Lore of the Realm: The Small Folk Entombed in Nature

Once a month, I'll open the grimoire and share one page of lore from the world of my trilogy. No spoilers, just the legends whispered around its fires.

Long ago, the faeries, sprites, and willful small folk lived freely beside us.

They say the little ones were never silent. They whispered courage into the ears of the weak, and courage, as any tyrant knows, is the most dangerous magic of all.

So when chaos, evil, and havoc awakened, darkness feared them most. It could not risk a single whisper reaching a frightened heart, so it bound every last one of them. Not in chains, and not in cages, but in nature itself.

It entombed them within the fire, the trees, the grass, the breeze, and the rain.

That is why, in this world, the wind sometimes seems to sigh your name. Why a candle flame leans toward you when you're afraid. Why the grass in certain fields bends as if to curtsy. The small folk are still there, sleeping inside everything that lives and moves.

And here is the oldest secret of all: darkness has a weakness. One old wizard knows it, though he keeps it close, for all things happen in their time and in their proper order.

Next month: another page from the grimoire. Members of The Enchanted Quill receive lore that never appears anywhere else.

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