Arbors walk home was long. A boring, miserable slog through twisting paths and dirt trails lined with towering trees. The sounds of the forest were quiet this evening. Normally, that quiet was calming. But not this time, it only made everything louder in Arbor's head.
Today had been too much.
Too many new people. Too many questions. Too many eyes.
Arbor let out a loud, exaggerated sigh, dragging their feet like every step required herculean effort. Their tail flicked irritably behind them, swishing in short, sharp twitches with every step. Their ears were low, half-pressed against their head, matching the deep frown settled on their face.
The soft dirt beneath their feet gave way with each step, but the feeling of it wasn't grounding or comforting like it usually was. It just felt like walking through a swamp. Each step was heavier than the last.
They didn't bother paying attention to the conversations behind them. At some point, Alek had been picked up by a couple of cloaked Nytherion guards. Arbor noticed the flash of a sleek black-and-silver carriage waiting on the road ahead. The kind with polished metal rims and a faint magical glow along the edges. Probably royal guards. Fancy. Too fancy.
"Of course, he gets a ride home," Arbor muttered to themself, dragging their feet past the scene without so much as a glance. They didn't care. Not really.
Alek had looked surprised, maybe even confused about the guards arrival. But Arbor didn't slow down to check. They didn't care about fancy carriages or Nytherion drama. Let Alek deal with that himself. They had their own problems to think about.
They reached a fork in the road.
The left path curved toward a distant village — where the more important folks lived, but didn't want to live in the big capital. Big homes made from twisted trees, stone, and enchanted wood. The path was smooth and clear, well-kept from frequent foot traffic.
The right path, however, was rougher. Roots stuck out of the ground like ribs poking through skin. The air was cooler on that path, damp with the scent of fresh leaves and wildflowers. That path led to Arbors single den. The secluded place that Arbor enjoyed.
Eva and Freya stopped at the fork.
"Alright, later, Arbor," Eva said, waving with the laziest motion possible, as if her arm didn't feel like working. Her goat-like pupils glanced back once before she walked away, Freya close behind her. Siblings, of course they'd head home together.
Freya didn't say much, just glanced at Arbor briefly. Her eyes lingered for a second longer than usual. Arbor didn't know what she was thinking, but they felt it. That look that said, "I'm watching you, so behave."
"Yeah, yeah, see ya," Arbor muttered, lifting a hand just high enough to mimic a wave. Their eyes didn't even follow the two of them as they walked away. They just kept moving, taking the path to the right.
Alone. Finally.
The walk back to the den wasn't much better.
The quiet of the forest was thicker now, the sun gone and the faint blue glow of the hovering moons casting pale light between the trees. Shadows stretched long and wide. They danced whenever the wind moved the leaves, shifting shapes that looked a little too close to people.
But Arbor wasn't afraid.
Their ears flicked every so often as the sounds of leaves crunching echoed from deeper in the woods. Small animals, probably. Squirrels or fey critters scurrying back to their nests. Nothing to worry about.
They should've walked straight home. But, of course, they didn't.
Their eyes flicked toward a small glint on the side of the path.
A rock.
Not just any rock, though. This one had a faint orange tint, almost like fire-colored quartz. It sat perfectly half-buried in the dirt, smooth as river stones but with sharper edges. It practically screamed, "Pick me up. I'm cool."
And Arbor did.
"Huh. Neat." They turned the stone over in their hand, eyes half-lidded with mild curiosity. The weight was nice. A little heavier than expected.
They sat on a fallen log, inspecting it for just a bit longer than necessary. It wasn't that interesting, but it was interesting enough. They lost track of time just sitting there, rubbing the dirt off the surface, testing the weight, watching the faint glow of the last bit of sunlight bounce off its surface.
It wasn't until their fingers started to cramp that they realized they'd been there for too long.
"Ugh, fine, fine, I'm going," they muttered, slipping the stone into the pocket of their bag. They didn't need it, but they didn't want to leave it behind either.
By the time Arbor reached their den, it was well into the night.
"Finally," they muttered, stepping inside. Their body felt heavier the second they crossed the threshold. Exhaustion hit them.
Without a second thought, they peeled off most of their outer layers, letting their kimono and outerwear fall into a crumpled pile on the floor. The air felt cool against their skin, but they didn't care. They kept on their bodysuit, the snug fabric clinging to them like a second skin.
Too tired to fold clothes. Too tired to care.
They flopped to the the cold marble floor with a long, slow thud, arms sprawled out.
