The first thing Tara noticed as she stepped deeper into the world of Moonshine was the silence. It wasn't the serene stillness of a peaceful land, but a haunted quiet, as though the wind itself had forgotten how to sing. Her eyes, wide with wonder and dread, scanned the horizon. What should have been a realm brimming with color and harmony had been reduced to a pale memory of its former self.
She stood at the edge of a once-grand thoroughfare, her boots crunching against broken cobblestones now half-swallowed by creeping vines and thorny overgrowth. The air was thick—not with moisture or heat—but with a strange, oppressive presence, like a thousand unseen eyes watching from the shadows. Shadows, she realized, that moved just a little too quickly to be natural. A cold shiver ran down her spine.
Everywhere she looked, there were signs of a forgotten glory. Faded banners fluttered weakly from cracked stone archways. Once-mighty fountains lay dry, their sculpted figures eroded by time and neglect. Ivy strangled the remnants of towers that had likely once reached toward the sky, and courtyards that might have hosted music and laughter now echoed only with the rustling of dead leaves. The buildings, carved from ivory-colored stone and inlaid with silver veins, were cracked and crumbling, as if the soul of the land had seeped from them.
A pale mist blanketed everything, swirling around her ankles and rising in wisps that seemed almost alive. It blurred the edges of reality, lending the world a ghostly, dreamlike hue. Through the haze, the ruins of a once-thriving kingdom stretched endlessly before her, a quiet reminder of beauty lost and peace broken.
"This place…" Tara murmured, her voice barely louder than the wind, "it's like walking through a forgotten dream."
Jasmine fluttered her wings beside her and landed gently on a fallen pillar, still in the form of the small, elegant bird she had taken on since leaving Earth. Her feathers, though dulled by the strange atmosphere, still shimmered faintly in the dim light.
"It wasn't always like this," Jasmine said softly, her voice tinged with sorrow. "Moonshine used to be a land of light and melody. Gardens that sang with the breeze. Rivers that told stories. Laughter in the streets, and peace that stretched as far as the eye could see."
Tara turned to her, catching the glint of grief in the bird's eyes. "What happened?" she asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.
"The sorceress happened," Jasmine replied, her voice growing tighter. "She came from the West, wrapped in shadows. At first, we thought she was just another seeker, someone drawn to the magic of Moonshine. But she wasn't here to admire our world—she came to take it. One by one, the guardians fell. The skies darkened. The trees grew quiet. And those who resisted…" She trailed off, her feathers ruffling with a shudder.
Tara clenched her fists, her heart pounding. "Then we stop her," she said firmly. "We fight back."
Jasmine looked up at her, something like pride sparking in her gaze. "We will. But we can't do it alone."
With that, she lifted off the pillar and beckoned Tara with a nod of her head. Together, they began walking—or in Jasmine's case, fluttering—through the decaying remains of the city. They kept to the edges of the ruined streets, slipping between broken walls and hollowed-out alleys. Tara's senses stayed on high alert. Every sound, every flicker of movement made her pulse quicken.
They moved deeper into the maze of ruins, until Jasmine finally led her to a nearly invisible path hidden between two collapsed buildings. A vine-covered arch stood crooked at its entrance, bearing faded etchings that Tara couldn't read. As they passed under it, the air seemed to shift. It was colder here, quieter, as though this place had been forgotten even by the shadows.
Eventually, the path opened into a narrow clearing surrounded by trees with bark as white as bone and leaves that rustled like whispers. At its center stood a small, crooked hut. The structure looked as though it had been patched together a hundred times, with wood, stone, and even fabric woven into its frame. It sagged slightly to one side, and yet, there was a sense of warmth about it—a quiet resistance, a place where hope might still flicker.
Jasmine landed softly in front of the door and looked back at Tara. "This is where my friend Neha lives. She was one of the last to fight before the fall. She's… she thinks I'm gone. I never got the chance to say goodbye."
