** When a wish brings devastating consequences, Pan must join forces with a fallen star to stop the walking dead before Neverland sinks into eternal darkness. **
"We can sail away tonight on a sea of pure moonlight
We can navigate the stars to b...
The wind blew cool across the lands of Neverland, where the countless fields and trees had turned autumnal colors that day. The leafy canopies of what had been green land yesterday, consisting of bogs and vast expanses of lush grassland, offered an impressive sight of fiery red, milder and sometimes more intense orange, a fading brown, and stubbornly lingering green.
Here, deep in the woods, far from the eyes of pirates or Indians, was the giant hillside tree, its impressive and ancient trunk rising into the air. In some of Neverland's moody seasons, no more than a skeleton, yet even then still in princely form, the mighty tree offered an unforgettable sight. Countless corridors, some obvious and easy to find, others carefully hidden, had provided the Lost Boys with a spacious home for many decades - perhaps even centuries?
There was an earthy smell in the long corridors of earth and wood—a mixture of moss and grasses, berries, a little candle smoke, and beeswax. Chaos reigned in the tree. Weapons lay jumbled crosswise in one corner, gold piled in a heap with gems by a box - part of Hook's stolen treasure, along with a pirate's hat and a crown. But they had never cared much for it before. They used these things for their games, until they were quickly forgotten.
The great Hangman's Tree had witnessed many a sorrow and rejoicing over the centuries when the Lost Cubs had pounced on each other in the clearing to its branches, roaring wildly, to establish the order of precedence among themselves as in a pack. Countless games had been played here, stories told, and heroic adventures brought to the ears of eagerly listening admirers. They gathered around him whenever Peter returned from adventures and listened to his tales with wide eyes and open mouths.
This time, however, there was no cheering in the tree, no crowing and howling. No one lay in the hammocks filled with cloth and feathers of colorful birds; no one carved figures out of wood or leaped across the tables while blades flashed and clinked. No fire warmed the Hangman's Tree from its belly, and even the candles were extinguished. The only light illuminating the black maw of earthy twists was the flicker of a single fairy whose golden glow cast all the darker shadows elsewhere.
A soft groan accompanied the movement as Peter Pan shifted position in his roost far above all others. The dried blood stains on his clothing looked like black ink in the gloom. A huge one had spread to his waist, soaking the mixture of leaves and linen fabric and staining his sleeping area.
"All of this...shouldn't have happened like this," his lone voice whispered into the darkness. It was rough and brittle, unfamiliar and far from any lightness that had usually lifted the tone of the King of the Lost. A strange hardness drew the young features, strengthened by the shadow play of golden light and black spots.
A tinkling was the answer, while the small, golden light, struggling for attention, fluttered, trundling back and forth on the small candle plate.
Peter understood the little fairy perfectly, as did all children with dreams and imagination. Those who could laugh at small wonders of the world and see things far from any reality. The colors of fantasy, iridescent like rainbows... and in them, fairies too, just like Tinkerbell was one. This time, however, not even the fairy could lift his spirits.
Tink's light flickered from his weighted feelings. Usually, it was easy to cheer Peter up after a setback - because that also happened now and then. Neverland was full of adventure, and the Lost Boy's heart was full of joy and lightheartedness. This time, however, the last battle had inflicted a deep wound. Not only in Peter's flesh, because despite fairy dust and the faster healing of the fairy love, even that one wanted to heal slower than usual. No... it wasn't.
This time everything was different than usual.
At first, Peter had just regretted bringing the Darling children to Neverland. They were messing everything up, and what had started as an amusing game was becoming increasingly... annoying. But by the time Wendy actually asked him to leave Neverland again with her brothers, the ice of his world had already creaked dangerously. NOBODY had requested to be allowed to return before! Nobody, never! (Even if they had, he probably wouldn't have remembered) But the worst part was that his Lost Boys wanted to join!
Suddenly intoxicated by the thought of family and mothers, they had turned away... and Peter had felt for the first time that incredibly sickening stab in the heart for which there were many words. Disappointment? Mortification? Betrayal?
All of this was not meant to be THAT way!
But Peter had convinced himself that he didn't care. He should. Soon he would have forgotten this betrayal. Once they were gone, he would seek new adventures! He would relieve the old stockfish of his precious treasures, annoy the harpies, or hoodwink the Indians. Just like he always did. And eventually, he would get new boys! Grateful boys from the dirty, gray world in London, who would admire him again and listen to his adventures spellbound! This plan had sounded simple... but it wasn't.
Something had changed from the very moment he had brought the Darlings to Neverland. But this landslide of events didn't happen until Tink had told him about the kidnapping of the Darlings and his boys.
He knew how it should have been and what a heroic story it would have been! How HE, Peter Pan, would have reappeared as a savior with a flashing dagger and the crowing that the old barnacle hated so much! He would have defeated Hook and saved the Darlings, and his lost ones would have realized that they were NOTHING without him! This world they were going to could not offer them the same as HE could! The hero of all stories and adventures.
But life was only sometimes played by the convenient rules. Peter had had to learn that bitterly, and that lesson's aftertaste was still on his tongue. Even a sugary, deceptively poisonous Neverland couldn't wash away that taste. Even the usually so faithful oblivion seemed to want to give him this time no relief.
For three days now, it wouldn't let him go.
"I failed..." Peter pronounced it as if he could get rid of it by doing so. That disgusting, bitter black lump in his throat and tongue, gumming up his whole mind like black tar.
He had failed.
It echoed repeatedly inside him, like his voice did in the caves of Skull Rock.
He. Had. Failed.
That was a fact he could neither deny or repress, neither forgot nor change, as if the spilled blood had etched it into stone like acid.
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