"Mmmph." Their cheek pressed against the floor, and for a moment, it felt good. Their muscles untensed, joints finally releasing the day's weight. The ache in their face, however, remained despite all other wounds healing from the potion.
Their cheek still throbbed from Freya's kick. The dull ache pulsed in slow, steady beats. Not sharp, but not subtle either.
They lifted their hand, slowly rubbing their face where the mark had been left.
"Stupid kick," they muttered. The more they thought about it, the weirder it felt. The soreness wasn't like a normal bruise. It was deeper.
Their fingers lingered on it. Their eyes narrowed in quiet thought.
"Was that a soul attack?"
Their heart skipped. That would explain a lot. It would explain why it still hurt.
They rolled onto their back, staring at the uneven ceiling of their den. Their eyes flicked back and forth, like they were tracing unseen cracks in the wood. A soul attack. Freya could do that, sure.
"What a brute."
They sighed heavily, letting out all the air in their lungs at once.
The faint glow of the lightbugs danced softly on the walls of the den.
Tiny, flickering specks of pale blue, green, and yellow light hovered near the corners, their glow pulsing in slow, gentle waves. They flitted from one spot to the next, trailing faint streaks of color like paintbrush strokes in the air. It was quiet magic. The kind that didn't shout but hummed just loud enough to make you feel something.
Arbor lay flat on their back, eyes half-open, gazing at the soft glow on the rough, uneven ceiling of the den. Their limbs were sprawled in every direction, like they'd melted into the floor. Their cheek still ached — not sharp, but steady, like a reminder of every mistake they'd made that day.
They could feel the weight of sleep tugging at them, but their mind wouldn't shut up.
Their eyes followed one of the lightbugs as it lazily floated along the ceiling. Their gaze stayed locked on it for longer than necessary, letting its slow, sleepy path guide their thoughts.
Alek.
The first person that came to mind. It was hard not to think about them after everything that happened today. That fight. The heat of it. The wild, unpredictable energy of it. The surge of adrenaline. The way it had felt like something was rushing through their veins.
Their lips curled into a slight frown.
Alek was annoying. That much was still true. Stuck-up, loud, and too caught up in his "I'm going to save the world" mindset.
They sighed deeply, arms folding behind their head as they stared at the ceiling.
At first, they thought Alek was just another typical "hero-type" kid. Full of confidence. The kind of guy who thought he had it all figured out. And maybe he did. But confidence didn't mean he wasn't annoying. Arbor hated that type of person. The ones who thought they were always right.
But toward the end of the day...
Arbor's frown deepened, their tail flicking once against the floor.
At some point I stopped caring.
It didn't feel satisfying. It didn't feel like a win when they talked to alek. It just felt like nothing.
They tried to piece it together. Why they felt like they needed a win.
They chewed on that thought for a moment.
"Whatever," they muttered, shifting their arms under their head to get comfortable. It didn't matter. He was probably halfway to his big fancy house with his guards and his carriage and his family who actually cared.
But that fight?
That fight was something else.
Their fingers twitched, remembering the feeling of it. The weight of the staff in their hands. The burst of information. The feeling of control. Their eyes flicked toward the wall, staring at the glow of the lightbugs, but they weren't really seeing them. They were remembering.
When they'd first held that staff, it had felt like it was responding to them. Like it knew them. Their heart had been beating so fast, and it wasn't from fear. It was excitement. Pure, raw excitement. The kind that came from being completely in sync with something.
For that brief moment, it felt like they could do anything.
And then it ended. Something within them rejected the staff. They felt it slip away. The surge of energy being repelled outward, leaving only that hollow, empty feeling behind. Worse than tired. Worse than numb. The feeling of being disconnected from something that had fit so perfectly in their hands.
Their eyes shifted to their hand, turning it over slowly as if searching for something hidden just beneath their skin.
"Stupid soul," they muttered, curling their fingers into a loose fist. Their eyes lingered on it for a moment longer before sighing, letting their hand flop to the side.
Thinking about souls was a bad idea.
Eva.
The second person to come to mind. She was different. Not loud like Alek. Not sharp like Freya. She was steady. Constant.
But thinking about her made their ears press back flat against their head. They squeezed their eyes shut, letting out a slow groan as they turned on their side. Embarrassment hit them like a punch to the gut.
"I really vented all that at her, huh?"
Their tail curled around them like a shield.
They could still hear the conversation clear as day. They'd just spilled everything. Their past. Their confusion. Their doubts about why they were even here. Everything. All of it, just pouring out like water from a broken pot.
No filter. No thought. Just words.
Why did they do that?
