The Queen's River

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. It began with a low rumble in the dawn, a vibration that made birds lift their heads in quiet surprise and sent shivers across the town of Ainsreach. People opened their doors to see the river bending against the pull of the earth itself, water coiling upriver in shimmering spirals. Yet, just as strange, the waters gleamed with an iridescent sheen, as if carrying the very light of the morning sky beneath their surface.

For years, the river had been a source of life, the backbone of Ainsreach’s bustling markets, the quiet witness to royal processions, and the murmur that lulled the city to sleep. Now, with its eerie reversal, the townsfolk knew something terrible had happened.

In the heart of the city, the Queen’s palace stood silent and empty. Its towering spires once gleamed with banners that caught the sun, but now they drooped as if in mourning. No guards stood at the gate, and no trace of the Queen could be found within the marble halls. Only her crown lay on the throne—a delicate circlet of silver and ice-blue gems, frosted with an unnatural cold.

Fayla, an apprentice healer who lived near the riverbank, had woken early and witnessed the strange flow. Her mind buzzed with old stories her grandmother had whispered by the fireside, stories of how the river was bound to the land and the Queen, a living cord between ruler and realm. She remembered one tale in particular, about a prophecy that warned, "When the river turns its path, the Queen’s fate doth change."

Clutching her cloak, Fayla hurried to the palace, joining a gathering crowd of townsfolk. Whispers spread through the crowd, a litany of fear and awe. They spoke of the Queen’s mysterious powers, of her command over the weather, the crops, and the stars themselves. Some said she had vanished into the spirit world, others that she’d been taken by a jealous rival. But Fayla knew the Queen's disappearance was not natural. It felt more like the echo of an ancient curse stirring back to life.

As dusk approached, an unexpected figure emerged from the palace gates: Lord Talor, the Queen’s loyal advisor. His expression was grave, his eyes filled with a wisdom that carried the weight of ancient secrets. "The Queen is gone," he announced, his voice steady but edged with sorrow. "But she left a message for those who would seek her.”

In his hand, he held a single feather—a dark feather of midnight blue, gleaming faintly with starlight. Fayla recognized it at once as a raven feather, a rare symbol linked to the mysterious creatures of the Mistwood, a forest that lay on the farthest edges of the kingdom. Legends claimed the Mistwood was enchanted, home to beings who could traverse realms and knew the language of stars and shadows.

Fayla’s heart hammered as Lord Talor spoke again. "Whoever holds the courage to journey to the Mistwood and retrieve the Queen must follow the path upstream. The river will guide the way."

Without a second thought, Fayla stepped forward. She was young, with only a healer’s training, yet she felt the pull of fate stronger than ever before. Talor’s gaze met hers, and he gave a nod of understanding, placing the feather gently in her hand. It was as light as a whisper but cold as frost.

With a last glance at her home, Fayla turned and began the journey, following the river that now flowed against nature’s law. Her path was fraught with creatures that slumbered at the river’s edge and old magics that shimmered like threads in the air. She passed landmarks she had known all her life, only to find them altered, as though the land itself were bending under some strange enchantment.

On the third day, she reached the edges of the Mistwood, its trees woven with fog, and its shadows alive with whispers. As she stepped inside, the raven feather in her hand began to hum with energy, and she heard a voice echo in her mind, "Welcome, seeker of the Queen. Speak your purpose."

Clearing her throat, she whispered, "I seek the Queen and wish to return her to Ainsreach, to heal the river and our land."

In response, the forest parted to reveal a narrow path, where ancient trees bowed as if in acknowledgment of her quest. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, and ghostly shapes flitted from tree to tree. She walked deeper, feeling the weight of eyes upon her, until she came upon a clearing. At its center, a lake gleamed with an otherworldly light, and above it hovered the Queen, ethereal and bound by shimmering chains of silver light.

"Fayla," the Queen spoke, her voice as soft as a breeze yet as powerful as a storm. "You have come far to seek me."

"Your Majesty," Fayla breathed, bowing low. "We need you. The river flows backward, and the land grows fearful."

The Queen looked upon her kindly but sadly. "A spell has bound me to this realm. My heart was taken by one who would see our kingdom falter. Only one of pure heart, who has walked the path of life, can break the chains that hold me here."

At these words, Fayla raised the raven feather high, feeling a surge of power rush through her. The chains around the Queen flickered, loosened, and then shattered, falling away like stardust. The Queen’s feet touched the ground, and a wave of light rippled through the Mistwood, dispelling the shadows and banishing the fog.

As they made their way back, the river resumed its natural flow, gleaming once more with the calm serenity of a kingdom at peace. The Queen returned to Ainsreach to the cheers of her people, and as for Fayla, she was made a guardian of the realm, keeper of the river’s secrets and bearer of the raven’s feather, which she wore proudly—a reminder of her courage and the day the river ran backwards.