Astra Petalbloom

Astra was eight when the flames rose like wailing spirits around their home. He remembered the way his mother reached for him across a curtain of fire—her face framed in flickering gold—and how she vanished without sound before her lips could form his name. Dream was just five, barely old enough to speak, let alone mourn. She clung to her older brother as a green-haired Caprinae and a strange birdling child spirited them from the blaze. To this day, Astra has never asked their names.
  Now, years later, the siblings wander the world. Astra, with his cerulean ukulele and insatiable grin, plays for taverns, camps, and courts. His music, light as summer wine and just as intoxicating, opens hearts—and sometimes bedroom doors. A shameless flirt and joyous soul, Astra wears his polyamory like a crown of flowers, and wherever he goes, laughter follows. Dream, ever his shadow and foil, is a full-blooded horse born to a family of Centaurs—an oddity with a voice that startles strangers and a tambourine she clutches between her teeth. While Astra charms the crowd, Dream charms their coin purses. After all, who would suspect the horse?
  Their latest chapter led them to the town of Iron Oak. A year ago, they arrived with empty pockets and curious hearts. Astra soon earned renown at the rowdy Pink Pony Inn, beloved by goblins who crowned him “Party Horse.” It was here he met the Whitebeam brothers: Arran, all quiet ink and hidden sigils, and Rock, wild-eyed and arcane. Rock and Astra shared a summer of stolen kisses and unspoken words. But Astra, bound to his sister's search for meaning, left when Dream caught wind of something—a name, a place—that might lead to Meadow.
  He followed her, as he always had.
  Astra has lived his whole life lifting his sister up, burying his own grief beneath song and sunflowers. His magic, tuned to life and joy, blooms wherever he walks—crops flourish, children laugh, and broken spirits mend. But his own hope, the fragile ember of it, he keeps buried.
  Then came Neuvoterre. A moonlit ball, a reckless masquerade. Astra crashed the legendary Cernunnos Ball for a lark. There were lanterns strung like constellations, a child sliding joyfully down marble railings, and the enigmatic Raphael—sharp smile, warm touch. But joy faded with the dawn. Returning to their camp, Astra found a note scrawled in haste and signed with a familiar hoofprint:
  "Found a lead in Iron Oak. I have to leave immediately. Meet me there."
  Dream was gone.