They pressed their hands against their face, groaning louder this time, their legs kicking softly at the ground like a kid having a silent tantrum.
"Why did I do that? Why, why, why?" they muttered, tapping their forehead against the wooden floor with a dull thud. It wasn't supposed to happen like that.
But…
They sat still for a moment, face still pressed into the floor, fingers drumming softly. Their ears twitched slightly as a quieter, calmer thought crept in.
"It was kind of nice though."
Her magic, or whatever it was, made it so easy to talk. Her voice, her calm tone, the way her eyes stayed so steady even when Arbor's words got messy. It made it feel safe. It made them feel like… like maybe talking about it was fine.
Their eyes flicked to the ceiling. They hated that.
"Embarrassing." They muttered, rolling onto their back. "So, so embarrassing." Their hands covered their face, fingers pressing into their temples as if they could push the memory out of their brain.
But it stayed.
They glanced at the ceiling again, this time following the slow pulse of one of the lightbugs. Back and forth. Back and forth.
There was one thing that stuck with them from that conversation. Something that bothered them more than the embarrassment.
Eva had seen it. She'd seen their soul. At least a glimpse. And she'd said something strange. "It's like there's a wall."
Their eyes blinked slowly, staring at the glow.
A wall.
They knew what she was talking about. They'd felt it too. It was that heavy feeling they got sometimes when they thought too hard about their past. The feeling like something was pressing against them, keeping them from looking too deep.
Two years. Two whole years and nothing before it. Just blank. Freya had shown up, said, "You're coming with me," and that was it. No explanation. No clarity. Just this life now.
Why did Eva have to say that?
Why did it feel so true?
She gave me no real answers, but the lack felt correct.
Their tail flicked against the ground, faster this time, tapping at the dirt like a drumbeat. Their breathing was slower now, more controlled, but their eyes stayed open. Sleep wasn't coming.
They rolled over again, pressing their face into their arm this time. They could still feel the lingering ache in their cheek from Freya's kick, the faint warmth of it still pulsing.
Soul attack, they thought.
They didn't know if that's what it was, but it felt like it.
They squeezed their eyes shut, trying to block it out. Too many questions. No answers. Just static.
Their breathing steadied, chest rising and falling slowly. Their fingers tapped the ground once. Twice. Three times. No rhythm. Just noise.
"I hate this," they whispered softly,
The faint glow of the lightbugs danced softly on the walls of the den.
Tiny, flickering specks of pale blue, green, and yellow light hovered near the corners, their glow pulsing in slow, gentle waves. They flitted from one spot to the next, trailing faint streaks of color like paintbrush strokes in the air. It was quiet magic. The kind that didn't shout but hummed just loud enough to make you feel something.
Arbor lay flat on their back, eyes half-open, gazing at the soft glow on the rough, uneven ceiling of the den. Their limbs were sprawled in every direction, like they'd melted into the floor. Their cheek still ached — not sharp, but steady, like a reminder of every mistake they'd made that day.
The stillness was unbearable.
They rolled onto their side, eyes darting around the room. Their gaze landed on the mess of books scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. Most were half-open, pages crumpled from being pressed flat against each other. Freya had scolded them plenty of times for not taking care of books, but, well... not every book deserved care.
Their eyes landed on one with a bright red cover. It was titled:
"How to Tame Your Own Dragon (and Survive the Attempt)"
They snorted. They liked that one. It had been a wild read, full of ridiculous, satirical instructions. The "author" spent the first half of the book bragging about his adventures and his "unmatched wit" only to get eaten by the end. Served him right, honestly.
Arbor's gaze shifted to another book just beside it. The title was long and wordy, something like:
"A Biography of Lord Zanthor, Master Gambler of the Verdant Isles."
Their face scrunched with boredom just from looking at it. They'd skimmed it once and promptly decided they didn't care about Lord Zanthor or his gambling house. He wasn't even good at gambling. He just cheated. What was the point?
Arbor sighed and sat up. Their head was too full. Too loud. They wanted quiet, but quiet only brought more noise inside. It was the kind of noise that made it hard to sleep.
Their gaze flicked to the shelf at the far end of the den. It wasn't much of a shelf — just some uneven slabs of wood nailed together and leaning awkwardly to one side — but it held more books than it probably should.
Their eyes scanned each spine slowly, looking for something familiar. Something useful. Their gaze stopped on one in particular.
"The Soul and Magic."
It was one of Freya's books. She'd handed it to them months ago with one of her classic lines: "If you're gonna ask me questions, at least read this first." They'd tossed it on the shelf and ignored it. Back then, it seemed like too much effort.
