The Dark Fairy King
Chapter 74: Nothing Like the Present

Chapter 74: Nothing Like the Present

To summarise: I was betrayed by the people I protected. Outcast. Locked away. Forgotten.

The wounds still sting like yesterday.

But here I am.

Not in chains.

Not sealed in silence.

I’m here. In the present. Out in the open. Forgotten.

Change—it’s the only constant. But this?

This world feels like a stranger wearing my clothes.

Bright streets. Floating screens. Fairies in tech-woven robes wielding glittery plastic wands.

Where’s the rawness? The grit? The rituals?

Where are the runes carved by hand and lit by breath?

I tossed my purple-streaked hair back and faced the crowd.

Faces that didn’t know me.

Eyes that had never heard my name.

Lives that had marched on like I’d never existed.

Time had passed—more than a century, apparently.

I don’t know why it shocked me.

But it did.

It shook something loose. Something raw and aching.

I wandered, desperate to grab onto anything real.

A thread. A scent. A memory that hadn’t turned to ash.

And then I found it.

A little shop, wedged between glittering towers like a memory trying not to disappear.

The scent of incense curled through the doorway—lavender, sandalwood, something faintly floral.

It hit me like a spell—warm, grounding.

Inside, dust shimmered like old magic.

An elderly woman stood behind the counter, her smile polite, her eyes unreadable.

"Does Drizella still work here?" I asked, heart crawling into my throat.

She tilted her head.

"Young lady... I hope you didn’t mean my grandmother, Drizella. She’s long passed."

The blow landed.

The floor swayed.

But she didn’t flinch.

"Was there something you were looking for?" she asked gently.

I swallowed the ache.

"Do you still sell golden peony perfume?"

Light. Delicate. Like the last breath of summer.

She blinked. Then laughed.

Sharp. Empty. Cruel.

"Golden peonies? They were rare five centuries ago. Now they’re extinct. We can’t make that. It’s all gone."

She laughed again—too loud this time.

Like I’d asked for unicorn bones.

Like I was a joke.

It scraped against something tender still healing inside me.

Golden peonies weren’t just perfume.

They were a symbol. A secret weapon.

Drizella used to dab it on my wrists before council debates and whisper,

"A scent that sings louder than words."

She believed in subtle magic. The kind that soothed, not shouted.

I wore it like armor.

Blended it into my spells. Let it drift like a melody of peace.

And now?

Extinct.

Like everything else I loved.

"Would you like to pick something else?" she asked, voice softening.

But I couldn’t answer.

"Five centuries?" I breathed.

I’d known. Deep down, I’d known.

The empty streets. The silent skies. The vanished faces.

But hearing it?

Undeniable.

Five hundred years passed?

Was I already seven hundred years old?

Had I been locked away that long?

Sealed inside a lie spun by the one man who once called me kin?

And by some miracle—or curse—I still look twenty-one.

Not a wrinkle. Not a scar. Just a frozen moment etched on my face.

You didn’t hear this from me, but Love Fairies age slowly.

Most live up to 800 years and don’t get their first wrinkle until they’re 300.

But I have none of the sort. Who knows how long it’s been since I was imprisoned?

I wouldn’t know my age, but I pray I’m not immortal.

Because if I am, that means I’ll carry these memories forever.

Alone.

And the worst part?

It’s been a full day since I came back.

And I’ve seen no familiar faces.

No friends. No allies. No students.

Just ghosts.

Faded glances in windows.

Whispers trapped in perfume bottles.

They’re gone.

Moved on.

Or worse—erased.

Like Drizella.

A cold tremor ran down my spine.

One tear slipped down my cheek.

The world had changed.

And yet I hadn’t.

Still twenty-one. Still the same.

Still trapped in a memory too sharp to dull.

Why?

Is it because I’m the first?

Did the magic keep me alive... or did it just refuse to let me rest?

Maybe I’m not forgotten.

Maybe I’m still needed.

Now I walk through ruins wearing skin that doesn’t age.

Even the air feels thinner—like it’s forgotten how to carry my name.

And then I remembered him.

Baltimore.

The Love Fairy who played God.

At the wand-giving ceremony, he did not seem like he’d aged a day.

Then I realised it might be the Emerald. Did he wish for eternal youth?

The Baltimorean Emerald.

A stone that rewrites rules.

A king who craves obedience, not love.

Back when it still answered to the full moon.

Before I rewrote everything—tethered it to the Light Guardian and the Scroll.

Before I bled power into a counter-spell that nearly killed me.

How many spells had he cast before I broke its chain?

How many realities did he twist into shape?

Where is the Emerald now?

Where’s the Scroll?

Where’s the Guardian?

That stone can’t remain in his hands.

Not without balance.

Not without soul.

The world won’t survive another tyrant who demands allegiance like breath.

I won’t let it.

I clenched my fists.

Five centuries of silence settled in my spine like cold iron.

Baltimore.

He locked me away.

Erased my name.

Punished me for believing love should be chosen—not commanded.

But he made one mistake.

He didn’t finish the job.

He thought I’d fade—but I’m still here.

And now?

I have a second chance.

I’ll find the Emerald.

Tear it from his cursed fingers if I must.

I’ll uncover every truth he buried.

And I’ll make him pay.

He wanted to rewrite the world.

I’ll rewrite his ending.

The day passed in a blur.

I’d followed Doverel and the other young fairies to a school, curious what they were being taught in this strange new age.

But if I’m honest, I was too tired to care.

That night, I slept in a real bed for the first time in what felt like forever.

The sheets were soft. The air was warm. The silence—merciful.

Not a prison cell. Not stone. Not cold.

Just quiet.

It was the best sleep I’d had in centuries.

What felt like minutes turned into hours, judging by the sunlight stretching across the floor in golden strips.

Oh heck.

I wasn’t a morning person anyway.