The Blissful Flame

Far beyond the reach of time, in a land untouched by warmth, there lay the heart of the Borealis. An arctic desert—vast, cold, and yet far from barren. 

It was a world of its own, where ice fairies as small as snowflakes danced upon the winds, enchanting the very land into creation. Though the tundra seemed untouched, it was not truly free. Long ago, this land had been the kingdom of the Fae, but it had fallen under the rule of the Green Baron. 

To keep his domain hidden, the Baron cast a veil as frigid as his heart, a spell so cruel that any who dared cross it would freeze in an instant.

Among the fairies, there was one named Blis. He was a humble creature, bound to a solemn duty: lighting the beacons that guided the Green Baron's flying chariot. 

It was a task given to him by the Baron himself, and all knew better than to test the wrath of his nightmarish temper.

So Blis did as he was told, his tiny hands tending to the lights that burned in the coldest nights.

One evening, as he worked, he saw her—Milia, the Baron's daughter. A Fae herself, she was a vision of beauty, her golden hair cascading like liquid sunlight, her eyes gleaming like stars caught in the snow. She would linger near him, her presence warm against the frozen world. 

She would smile at him, blush when he spoke. But Blis was no fool; he knew better than to lay a hand upon her. And yet, his heart betrayed him, for he had fallen in love.

One night, he took Milia to a hidden cave where he had lit all the beacons in her likeness—a tribute to the face he saw as perfection. 

Milia, touched by his devotion, pressed a tender kiss upon his lips. But before their joy could bloom, a shadow fell over them, casting the cave in an eerie green hue. 

The Baron's dark fury filled the space, his wrath colder than the ice itself. It was not Milia's presence that enraged him, but the absence of the beacons—his chariot left unguided in the night.

With a cruel hand, the Green Baron twisted Blis' form, stripping him of his delicate wings, tearing his body apart until only a skeleton remained. 

Then, with a flick of his terrible magic, he set Blis ablaze—not in warmth, but in a spectral green fire, an eternal flame of servitude. 

No longer a fairy, no longer free, Blis became one with the beacons, forever burning across the sky, his green flames lighting the way for all eternity.