What the hell is happening to me?

  The thought hit me like a slap.

  I had expected my illusions to be just that – mere visual flourishes, special effects to enhance the performance. I hadn’t consciously each clone to have its own sentience, its own musicality. They should have been mere animations. Mirages without substance.

  And yet, here they were, acting independently, creating a musical tapestry of breathtaking complexity. Eighty-plus , all working in perfect...harmony... with each other. It felt like conducting an orchestra while playing the part of every musician at the same time… except each musician was a virtuoso in their own right, improvising flawlessly within the framework of each song.

  And, they weren’t just either! They were on their own too – adding flourishes to my visuals that, admittedly, looked amazing – but that I never could have created so quickly on my own, no matter how absurd the level of my Illusion skills was.

  True parallel thinking was supposed to be incredibly rare. Even back home, with all our advancements in brain implant technologies, most people struggled to maintain more than five or six independent trains of thought at once. And yet, here I was, a one-man orchestra, juggling multiple melodies, harmonies, vocal projections,

  intricate illusions, all without missing a beat. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly baffling.

  The music flowed through me, a torrent of pure, unadulterated . I let myself go, lost in the intricate dance of sights and sounds. The world around me faded away, the faces of the audience, the glittering lights of the stage, the very boundaries of the Feywild itself dissolving into a swirling vortex of pure emotion.

  There was only the music, and I was one with it.

  Time slipped away.

  The fey were transfixed, their initial smugness replaced by wide-eyed awe. I barely noticed. My music became my entire world, the impossible symphony flowing forth from me like a river unbound.

  Then, near the end of the last song, I saw Shadowheart. She was on her knees at the edge of the crowd, hands pressed to her face. Black, tar-like streams oozed from her eyes, revealing her original, forest-green irises beneath. The disgusting torrents stainined her pale skin, before evaporating violently on contact with the moonlight.

  My stomach dropped.

  Shar’s Shadowweave. It had to be. My first instinct was to stop, to drop everything and run to her, but I forced it down. My performance wasn’t done yet. I had to finish. The armor and jewelry I gifted to Shadowheart glowed faintly with absurdly powerful Restoration enchantments—Fortify and Restore Health, Restore Stamina, Cure Disease – all more than strong enough to keep her safe, even if she decided to go for a swim in an active volcano.

  She’d be fine. She had to be.

  Still, the question gnawed at me: why was this happening? The song I was playing wasn’t

  magical—I’d chosen it purely for its lyrics, hoping they’d spark something in her, a memory Shar had buried. It surely couldn't be the effect of the music alone?

  Or… a crazier idea struck me. What if the enchantments themselves were responsible? They were, after all, designed to heal and purge corruption—could they be attacking Shar’s magic, the Shadowweave that bound Shadowheart’s mind?

  It seemed plausible, but… why now? After all, she’d been wearing the items for hours without so much as a twitch. I shoved the thought aside. This was no time for theories—not yet. The music demanded its ending.

  The final chord rose, a crescendo that shook the air, illusions bursting into a kaleidoscope of light before fading to nothing. My clones dissolved, leaving me alone with my guitar, its strings still trembling faintly in the moonlight.

  Silence fell upon the clearing, heavy and absolute.

  My chest heaved, sweat beading on my brow, as I scanned the crowd. Shadowheart was wiping her face now, the black streaks fading away entirely. She would be fine. I hoped.

  Then Hyrsam broke the stillness. He leapt to his feet, horns jangling, clapping with the glee of a child.

  “Wondrous!” he shouted, his voice booming across the clearing.

  “Stupendous! I haven’t had this much fun in— well, ever! Not in all the Revels thus far!”

  He turned theatrically to the assembled Fey, his eyes gleaming with a manic, almost feverish intensity.

  “Tell me, honored guests” he roared, “have ever witnessed such a spectacle? Have you ever been so… by a performance? Have you ever felt your very souls laid bare by the power of song?”

  A chorus of voices, hesitant at first, then growing in volume and fervor, answered him.

  “No!”