Tara nodded, understanding the weight behind those words.
Jasmine raised a wing and knocked gently against the wooden door. The sound was muffled, hesitant. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with the creak of strained hinges, the door opened just a crack, revealing a cautious face.
A girl, perhaps not much older than Tara, peered out. Her dark eyes were sharp, her features gaunt from hardship, but there was a strength in her posture. She studied Tara with suspicion, her fingers tightening on the doorframe.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice firm, guarded.
Tara stepped forward, her voice gentle. "I'm a friend of Jasmine. I've come a long way. Could I trouble you for some water?"
Neha's eyes narrowed slightly. She glanced around before slowly opening the door wider. Her gaze flicked between Tara and the bird perched nearby. With a brief nod, she stepped aside to let her in.
The hut was dimly lit, with soft lanternlight casting long shadows across shelves crowded with herbs, scrolls, and jars filled with curious ingredients. The air smelled of lavender and something vaguely metallic. Despite its modest size, the home felt safe—like a hidden heart still beating in a dying world.
Tara stepped inside, taking in the worn furniture, the patchwork curtains, the faded rug beneath her feet. She barely had time to speak before Jasmine flew from her shoulder and landed on the table between them.
"Neha," she said, her voice trembling, "it's me."
Neha froze.
Her eyes locked onto the bird, confusion quickly giving way to shock. She stumbled back, one hand flying to her mouth. "No," she whispered. "That can't be. You—Jasmine—you were—"
"I know," Jasmine said, her voice soft. "They told you I was gone. I almost was. But I survived."
Neha's eyes filled with tears as she stepped forward, trembling. She reached out as if afraid the vision would vanish. Her fingers brushed gently against Jasmine's feathers, and her breath caught.
"You're alive?" she whispered, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
"I'm here," Jasmine replied, her voice catching with emotion.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Neha turned her face away, wiping her eyes roughly. When she looked back, her expression had changed. The sorrow was still there, but beneath it was something harder. Determination.
"I thought I'd never see you again," she said. "But if you're here… if you've come back… then things aren't over. Are they?"
Tara stepped beside Jasmine. "We're here to fight back," she said. "But we need help. We can't do this alone."
Neha looked between the two of them. Then she nodded.
"Then I'll help you," she said. "Whatever it takes."
That night, by the flickering light of the lanterns, the three of them sat huddled around a rough wooden table, whispering their plan into being. A map was unrolled across the surface—weathered, faded, but still legible. Jasmine pointed with her beak at a specific location near the heart of the ruins.
"The palace," she said. "The staff is hidden there. Without it, the sorceress can't complete the sealing spell that keeps the realm in darkness."
"But we can't just walk in," Neha warned. "The palace is heavily guarded. The outer gates are patrolled day and night. And she has eyes everywhere—spies in the form of birds, rats, even shadows."
"We need a distraction," Tara said, leaning over the map. "Something big enough to draw their attention away from the gates."
Neha's eyes lit up slowly. "There's a festival coming soon—the Day of Embers. Even though the kingdom's fallen, some still celebrate it in secret. If I organize a street performance—music, costumes, fire-dancing—it might be enough to draw a crowd. Enough to distract the guards."
Tara nodded, her heart quickening. "While they're distracted, I'll slip into the palace."
"You'll need a disguise," Jasmine added. "And once you're inside, don't trust anyone. The sorceress has loyalists who blend in with the staff. Look for the sealed chamber beneath the throne room. That's where the staff is likely kept."
As the night deepened, the plan took shape. They plotted every movement, every diversion, every whispered word. They knew it was dangerous. But in the flickering light of that tiny hut, a spark of hope burned anew.
When dawn broke, painting the sky with streaks of silver and pale gold, the three of them stood together at the edge of the clearing. Their hearts were heavy with what was to come—but they no longer walked alone.
The Kingdom of Moonshine had not yet breathed its last.