Dalliance Rather was seven years old when he caught the prettiest ‘firefly’ he'd ever seen. When he held the jar up to his face in the twilit fields, tiny hands pressed against the glass from the inside.

  "Free me," she demanded, her voice like the chime of a small bell. Her wings sparkled in the wan light from iron-grey clouds like flecks of mica. Her hair shone with pinpoint gleams like fool's gold.

  "Pretty," he breathed.

  "No. Maybe, but I am my own person. FREE ME!"

  Her protests only served to pique his interest further.

  His face, pressed against the jar, was overwhelming in its closeness. She skittered to the other side, getting every inch of space she could. Fingers heavy with baby fat and round cheeks alike deformed on the glass while he watched her, apparently deep in thought.

  "I should tell Da there's things in the crops," the boy said at length. There was regret in the booming voice that vibrated the jar.

  "NO," she said quickly, panic flashing across her tiny features. She wasn't at the mercy of an adult's lusty gaze, but that could change. There were worse things than starving to death in a bug jar.

  The eyes blinked at her vehemence.

  "Do you wanna see my room?" the child asked at length, mind having wandered from its original course.

  She hesitated, then: "N—okay."

  The face retracted, leaving the glassy wall clear, and the world outside began to move in disorienting arcs as the boy strode through the darkening fields and evening vegetable gardens.

  Eventually, his feet stilled before one of the smaller outbuildings of the farm, and he set her jar down clumsily on the mat before undoing the latch to what proved to be his room.

  It was very neat, though both cramped and spartan, and contained a concerning number of mason jars full of fireflies.

  Seeing them, her heart sank: his ability to catch her was explained. He'd had plenty of practice.

  "Listen, boy—"

  "Dalliance."

  " . . . no, we aren't doing that." Severe, like a piccolo trill, her faen tone.

  He held up the jar and stared at her with the intense focus only children could manage. "I'm Dalliance. You're weird."

  Poor child, she thought. That name, a jab from one parent to the other, might as well be a curse.

  "I'm sorry," she said at length. "That was sort of poor humor."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He didn't seem to know anything untoward had been suggested. Younger than she'd thought, then.

  "Look, I have candy," he said, offering a candy cane.

  It was glossy spun sugar, white with ruby-red spiraling stripes.

  And she wanted it. Pixies lived for sugar. They'd do almost anything for it.

  She found herself buzzing like a moth on the glass but couldn't stop herself, and was so afraid he'd ask for something, and that she might say yes.

  Clever faeries never bargain on an empty stomach.

  And then he opened the lid. "Here you go!" he said happily.

  She flew directly to the candy and caught herself, holding it.

  "You freed me," she said slowly, hardly believing it. "without any bargain. As a gift. And that's before the candy."

  "I didn't know you'd want to go," he said sadly. Quietly, like something was crumpling inside him with the realization.

  A tear trickled down a massive cheek still ripe with baby fat. "Nobody wants to be friends with me . . . " he mewled quietly, the tone of a child who doesn't know whether he's crying or whispering, or possibly one who's had the former beaten out of him.

  The faerie fluttered anxiously. He'd given her not one, but two gifts. There was a debt to address. And yet.

  He didn't look like he needed a glamour or ephemeral trinket. Though he was deeply in need.

  "Listen," she said carefully. "I don't offer this to everyone."

  Teary eyes blinked at her.

  "I can be your guardian. I can look over you until you're of age. Would you like that? I never go away, but you never try to catch me."

  His pupils widened, and she darted back, but then hot tears flooded forth, and he fell to a curled position on his mattress. If he'd been smaller, she'd have tried to hug him. As it was, she placed a small hand on his gigantic shoulder, before hopping back to a safe distance once more.

  He cried quietly, clearly suppressing the whooping sobs his young chest was trying to produce. Poor human.

  "I grant you system access, young . . . [Scamp]." She wasn't sure it would be the right fit, but a class focused on Charm wouldn’t have suited his candor. He'd flounder.

  She settled on his bedside table, sitting on the edge and kicking tiny bare feet in the still air of the small bedroom until he looked at her again with the barest glimmerings of hope in his eyes.

  "You're still here."

  "Yes. I suppose I am."

  "Can you be here tomorrow?"

  "I will be here, if you want me to be."

  Dalliance’s lip quivered.

  "Call me Topaz," she instructed. "I'm going to be your fairy godmother."

  A last tear trickled ponderously down.

  "You need to sleep," she told him gently. "You're going to hear me in your dreams. When you can, say ‘Wit’ as many times as possible."

  "Okay," he said, trusting.

  She alighted upon his shoulder, patting his back gently. "[Sleep]."

  [For the Debt now expunged, by the Numen of Danu’s daughter: may you be as clever as a fox and troublesome as a summer fly, young Scamp. Fear the gods and accrue wisdom.]

  And so the youngest son of Cadence Rather became the earliest to awaken to the System in a generation.