  “Never!”

  “It was transcendent!”

  “I am !”

  Hyrsam , his face splitting into a slightly-too-wide, toothy grin.

  “And there you have it! The will of the Fey! The voice of the Revel! My friends, and fellow Judges” he declared, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, “we have heard many a fine performance tonight! Many talented bards have graced this stage. But, let us be honest with ourselves. Let us speak the truth that beats within our hearts. After hearing … is there really any doubt? Is there any ? Regardless of whom else we may choose to sponsor, I think it's clear who Revel’s true winner is!”

  A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd, a wave of sound that shook the very trees. The Fey, usually so jaded, so difficult to impress, were on their feet: clapping, stomping, whistling, their faces alight with an almost… fervor.

  Then, Titania rose from her throne.

  The Summer Queen herself, usually a vision of serene beauty and regal composure, looked… profoundly moved. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and serious, carrying a weight of authority that silenced the cheering crowd.

  “Indeed, Lord Hyrsam is correct,” she said, her gaze sweeping across the assembled Fey.

  “We have witnessed something tonight that

  mere skill with an instrument. We have been gifted with a glimpse of

  artistry, of a power that touches the very heart of existence. Even were we to grant Harald second place here and now… after what we have all just heard,

  others present here would to claim first.”

  Her gaze swept across the stage, settling on Lysander, who stood there pale and trembling, his recent smug arrogance utterly extinguished. He swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and I felt a grim satisfaction settle in my chest.

  The crowd remained quiet as Titania spoke, a palpable sense of anticipation filling the air.

  “Therefore,” she continued, her voice ringing with regal authority, “We, the judges of this Grand Revel, acknowledge the… unique experience displayed this night. And thus, the victor may name his Boon.”

  A hush fell over the clearing.

  I glanced at my companions. Astarion looked intrigued, a calculating glint in his eyes. Karlach and Sylvie were grinning widely, their expressions a mix of excitement and awe. Alfira's eyes widened in surprise, a hopeful smile gracing her lips. Lae’zel... remained as stoic as ever, her expression as composed as a marble statue, though I could sense a flicker of… something, perhaps respect, in her usually hardened gaze. Shadowheart, however, remained standing slightly apart, her expression a million miles away, her gaze fixed on the ground.

  I stepped forward. I hadn’t given much thought to what I would ask for if I won. My primary concern had always been getting everyone out of here safely, then helping Alfira, ensuring she wasn’t punished for Ethel’s and that Bastard’s theft.

  But now…

  I met Titania’s gaze, my mind racing. I could certainly ask for power, knowledge, immortality... But such primitive things simply didn’t appealed to me. I already had more power than I knew what to do with. Knowledge… I could seek out – that was part of the fun! And, as for immortality? Well... I had that already, didn’t I?

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  I considered what I remembered from the stories of bargains with the Fair Folk – not many people realize this, but the word Eldritch is an Older Scottish pronunciation of Elvish; that is, something associated with the Fey. I would be an absolute to believe I could these guys.

  No, it was far wiser to play things safe here.

  “The only boon I require,” I said, my voice clear and firm, “is safe passage, free from any further obligation -- for myself, Alfira here, and all other members of my group -- through a portal to a destination of my choosing.”

  A heavy silence settled over the clearing, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the hooting of some Fey creature in the nearby woods. Titania and Hyrsam exchanged a long look, their expressions unreadable.

  Then, Hyrsam threw back his head and exploded into laughter. It was a booming, joyous sound, filled with genuine amusement and… a note of something else. Respect? Admiration, even?

  “By the Moon!” he roared, wiping a tear from his eye. “You truly are a , Harald! I must say, in all my years, I have

  encountered anyone quite like you! So clever, so… refreshingly straightforward! And your commitment to your is… most commendable!”

  He gestured expansively with his arm.

  “Your desire shall be honored, of course. I have always valued independence, and I would not of denying such a reasonable request to a most honored of guests! You and your companions shall indeed be granted safe passage, free from any and all obligations to us. You shall be able to depart through a Gate of your choice, at any time you so desire.” He paused here, grimacing, as if reluctant to voice a concern.

