The circle of mushrooms hummed faintly, each element and talent hovering in gentle anticipation, glowing softly. The fairies of Pixie Hollow leaned forward, breaths held, murmurs hushed, their eyes fixed on the enigmatic sparrowman who had captured the attention of their queen. Sargon did not reach for anything. He did not move. He did not beckon. He stood there, a calm presence in the center of the circle, letting the morning sun catch the midnight black of his hair and the subtle shimmer of his wings.
Then the wand responded.
Black as obsidian, inlaid with veins of golden light that pulsed with conscious arrogance, it hovered above him. It had slept for centuries, birthed from the branch of the World Tree struck by a cosmic storm. A fragment of creation itself, the wand was arrogant, powerful, and undefeated—it had found all who tried to wield it unworthy. And now, awakened by the faint tremor of Sargon's aura, it glowed fiercely, threatening to shatter the calm with raw, undirected power.
The fairies gasped. The air trembled. Even Clarion stepped back, golden hair catching the light, eyes wide.
Sargon did not flinch.
And then, the world shifted.
He exhaled softly, and the space around him became not space at all. The wand found itself pulled into a realm it had never been meant to enter—a shadow of the World Tree, colossal and impossible, branches stretching into nothingness, leaves shimmering like galaxies. And from that darkness, Sargon emerged, not merely present but immense.
He was the stars the wand had seen from its tiny perch. He was the cosmic void, the dark sky behind every shimmering point of light. Every pulse of awe the wand had ever felt, every spark of majesty it had glimpsed across the universe, now pressed against it with infinite weight. The tiny shard of creation it had once been tethered to now felt like a fragile twig in a hurricane.
The wand trembled. Its arrogance faltered. Its glow pulsed nervously. Here was something older than the storms that had birthed it. Something that exuded both the beauty and the indifference of the void. It had never known a being like this—never even imagined one capable of feeling all at once the majesty it had glimpsed only from a distance.
Sargon's aura, subtle yet immense, poured into the wand, filling its consciousness with a humbling truth. This was not a creature to command. This was everything it had seen and more. Stars and void, shadow and light, past and future—they all converged in Sargon.
For a heartbeat, the wand hesitated, quivering in place. And then it bowed, not with obedience, but with awe. Its pulsing light softened, no longer arrogant, no longer defiant. The infinite had passed judgment, and it had been found… small.
The fairies couldn't see it—the dark battle, the unspoken dialogue of essence between Sargon and the wand—but they felt the effect. The wand's tip glowed, then dimmed, then rotated slowly above Sargon's head, as if it were bowing. The tendrils of its power, wild and arrogant for centuries, were tamed not by force, but by quiet authority. The air trembled, not with threat, but with profound awe.
And then the talents themselves responded.
Each glowing symbol above the mushrooms—small fiery embers for fire, shimmering droplets for water, miniature cyclones for wind, tiny earthen orbs for earth—hovered and shimmered. At Sargon's mere presence, they flared brightly, brighter than any fairy had ever seen. The fire element flared like a small sun; the water droplets danced like liquid diamonds; the wind spirals roared silently; the earth orbs trembled and pulsed with life.
Even the rarer talents—the light fairies' luminescence, the tinkers' delicate mechanical glyphs, storm fairies' lightning sigils, and the Great Wandie's magic—acknowledged him instantly. All elements, known and those yet to be discovered, resonated with his essence, choosing him without hesitation.
Clarion exhaled softly, a hand pressed to her chest. "It… it's all of them. Every talent acknowledges him."
Rosetta, Iridessa, Fawn, Tinker Bell, Vidia, Silvermist, and the other fairies could only gape. The Great Wandie floated above, still unsure if this was a joke, a test, or the very apex of magic. And yet, the wand remained obedient, hovering, shimmering, powerless to resist the cosmic calm radiating from Sargon.
Fufalla's voice broke through, trembling slightly, a note of delight and fear entwined. "I… I've never seen anything like that… he didn't even touch it!"
Vidia, Iridessa, Tinker Bell, and the others could only nod, mouths agape. A mixture of relief and admiration rippled through them. The ceremony, meant to be a test of the fairies' discernment, had transformed into a display of cosmic inevitability.
==
To clarify for anyone reading who may not know Pixie Hollow's customs: a fairy's talent is more than a skill—it is the essence of who they are, an innate resonance with the magical forces around them. Fire talents wield flame, often tied to courage or passion. Water talents control flow and ice, expressing adaptability and serenity. Wind talents shape motion and air, requiring freedom and precision. Earth talents harmonize with soil and growth, slow to awaken but deeply potent. Light talents channel illumination, revealing truths and inspiring hope. Tinker talents craft, building marvels from ingenuity alone. Storm talents bend weather, their temperaments as fierce as the elements they command. And Great Wanded Fairies wield wish magic through their staves, bending reality in ways that are rare, unpredictable, and formidable.
This is common knowledge to the fairies themselves, of course—but for us readers, it explains just how remarkable it is that Sargon, without reaching, became the embodiment of every talent in Pixie Hollow.
