Pixie

A peerless researcher and devoted follower of the Arcanist, Pixie hatched alone within a tiny nest secured tenuously to the side of the Observatory's scope itself, sheltered by a stroke of impossible fortune beneath the great metal tube, which had been ceaselessly observing a recent upset in the heavens for just enough time to shelter the tiny egg and its fragile perch from storms. Around its edges clustered shattered bits of meteorites that had bounced off the scope, forming a fine dust that clung to the amber and the egg's surface.

It coated the little hatchling in glowing specks, appearing like stars themselves along her catlike skin.
Her eyes barely open, she hooked her tiny claws into the amber of her nest and chirped feebly, calling out to parents long gone. She received no answer. With another soft noise, she kept on, crying in hunger and confusion. Still, there was only silence. For some days, this was how it was, until the cries faded into despairing silence. She was hungry, and she was helpless, and she was alone. Above her, the great scope turned on its way, examining the depthless universe, but she did not see a single star beneath its shadowy protection.

Finally, exhausted and lonely, the little dragon tottered towards the edge of the nest to search for her colony. She did not know where she was. She saw meteors fall to the earth, and understood absence, but the hunger and the ache and the isolation were too much. Her claws dropped into open air, and without a sound, the little dragon plummeted like a stone. She did not understand what was happening, nor why. The only thing she knew was that it was cold, and the world was empty, and it made no sense. She was so tired. She wanted to go home.

She only wanted to understand why. She only wanted to not be lonely.

As she fell, the world seemed to stretch into stillness. She could see, around her, a vast and beautiful view- the grass rippling at the foot of the observatory, the great building itself, stretching towards the sky, the sea crashing against the islands like a heartbeat, the distant mountains like giants along the horizon, and even the swaying forest of the twilight touched trees. And, for the first time in her short and lonely life, Pixie could see the stars.

They went on, and on, and on, a great expanse of lights shining in the shadowy abyss. They were bright in a way that hurt her heart, and lovelier than anything she had ever seen. She wanted them. She wanted them so much.

And all of a sudden, Pixie felt the warm wind beneath her wings, and she saw the trailing meteorites glowing like pathways, and she uncurled her tiny, immature wings and spread them wide.

And without knowing what it meant, or how she did it, Pixie performed an extraordinary feat of magic: with wings so fragile they should have buckled under a gust of wind, with a heart and lungs not fully developed enough to ever keep her aloft, with bones so small and hollow they might as well have belonged to a bird, she flew.

Up, and up, and up, past the top of the Observatory, so high that faint in the distance she could have seen the last floating echoes of a peace that had shielded her world, or a flight that never touched the ground. But she did not, because she was not looking at them. No, Pixie was watching the stars grow closer and closer, until she could almost feel their warmth.

Below, the great eye of the Arcanist turned up, monitoring the strange light of an odd falling star.

Pixie could see it all, the great vast darkness of the universe, and her fans blew out around her face like a satellite dish of pure wonder. And with that, her tiny little heart, valiant as it was, could not keep up; her magic had gotten too far from the ley lines and all of a sudden, Pixie was falling again. This time, though, she was content, and as the night overtook her vision she felt peace.


She did not expect to wake up, so it surprised her when her eyes opened again to a soft humming. She lay for a long time, her heart beating frantically as she struggled to adjust to the sheer amount of things she could sense. She could see, of course, and she saw the inside of a great domed room, filled with dust and innumerable stacks of scrolls and runes and globes and maps and things, all of which she did not know the names of, illuminated by flickering candles that shone gold and amber and blue and floated aimlessly. She could hear, and she heard that same strange humming, like nothing she had ever heard, the sound one hears when too close to a radioactive meteorite, something burning with immense and incomprehensible power, but somehow also like a lullaby, soft and wondering. She could hear a faint creaking, the soft rustle of scrolls, but it all came second to that noise. She could smell the candles, burning like incense, and the dust, and the scrolls, and something more, something nameless and ancient. She could taste old blood and sleep and stars on her tongue, and ozone too, and she swallowed to clear it. She could feel something beneath her feet that felt like glass, cushioned with paper and warm.

But so could she feel. She could feel more. She could feel the humming of the magic throbbing around her like a heartbeat. She could sense the connections it made spiderwebbing out in great lines. She could feel the stars rotating above, and the endless pulse of the magic. It was too much. She was too small. It was too loud. So she flattened her fans to her head, curled into her nest, and let the hum lull her back into oblivion.

When consciousness returned, it was quieter, though still so much to sense. Pixie had regained much of her energy, and her awareness now extended to her body, to the warm pulse of magic that had permeated her veins and lay close to her bones. It seemed akin to the magic of the great room around her, which remained as impressive as it had upon her first awakening.

This time, though, she could also feel the cramping growl of her little belly as it contracted around empty space. With a soft rustle, she crept to the edge of the nest, which, as it turned out, was not a nest but a large glass reflecting bowl, filled with numerous scraps of paper with notes written on them. She shook them off as she clambered out of the bowl, her small nose twitching as she tried to smell for food.