  “Although…”

  Titania rose from her throne, her expression serene but with an undercurrent of something… calculating?

  “…Lord Hyrsam is, as always, correct," she said, her voice like the chiming of distant bells.

  “But, you have given us all a gift of an immense value, Harald. Your performance was… transformative. The Old Ways, and the rules of the Revel itself, that we offer something deemed to be of equal value in return.”

  She paused, her gaze sweeping over me with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “Or,” she added, her tone light-hearted, but with an unmistakable edge of steel, “would you leave here empty-handed, and have us all be forever in your debt?”

  I felt Gale’s presence in my mind, his voice a presence demanding attention.

  he said, his thoughts clear and precise.

  He was right, of course. To sour relations with the Seelie Court, was a dangerous game I wasn’t willing to play. It would be a shame to have gone through the trouble of winning this context only to earn the Fey's enmity as the prize.

  I inclined my head in acceptance.

  “I would be honored to accept your gifts, Honored Judges,” I said, my voice respectful.

  The tension in the clearing dissipated instantly, replaced by a renewed sense of… relief. The Fey, it seemed, were pleased. The natural order of things had been restored. An agreed balance had been struck. And -- I mused -- perhaps they, too, had no desire to risk souring relations with me.

  Lliira, her face alight with a wide, joyous smile, stepped forward first. “Then, please allow me to be the first to congratulate you,” she said, her voice filled with warmth.

  “As for the prize, I offer you -- .”

  She gestured, and a beautiful, intricately carved horn appeared in her hands. It pulsed with a soft, golden light, and I could feel a faint hum of magic emanating from it.

  “This is the Horn of Plenty,” Lliira explained. “It is capable of filling itself with non-magical mortal food or drink that you so desire… without limit. It can even produce some of the less powerful alchemical concoctions, such as lesser health potions. The food and drink it provides is always of the highest quality. With it, you shall never be hungry, nor thirsty, again!”

  She paused, her smile widening.

  “Furthermore, the Horn cannot be lost, nor stolen. Come midnight, it will always return to its rightful owner. Only by being given away willingly can it be passed to another wielder.”

  What an incredible gift! I accepted it with a bow, expressing my sincere gratitude.

  Verenestra stepped forward next, her expression thoughtful. She held out a full-face, shimmering mask, its surface shifting and swirling with an ever-changing array of colors and patterns.

  “This,” she said, her voice soft and melodic, “is the Mask of Many Faces. It is an artifact of illusion, allowing the wearer to disguise their appearance as anyone they desire, of any race or gender. You may change your form as many times as you wish, without limit. The resulting disguise is nearly perfect, fooling even the most discerning of eyes.” She paused, looking contemplative. “Only the most powerful of beings should be able to see through it.”

  The mask was a masterpiece of illusion, a tool of significant versatility and power. While I, personally, had no use for such a thing, my companions were sure to appreciate it. I accepted it gladly, with thanks.

  Oberon, the Beast Lord and Consort of the Summer Queen, spoke next, his voice deep and resonant.

  “My gift for you and yours is one of… connection,” he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

  “From this day forward, you, Harald; all the members of your group; and all of your descendants up to seven generations removed… shall be able to speak to any animal at will. Furthermore, no ordinary forest beast shall attack you, nor your descendants, unprovoked.”

  As I nodded in acceptance, my eyes were wide in surprise. This… was a bit much, wasn’t it? Did he truly enjoy the performance to such an extent? Just what was Oberon’s game here?

  Titania herself stepped forward next, her gaze regal and commanding. Her presence filled the clearing, radiating an aura of ancient power and unwavering authority.

  “My gift,” she said, her voice like the rustling of a summer breeze, “is one of free passage. From this day forward, you, all the members of your group, and your descendants up to seven generations removed, shall be granted free and safe passage through the parts of the Feywild controlled by my Court, at any time you enter them. No Seelie Fae shall ever hinder your passage. Indeed, they shall even assist you, should you ask for it.”

