Etria stood beneath a towering oak tree, her hands outstretched as she guided its roots to delve deeper into the soil. The ancient trunk groaned in reply, grateful as it drank from an unseen spring far below. Her focus remained steady, though her mind wandered.
The encounter with Aluren lingered like the aftertaste of bittersweet fruit. She could feel his light etched onto her skin as though she'd carried the sun away with her. Foolish. Dangerous. She should forget him.
Above, a sliver of gold caught her eye, breaking her concentration. She squinted at the heavens, where a single thread of light weaved its way earthward.
"A sunbeam," she murmured to herself, but this one moved against the flow of sunlight, too deliberate to be an accident. As it neared, she noticed that the beam carried something with it, glowing faintly against the sky's canvas. It stopped before her, hovering in an unspoken invitation.
Etria reached out slowly, suspicion and curiosity warring within her. As her fingers brushed the light, the glow unfurled like petals, revealing a single golden blossom at its center. The flower's stem shimmered, its petals glittering faintly with celestial energy.
"Reckless fool," Etria muttered under her breath. Yet she couldn't bring herself to discard the gift.
---
Days passed. Etria tried to immerse herself in the work of her realm, weaving life into empty patches and nursing the weak to health. Yet, something felt off. It wasn't her garden—the flowers bloomed as vibrantly as ever, and the rivers sang their timeless melodies. The unease lay within her.
Her answer arrived when the sunlight grew too still, and the golden hues of late morning darkened into an unnatural twilight. Aluren descended again, stepping lightly across the garden's edge as though invited.
"You didn't like my gift?" he called out, his tone teasing but quieter than before.
She straightened, annoyed to find her heart quicken at the sight of him. "You disrupt my work," she said evenly.
"You wound me, Etria. Do Earth goddesses have no appreciation for beauty?"
"You mean chaos," she retorted. "What purpose does it serve to send a flower crafted from light? The sun's bloom wilts in shadows."
Aluren chuckled, moving closer. "That flower will outlast your longest oak, Etria. You gave my realm plenty to admire. It was only fair to return the favor."
Etria held his gaze. "This will not end well for either of us."
"I don't care about endings," Aluren said, his voice softening. "Do you?"
The words sent a shiver through her, their weight sinking beneath her ribs.
Even as their conversation unfolded, the garden shifted around them. Trees bowed faintly away from Aluren, their leaves curling in protest against his heat. Vines shrank back, and flowers once unfurling in eager bloom faltered.
"Do you see?" Etria gestured at her creation. "Your light burns. Even in your gentleness, destruction follows."
Aluren tilted his head, but his golden gaze lingered not on the fading flora, but on her. "And what would you say of your touch? You drown the mortal world in unrelenting life—do you not think that overwhelming too?"
A long silence hung between them.
"My purpose is balance," she said quietly, though her own doubts stirred in the corners of her mind. "Is this why you've returned? To challenge me? Or do the skies no longer hold your interest?"
Aluren stepped even closer, his light faltering briefly as though dimmed by uncertainty. "I returned because…" His voice trailed off before he shook his head. "Do you truly want me to leave?"
Etria looked away, unable to answer. She'd had countless millennia to perfect the art of avoiding her own longing, yet Aluren cracked open something raw within her, exposing what she dared not confront.
When she didn't respond, Aluren closed the last of the distance between them. Though she remained still, the air crackled, uneasy with the proximity of such opposites.
"Etria." Her name sounded different on his lips—softer, as though the sun itself had bent low in reverence.
A single breath passed before Etria stepped back abruptly. "Leave," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Tell me why," Aluren pressed.
"You disrupt the balance. You—" Her voice broke, and for the first time, she let her gaze fall upon him fully. The golden light radiating from his skin, the quiet strength etched into his features—all of it made him appear untouchable. And yet, here he was, kneeling at the edge of her realm like a petitioner seeking favor.
"It will end in ruin," she said finally, her voice a whisper.
"Then let it," he said, his words shaking something deep within her.
For a single instant, it seemed she might speak again, but instead, she turned and walked away. Aluren didn't follow, yet the air held his presence long after he was gone.
---
As Etria moved deeper into her garden, her mind swirled with confusion. Aluren was reckless. Impossible. Yet, his words left her unable to settle into the quiet rhythm of creation.
What was balance worth, she wondered, if it left her bound in solitude?