=
The moment Sargon's aura quieted and the Great Wandie's wand hovered obediently above him, the gathered fairies of Pixie Hollow collectively exhaled, a wave of awe and relief rolling through the crowd. Even the most skeptical murmured in wonder; this was no ordinary sparrowman. Not even Queen Tutupia's own wand had so meekly submitted before.
Clarion cleared her throat, bringing her golden gaze to Sargon. "Now," she said softly, "the ceremony may proceed."
The representatives of the talents floated forward, each holding a glowing emblem of their craft. A small mushroom ring had materialized around Sargon, each toadstool a pedestal for a swirling element: glimmering fire, flowing water, lightning arcs, shadowed gusts, delicate petals, shimmering light, and others yet unknown to those watching.
From this point onward, Clarion's voice carried a quiet explanation, more for Sargon than the assembled Pixie Hollow folk, who already understood it perfectly:
"In our world," Clarion intoned, "a fairy's talent is their essence, the very core of what they are meant to bring into the world. It is both a gift and a responsibility. Fire, water, storms, light, speed, animal kinship, invention, and even the rarest magics—each talent manifests uniquely, and only when the right fairy selects it does it fully awaken. To those outside our world, these may seem like simple abilities, but to us, they are life, legacy, and purpose all woven into one."
Sargon knew this already, but didn't interrupt as his presence, the faint drop of his previous godly-level essence, interacted with the energies before him. Where the elements had once shimmered timidly, they now danced like living stars, orbiting him as if he were the sun of their small cosmos. Each elemental's glow pulsed in response to him, drawn to his aura.
The fire talent—long anticipated but never yet manifested—flared with a brilliance that startled even the wind fairies. In the original stories, the fire fairy had appeared alone, claiming her power at the precise moment of her coming of age. Here, the essence was known, yet now it resonated fully with Sargon's presence. Fire, water, storm, fast flight, invention, animal kinship, light, shadow, healing, music, and even the rarities the books hinted at—he drew each one toward him effortlessly.
None of the fairies saw the silent cosmic ballet behind the scenes: the tug-of-war of wills between Sargon and the still-proud wand of the Great Wandie. It had glimpsed the infinite stars, felt the void, and trembled as if facing the cosmos itself. Yet Sargon restrained it gently, ensuring no harm would come to the witnesses. To them, it only appeared to settle, obedient, floating above his head.
A murmur of disbelief rose among the fairies. "He… he claimed them all?" whispered Rosetta.
Iridessa's wings fluttered nervously. "Even the rare talents…? The ones no fairy has ever wielded yet?"
Sargon smiled faintly, though his gaze did not meet theirs. The talents, in their myriad forms, now hovered like a halo around him. Water rippled in the air beside him; fire sparks pirouetted, not threatening but vibrant; storm currents twisted gently, casting shadows; delicate petals spun, refracting light; shadows themselves seemed to bow; even the rare talents, unknown to most, shimmered with potential.
Vidia's eyes narrowed. "How…? That wand—no one could tame it, even Queen Tutupia herself—yet he…"
Clarion, standing tall, intervened, her voice gentle but filled with reverence. "A wand of the Great Wandies is born of the World Tree. Its power is immense and proud. Only one in a thousand can wield it without being consumed. That he has… speaks volumes."
The audience could only gape as the spectacle unfolded: Sargon, silent and still, exuding an aura that made the Great Wandie's wand float in quiet obedience. There was no fear in him, only the calm certainty of one who had touched the void, seen the stars, and walked among galaxies as easily as a child skips across leaves.
And though none of them saw it, the wand had witnessed a shadow of the World Tree itself, and within that shadow, Sargon's essence—cosmic, infinite, yet restrained—stretched out. It humbled even the wand, forcing it to acknowledge that power existed beyond its understanding.
A final, soft hum of energy pulsed outward from him, like the echo of a celestial heartbeat. The talents, both known and unknown, settled into alignment, each recognizing the harmony of their selection.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Clarion breathed, almost reverently, "Pixie Hollow has never seen such a display. Every talent, drawn to its rightful steward… all by one being."
Rosetta's jaw dropped. "Ah… Ah don't even know what to say."
Silvermist, ever bold, whispered, "And he didn't even touch anything first… it's like they simply wanted him."
In the midst of it all, Sargon's aura softened, and the orbiting talents shimmered gently, like fireflies settling in a calm summer night. For the fairies, the ceremony was complete. For Sargon, the dance of power had been but a whisper.
The crowd of fairies—Pixie Hollow's best, its rarest, and the most curious—now looked on in silent awe. They did not know the depth of what had just transpired, nor the universe-spanning consciousness that had passed through their midst. All they knew was this: a being had arrived who could call even the proudest wand to obedience, and he did so without a single touch.
The talents hovered, aligned, and vibrant. The Great Wandie's wand floated above his head, still and obedient. And Sargon… merely smiled, his black-feathered wings catching the morning light, his aura calm, endless, infinite.
The Arrival Ceremony had, in a single moment, become a legend.
=
A/N: Finally reached where it last died, now there is a lot from here I need to work on, as well as the other books, that and my own job. Chapters will fall in a slow rhythm but won't stop. As for crossovers, I'll see what can be done, but I am only keeping it within the fairy universe, mostly. Thanks for the support.