  Her eyes gleamed with an almost predatory light.

  “Be warned, however, that not all of the Feywild is under control. The Unseelie Fey, the denizens of the Winter Court, are not bound by my decree.”

  Ah, so what their game was!

  The gifts, while a boon, would also imply a subtle alliance, a tacit declaration of our ties with the Seelie Court. And if such gifts could be sensed by others? Well… they would likely mark us, indirectly, as allies of the Seelie Court -- and therefore, as potential enemies of the Unseelie. Frankly, something like this was what I would expect from Titania: a double-edged, tricky gift that was both a blessing and a potential burden.

  But… fuck it. Why not?

  “Your generosity is… overwhelming, Your Majesty,” I said, inclining my head in respect. “We gratefully accept your gift.”

  Finally, Hyrsam stepped forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

  “And now, it is my turn,” he boomed, his voice filled with childlike glee.

  “Alas, I have nothing of value to offer you at this moment. No enchanted artifacts, no potent spells, no… .”

  He paused dramatically, his gaze sweeping over me with a mischievous grin.

  “But, what I offer you, young Godling, is something, perhaps, even more valuable.”

  His grin widened, revealing those surprisingly sharp teeth.

  “I offer you not one, not two, but open-ended favors, one for each song you played this night, to be called in by you -- or your designated successors -- at any time in the future. I, Hyrsam, Lord of the Revels, shall grant you reasonable request, perform task reasonably within my power… thrice over. So shall it be witnessed! So shall it be done!”

  This time, my jaw almost hit the ground.

  Three favors from an Archfey who was literally older than dirt.

  The possibilities were staggering. I couldn’t even begin to fathom the potential uses for such a boon.

  Well, no, I could, actually. I was going to make use of these boons.

  “I am… speechless, Lord Hyrsam,” I said, my voice filled with genuine awe. “Your generosity is… truly boundless.”

  “Nonsense, my boy, nonsense!” Hyrsam chuckled, clapping me on the back with a force that nearly sent me sprawling.

  “You more than earned them! Your music… your … it was more than just a performance. It was a… ! You have reminded us all of the true power of music, the magic it holds, the joy it can bring….”

  “And,” he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “if only you knew the extent of what you have truly done for me this night… a mere favors might well seem like a steal in comparison,” he said with a wink.

  A slow grin spread across my face.

  "Well, in that case," I said, my voice ringing with renewed energy, "in the spirit of brotherhood and cooperation between our peoples, how about a few Encore performances to honor our generous hosts, and the Summer Court?"

  A deafening roar erupted from the crowd, a cacophony of cheers, whistles, and stomping feet. The Fey, it seemed, were far from satiated. All of the judges, Titania and Hyrsam included, also seemed beyond pleased, their faces alight with an almost childlike glee.

  I raised my guitar, and the clearing fell silent once more, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.

  “This first song,” I announced, my voice echoing through the enchanted space, “is called ‘The Springrise.’”

  Then I began to play. The music was melodic and uplifting, a song that spoke of renewal and rebirth. The lyrics, when they came, resonated deeply with all the Summer Fey present:

  

  

  

  The crowd swayed to the music, their faces turning towards each other with blissful expressions.

  That first encore turned into another.

  Then another.

  And another.

  And .

  I played for what must have been three more hours, lost in the sheer joy of creation — mostly in the Baroque and Classical music genres, but with the occasional dash of Classic Rock and Melodic Metal mixed in for flavor. All around us, the Fey danced, laughed, and

  like there was no tomorrow. The entire clearing became a whirlwind of music, movement, and uninhibited… revelry.

  Finally, as the first hints of dawn began to paint the sky, the music began to wind down. The last notes faded into the morning mist, leaving behind a profound sense of peace and contentment.

  The parting applause we received as we left was , a thunderous ovation that echoed through the ancient forest. The Fey, their faces flushed with joy and exhaustion, showered us with praise and gratitude, their voices filled with genuine emotion.

  At least for the moment, life was… good.