Once upon a time, fairies roamed the land side by side with humans, the only obvious difference the flecks of changing color in their eyes.

That was a very long time ago now.

Once upon a more recent time, there was a brother and sister. Their names were Darien and Darcy, and they traveled the land, having adventures and rescuing people and generally having a good time. Generally.

They wore contacts that made their eyes dark blue.

One stormy evening they rescued a slight girl who said her name was Miaela from a band of wretched thieves. Darien took one look at her willowy form and grateful eyes and flowing hair, and was head over heels in love, or so Darcy always claimed when they talked about it later. Darien said it took longer than that for him to fall in love. Miaela said she hoped she was more than a damsel in distress. Darien never let her get that sentence out before kissing her.

If Darcy was right, Darien had about five seconds to fall in love before Morgan came tumbling out of the trees and snatched his sister Miaela in his arms. Since he was exhausted and badly bruised from having been knocked out by the bandits, Darcy promptly invited both brother and sister to their campfire for the night.

Darien said later that evening was what started him on the path to falling in love. Darcy claimed she wouldn’t have been so eager to invite to the fire if it hadn’t been for the look in her brother’s eyes when he looked at Miaela, and that the falling had all happened in the first five seconds.

However it was, the campfire light reflected off Miaela’s eyes that night and brought dark gold flecks dancing out in the brown. They flashed and glowed, and –

“You can’t do anything to her,” Morgan said sternly, with a desperate edge to his voice as he wrapped his arms protectively around his sister for the second time that day. “You’d have to go through me first.”

Darcy glanced at Darien; Darien glanced at Darcy. Then they both took the contacts out of their eyes.

Darien’s blue eyes reflected the fire in shards of green glass; Darcy’s darker eyes spun purple sparks.

There was a moment of complete silence.

“So that’s how you do all those impossible feats, then,” Morgan said at last, with a long-drawn breath of relief.

Something was cemented that night, in spite of the fact that Michael’s brown eyes only had the faintest hint of orange in them. After that the Dynamic Duo became the Questing Quadruple.

“We’re getting close,” Darcy said to Darien as they walked beside the cart with all their possessions one afternoon; the purple flecks in her eyes darkened into shards.

“Close,” her brother said distantly, watching the horse’s rump and wondering if he would see the faint flicker of immaterial wings above its back if he wasn’t wearing contacts. “Close, but not quite yet.”

“You always say that,” Darcy said impatiently.

“Close to what?” Morgan interrupted them suddenly. “Because if you’re thinking of what I think you’re thinking of, I may know a man.”