Beneath a canopy of willows, Etria pressed her palm against the bark of an ancient tree. Life hummed beneath her fingertips, the steady thrumming heartbeat of her realm. The leaves shivered in answer to her touch, unfurling with verdant joy, but her lips remained an unmoving line. She released the tree with a sigh, turning to gaze out at the endless expanse of her garden. It stretched far beyond what mortal eyes could comprehend, a kaleidoscope of color and life in perpetual bloom.
It should have been enough. It wasn't.
Stepping lightly through rows of blossoming flowers, Etria knelt beside a tranquil stream. Her hand trailed the water's edge, where the rippling currents twisted into something pure, unformed, and glowing. Each place her fingers brushed sparked new life—a fern here, a wildflower there. And yet, the motion felt automatic, soulless.
Mortals prayed for her blessing upon their fields, their forests, their homes. They praised her touch, her endless gift of life, yet never her. The hollow ache within her chest grew louder. Creation bound her with invisible chains—never-ending, unrelenting. She longed for...something. What, she couldn't say.
Etria's musings were interrupted as a shiver ran through her garden. The golden hues of twilight deepened into something richer, more radiant, as though the sun itself had stepped too close. Her brows knit together, her gaze lifting toward the horizon. This was no ordinary sunlight.
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Aluren had veered from his path. The heavens churned behind him, tugging at him to return, but he ignored the pull. The faint flicker of light he'd seen below—something that seemed to pulse and shift like a heartbeat—called to him.
He arrived without ceremony, his glowing figure descending into a realm of vibrant green and soothing shadows. Where Etria's realm exuded calm, his presence brought quiet intensity. The two forces collided, not with sound or fury, but with subtle tension.
The air stilled as he spotted her, kneeling by the stream like a statue carved from earth and shadow. Aluren tilted his head, studying her. Her presence was both foreign and familiar, as though her essence mirrored something he'd long forgotten.
She stood, brushing loose strands of dark hair from her face. Her moss-green eyes locked onto his golden ones, guarded and unmoving. "You stray far from the heavens, Sun God." Her voice was a smooth current, calm yet layered with steel.
Aluren smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "I was curious. I've seen many lands from the sky, but none quite like this. Your garden caught my attention."
"And now that your curiosity is sated?"
"Is it?" he asked lightly, stepping closer to the stream. His movements were deliberate, but not threatening. As sunlight poured off him in waves, flowers burst into bloom at the water's edge, reaching toward him before they shied away, their petals curling.
Etria's lips pressed into a thin line. "The earth cannot sustain such brightness for long. Your light will scorch what it seeks to admire."
"And your touch will choke it with growth," he countered with a knowing edge. "Shall we trade faults like mortals trade barbs, or shall we speak plainly?"
Etria remained still, her gaze searching his as though she could unravel his intentions from the light in his eyes. "Speak, then," she said at last. "What brings you here?"
Aluren considered her question carefully. "I watch the mortals go about their lives, day after day, century after century. They see me in the sky, but never do they think to look beyond. To wonder if I feel the weight of endless light."
Etria tilted her head, studying him more closely now. There was no arrogance in his voice, only weariness. It reminded her, uncomfortably, of her own quiet ache.
"And you thought to find reprieve here?" she asked, her voice gentler now.
He shrugged, stepping closer. "Shouldn't the Sun meet the Earth, just once? Aren't we meant to collide?"
Her eyes darkened, though not with anger—something softer, more uncertain. "Collision only brings ruin."
The stream gurgled softly between them, its currents catching the light in strange, golden ribbons. Both their gazes were drawn downward, to where water and sunlight met, weaving patterns that neither had noticed before.
Unthinkingly, both reached for the light at the same time, hands brushing as they broke the surface. For a fleeting second, something passed between them: warmth, life, energy—tangible yet fleeting. It lingered in the air like a single held breath.
A flower bloomed at the edge of the stream, small and pale but luminous. It reached toward them both, only to wither as quickly as it came. The sight startled Etria; her hand drew back, curling protectively to her chest. Aluren's gaze lingered on the wilting petals, his brows drawing together in something like regret.
"This is why you shouldn't have come," Etria said quietly, not looking at him.
Aluren turned to her, studying the set of her jaw, the way her shoulders tensed against her will. "Perhaps. But I couldn't help it. Your silence calls louder than any song."
The words lingered too long between them. Etria's chest tightened, but she forced herself to lift her chin and speak evenly: "Leave. The earth has no room for the sky's reckless wanderings."
For a moment, Aluren said nothing. Then, with a faint smirk that didn't reach his eyes, he stepped back. "We don't belong together here," he said, his tone light but layered with something deeper.
"No," she replied, her back already turning to him. "We don't."
Aluren ascended, his glow dimming as he rejoined the heavens. Above the earth, the light faltered ever so slightly, a subtle shift that mortals noticed in passing. Yet, Aluren's thoughts remained bound to the goddess he had left behind.
Below, Etria knelt once more by the stream. Her gaze lingered on the small patch where the flower had bloomed, its faded remnants no longer visible. Yet, her fingers twitched at her side, as if remembering the sensation of his light.
The ache in her chest grew sharper.