It had been roughly ninety years since the greatest among the twelve Great Wraithstorms had died. The event had marked the end of an era: From eight hundred years of haunting the Lost Cities, each of the Wraithstorms had fallen to the scarred hero who had dwelt here once. Now, most of the Lost Cities were in the process of reclamation, save for this one, the city of Lisalavel. The forest surrounding the city, once called The Lost Forest for its complete absence of life, whether mundane or spiritual, was now the home of the King of Dreams. 

Alya stood at the entry gate of the long-abandoned village that had once served as guard garrison to ensure people would not feed the Wraithstorm. Now it stood empty most of the time. War had destroyed the village, then a great hero had made the village superfluous. Nobody guards an empty cage. 

Now, the forest was rapidly staking its claim on the village ruins. Vines, bushes and trees overran the old hunting shrines, as if nature had finally come to claim its due. The shrine to Cala had its head wreathed almost ornamentally by vines, making a frame around her likeness, as well as her two animal companions adorning her shoulder. Though age had worn the statue’s features, her crooked smile was still on full display. This place was well and truly her territory; the Court of Chaos represented on Earth, as it were.  

The palisades and gate were both gone, burnt so long ago. The only proof they were there at all were the raised mounds where plant life had found a nurturing home. 

Taking a steadying breath, Alya followed the beaten path past the shrines barring the way. She wouldn’t have much time to get to the Feywoods at the eastern end of the abandoned village. Her erstwhile husband, if such a man was worthy of the title, would discover her escape at any moment, if he hadn’t already. The guards would be after her, and unfortunately, likely not have any doubt where she was headed. There was only one reason to visit this deserted place. 

The Great Fey, head of the Court of Chaos in the mundane plane, and rumored god of Dreams. 

Getting anything concrete on the Great Fey had been the hardest part. Compared to that, this race to the Feywoods was a stroll. He and his court had moved into the Feywoods, formerly the Lost Forest, shortly after the death of the Great Wraithstorm. That made his the only part of the three pantheons one could petition directly without the need to go via the priests of the Court of Souls or the lords of the Court of Bonds. Sure, it had always been possible to make requests of fey, provided you were completely desperate. The Great Fey however, was most likely to grant what you had actually wanted. That was not to say it was guaranteed, simple or safe. But that was the risk you took when asking favors of a god. 

Alya passed through burnt-out and overgrown ruins of houses. When she squinted against the bright sun she could see a line of bone-white trees in the distance, past a large field. She was getting close now Her heart beat faster in anticipation. 

As she passed by the last row of houses, she thought she heard a sound some distance behind her. She whipped around and strained her senses. Had they caught up with her already?  

Nothing moved. 

“Are you alright, child?” The voice came from behind. Alya jumped with a scream then whipped back around, knife in her hand. 

An old man was sitting in a chair outside one of the ruined houses. 

What in Muyun’s name? she thought to herself, invoking the head goddess of the Court of Souls. 

“Oh no, you just startled me,” she said, the words tumbling out of her. “May I ask…?” Alya trailed off before starting over. “Excuse me, my manners escaped me for a moment. My name is Alya Fairwind,” she said, using her maiden name, “I am here to petition the Great Kindly One for his aid.” The exact title, like so much else for a Court named for the concept of disorder, had been nearly impossible to find. Not for a lack of trying, or for options. There were many names used for the Great Fey. Lord Of Foxes, The Stormfox – for his choice of abode, no doubt – God of Dreams, to name a few. But therein lay the problem. There was no telling which was correct. Alya hadn’t been able to find any first-hand or even second-hand accounts of a successful meeting with the being in the woods. All she had had to by were rumors and hearsay. So, Alya had taken a chance and modified one of the common appellations for fey in general, adding the “Great”.