OK, let's say you do have friends. What's the point? What are you after?” She stepped towards him, looking down at him, reminding him she was taller.

“He can teach you. Your aura is potent. But useless if you are asleep after every fight.” Bedwyr did not want to speak ill of another Fae’s aura, as they are very personal. But he judged she would prefer the direct approach. 

She didn’t take his head off. He had judged well.

“At least I wake up, my enemies do not.” 

“But what of those enemies that remain in shadow, waiting for such a moment?”

“I will fight and kill all my enemies in the light.” she pointed skyward.

“Of course, what was I thinking. When my lady sleeps, her skin is impenetrable.” he bowed, arms out wide. 

Gwyn scrunched her face up, then relaxed. 

“Ok, I’ll meet him. But if he were a Ray of Dawn, how is it I have never heard of this Gal?” She folded her huge arms across her chest.

“You may know him by his full name. Galahad, son of the Lancelord, Guardian of the Heart, and all-around nice Fae.” Bedwyr added some oomph to his friend's titles. 

The look of surprise and awe on Gwyn’s face would be one he held onto forever.