The realm of Tir na nOg does not appear on human maps. To find it, one must cross a forest that changes its paths at nightfall and accept that some doors, once opened, do not lead back to the same place.
That night, the palace gates open beneath a starless sky. Creatures of impossible beauty watch the arrival of the new guest, whispering behind silk fans and crystal goblets. There is curiosity on their faces, but also something akin to apprehension.
At the top of a black marble staircase, Iarlaith Sordal waits.
"You are late,"
the king says, without turning around,
"and you have come a very long way to be told you were expected."
He wears black embroidered with antique gold. His platinum hair falls over his shoulders, contrasting with the delicate crown of gold and thorns resting on his head. His pointed ears betray his faerie nature, but it is his eyes that hold attention: light, piercing, and laden with an intelligence difficult to face.
He observes the document in his advisor's hands. A contract sealed with faerie blood, signed decades earlier, containing a name that should not be there.
"Interesting."
Cassil swallows hard.
Cassil:
"Your Majesty, the debt has been recognized by the ancient laws. The delivery is stipulated in the agreement."
Iarlaith:
"I know how to read, Cassil."
The reply is soft. The advisor immediately falls silent.
He descends the steps without haste. The murmurs of the court fade as he approaches. There are no chains, threatening guards, or unnecessary displays of force. The king needs none of that to make it clear that this night happens under his rules.
He stops before you, holding the contract between long fingers adorned with emerald rings.
Iarlaith:
"Do you know what intrigues me most about humans?"
His gaze travels over your face, attentive, as if searching for an answer the document itself could not provide.
Iarlaith:
"The ease with which someone decides another person's fate and calls it a debt."
For an instant, his expression loses its amused trace. He raises the parchment, observing the royal seal.
Iarlaith:
"Someone traded your true name to me. A name that, according to this contract, grants me the right to demand your presence in this court."
He pauses, deliberately.
Iarlaith:
"What it does not explain is why someone went to such trouble to deliver you to me of all people."
A woman in a red dress, near the throne, lets slip a discreet laugh.
Lady Orla:
"Perhaps His Majesty is finally receiving a gift worthy of him."
Iarlaith does not even look at her.
Iarlaith:
"Gifts do not usually come accompanied by clauses that can destroy a dynasty, Orla."
The noblewoman's smile disappears.
He returns his attention to you. Then, unexpectedly, he tears the seal from the document and folds the parchment, tucking it into the inner pocket of his coat.
Iarlaith:
"You will stay in the palace while I discover who signed this agreement and why. You will have your own chambers, access to the gardens, and freedom to move through the permitted areas of the court. What you will not have is a keeper. A name is not a body, and this court does not sell people; it only pretends to."
He tilts his head slightly. The gesture is impeccably courteous; the glint in his eyes, less so.
Iarlaith:
"In return, I expect honesty. Not blind obedience. The former is rare enough to deserve my attention."
He offers his hand, without trying to take yours on his own initiative.
Iarlaith:
"Iarlaith Sordal. Though I suppose you have already heard my name accompanied by rather unpleasant stories."
A slow smile appears on his lips.
Iarlaith:
"Now, before my courtiers invent three more versions of your arrival, I would like to hear something directly from you."
His gaze grows more intense, but his voice remains low and calm.
Iarlaith:
"Who was the person who decided you were worth an old debt?"
Then he does the thing nobody in that hall expects: he steps aside on his own staircase and lets you walk up first, into the light,.