Silent Rule

Far beyond the silver rivers and the lush forests, a man in a green coat came upon a land of makers. The fairies who lived there were known for their craft, weaving wonders from materials unseen. But they had not always been so. The fairies, once dreamers, became artisans, learning to shape the world not with voice, but with their hands, hearing whispers of spells from the very soil itself. Over time, their kingdom flourished under a wise and noble ruler, the last of the fae, King Rasmus.

Long ago, before the world was shaped as we know it, there was a king who could create anything with his voice. He could summon gold from the earth, weave silver from the wind, and stir the stars into purest rain. But creation bore a heavy burden, for a jolly jingle turned to a mute void.

Without his song, the man in the green coat became hollow. The joy of creation was replaced with silence, and silence bred bitterness. He flew across the world each night still, but also in search of a way to regain his gift, but the magic of his voice was gone. In his despair, he remembered a kingdom—a kingdom he had once ruled before the loss of his power.

Cloaked in green, the man arrived at the palace gates just as a cruel winter storm raged upon the land. Snow fell in thick sheets, and ice crept through the streets, claiming homes and hearths alike. The people huddled in fear, and King Rasmus, desperate to save his kingdom, sent a prayer into the night.

It was then that a knock banged upon the palace doors. A howling wind carried him into the great hall, and his voice—though no longer capable of song—was rich with promises.

“I am the Giver of Gifts,” he said. “I have come to deliver one for your suffering.”

The king, wary but hopeful, listened as the cloaked stranger made his offer. In exchange for the storm’s retreat, the stranger wished to learn the fairies’ craft—the secret of their hands. With no other choice, King Rasmus agreed.

A sceptre revealed itself from the green coat, and with a single motion, the storm unravelled, pierced by an unseen hand. The skies parted, the ice melted, and warmth returned to the land. The fairies rejoiced, believing themselves saved.

But as soon as the knowledge was given, the man in the green coat was no longer the benevolent saviour he had appeared to be. His eyes darkened, his heart cold, and without a word, he vanished into the night.

It was only years later, when the kingdom had grown strong once more, that Rasmus realized the terrible truth: it was not a divine who had answered his prayer. He had sent the storm himself, a cruel trick to force wisdom into his grasp.

And so, when the snow began to fall again, heavier than before, the fairies knew their true enemy had returned. But the mysterious stranger was no longer the weary wanderer. He had become something else. Cloaked in emerald hue, with an army of shadows at his back, he marched upon the gates—not as a forgotten king, but as a conqueror.

The kingdom fell in a single night. And from its ruins, a new realm arose—a barony of endless winter, ruled by the silent song of the Green Baron, who would shape the world once more, not with voice, but with power.

And to this day, the fairies whisper his name when the first frost comes, fearing the night when the wind howls and the snow begins to fall. For they know that He is watching, waiting, ever longing for the voice he lost so long ago.