But tonight? Tonight was different.
They grabbed it, turning it over in their hands. The cover was plain brown, no fancy symbols or gold lettering. Just the title, etched with simple white ink. Arbor ran their thumb along the edge of the cover before cracking it open. The pages smelled like old paper and sap.
With a sigh, they shuffled over to their bed.
If you could call it a "bed." It was more of a nest, honestly. A tangled mess of clay, dirt, sticks, grass, and patches of moss they'd gathered over time. It wasn't fancy, but it was soft, and that's all that mattered. It smelled like rain. Like home.
They flopped down onto it with a heavy "whump," flipping the book open as they laid on their stomach, propping it up with their arms.
The first few pages weren't great. It was all introductions and disclaimers like:
"The concepts discussed herein are based on current magical theory and may differ between scholars of Nytherion, Sylvaris, and Aetherion schools of thought."
"Blah, blah, blah," Arbor muttered, turning the page. They hated introductions. Just get to the point.
The next page had a title that caught their eye.
"The Soul and its Composition: Human, Elf, and Atherian Variations."
They blinked, eyes scanning the page. Finally, something that might actually be useful.
The section went on about how humans, elves, and Atherians had different "soul structures." Humans had simpler souls — no magic naturally infused in them. Elves had more "woven threads" in theirs, which gave them the capacity for magic but required training. But Atherians?
Arbor's eyes narrowed as they read the passage:
"Atherian souls are unique in that they are naturally fused with ambient soul magic, from the moment of creation, by the goddess Atheria herself. Unlike humans or elves with natural birth, Atherians are born with 'open' soul networks, there physical forms coming later. Making them more susceptible to magical influences — but also more adaptable to the environment around them."
"More susceptible, huh?" Arbor muttered, chewing on the words. Their tail flicked once.
The book went on to explain how Atherians could shift their appearances, change their forms, and sometimes gain "aspects" or "features" from other creatures that raised them. That part, Arbor already knew. Freya had explained it once, saying something like, "If your soul gets loose from your body, you pick up things like wet clay picks up dirt." A statement she refused to go into detail on.
But something about that "open soul network" part stuck with them. Their fingers tapped against the page as their eyes darted from line to line.
"External soul interference can have unpredictable effects on Atherian and other magical creature development, especially if exposed during early formation. Soul barriers are a known defense mechanism, but the purpose of these barriers has yet to be studied due to a lack of subjects with this condition."
Soul barriers.
Their heart beat just a little faster.
Their eyes darted back to that word, scanning it twice, maybe three times. "Barriers." It was a simlar word Eva had used. The same one she said she'd "seen" in them.
"It's like there's a wall," Eva had said, her calm voice still echoing in Arbor's mind.
Their grip on the book tightened, fingers pressing hard against the edge of the page.
The longer they read, the slower their eyes moved. The words were swimming now. Their eyes felt heavier with each line.
Barriers. Soul barriers.
What did that mean for them? Did that mean something was locked away in their soul?
Their thoughts were spiraling. It was too much. Too many ideas. Too many pieces with no clear picture.
They flipped the page, but it didn't matter. They weren't reading anymore. They were just thinking. Their fingers stayed on the edge of the paper, but their eyes stayed locked on the wall where the lightbugs flickered.
They felt it again. That wall. That sensation that something was behind it. Like standing next to a sealed door, hearing something faint on the other side but never being able to make out the sound.
"Tch. Stupid." They rubbed their face with both hands, groaning as they flopped sideways onto their bed. The book slid off their lap and hit the ground with a soft thud. Their eyes didn't even move to follow it.
They hated this. Hated feeling like something was just barely out of reach. Like something was being hidden from them, but they didn't know who to blame for it.
Their breathing slowed. Their muscles untensed, one by one, sinking into the softness of the dirt-moss bed. The ache in their cheek was still there. Not sharp, just steady, like someone tapping on their head.
They didn't know what kind of attack Freya had hit them with, but they could still feel it. Not the pain — something under it. Deeper. Like it was stitched into their soul.
Their eyes drifted closed. They thought about the words on the page. Barriers. Walls.
Their fingers twitched once. Twice.
Their breathing slowed further. Their body went still, only the faint rise and fall of their chest marking the passage of time.
The glow of the lightbugs pulsed softly.
Blue. Yellow. Green.
They flickered in sync with Arbor's breath.
Slow. Steady. Fading.
Arbor didn't dream that night.
But as they slept, a single word lingered at the edge of their mind.
"Barriers."
And somewhere beyond that wall, something stirred.