Reincarnated as a Fairy: My Magic Wings Will Soar Above This Fantasy World!

The forest had changed.

Lyra first noticed it in the stillness—the absence of birdsong, the lack of rustling leaves in the breeze. The Whispering Woods, which had always carried a hum of life, felt unnaturally quiet.

Eryndor noticed too.

“The trees are listening,” he murmured, his violet eyes flicking toward the darkened treetops. His fur bristled, his ears alert.

Lyra shivered. “Listening to what?”

“To whatever doesn’t belong here.”

They had spent the past few days honing her control over magic. She had learned how to manipulate the wind without losing control, how to hover without faltering, and how to feel the air shift before a change in the weather. But now, something else was moving the air—something wrong.

A cold breeze brushed past her, whispering along her skin.

Lyra turned. “Eryndor, did you feel that?”

The fox’s nose twitched. “Yes.”

The wind carried more than just the usual forest scents. It was tinged with something sharp, metallic, and… rotten.

Then she saw it.

At the base of a tree, partially hidden by fallen leaves, were deep claw marks gouged into the bark.

Lyra’s stomach twisted. “Something was here.”

Eryndor’s tail flicked. “And recently.”

Lyra kneeled, running her fingers over the grooves. The cuts were jagged, not smooth like an animal’s scratch. Something strong had torn into the wood.

She stood slowly. “We’re being watched, aren’t we?”

Eryndor’s silence was answer enough.

A snap of a branch behind them made Lyra whirl around, her wings twitching. Nothing. Just the endless trees, standing eerily still.

Eryndor exhaled. “We can’t stay here. There’s a Fae village west of here. If something unnatural is moving through the woods, we need to find safety.”

Lyra hesitated. “And what if the village isn’t safe either?”

Eryndor gave her a long, unreadable look. “Then we fight.”

A cold chill ran down Lyra’s spine. She wasn’t ready for a fight. Not yet.

But she had a feeling she wouldn’t have a choice.