[The Space Between Roots]

The Cradle of Aethyria began to wake up slowly.

The forest floor was covered in silver, sluggish fog that weaved between roots like restless ghosts unwilling to abandon the night. Before surrendering to gravity, dew collected at the ends of fern fronds and vibrated. Never truly black, the carved symbols of the willow at the center of the forest shined dimly in the daylight.

Willow wasn't entirely back in the tree. He lingered at the foot of it, his fingers on the bark as though looking for comfort from something older than himself. Beneath him, the roots rustled restlessly.

You went too far.

He was aware.

For generations, he has observed humans from afar, with curiosity, tenderness, and remoteness. Their lives were sparks: brilliant, fleeting, gone. He had convinced himself that was leniency. Being unharmed was a sign of staying unseen.

But he had let himself be seen. Thane had not fled.

The memory of the mortal's steady stare disturbed him more than fear would have. Willow whispered to the still air, "You shouldn't come back," though he wasn't sure if he meant it as a warning or a plea.

The woods remained silent.

Before noon, Thane returned.

Without hesitation, he appeared, his satchel slung over his shoulder and his boots soaked from the fields that morning. He halted at the trees—not in question, but in respect, before continuing under the canopy.

The air moved.

Before seeing him, Willow felt him. Animals transported warmth in a different way than humans did. Like a new note in an ancient tune, they disrupted the woodland's rhythm with clarity rather than brutality.

A couple steps from the willow tree, Thane came to a halt.

"I imagined I had made you up," he whispered.

From the tree's shadow, Willow emerged.

Gold glittered across his skin as sunlight passed through the foliage. He looked more delicate and less other worldly in the light of day.

He answered, "I am not imagining."

This time, Thane openly looked at him—not just with awe, but with something more profound. Interest. Recognition.

"You're stuck in this location," Thane remarked, looking at the huge trunk behind him.

Willow's body tightened.

"Yeah."

"It's never left."

The truth weighed heavily on them.

"I am unable to."

Soft but absolute, the statement was.

Thane gave a deliberate nod, as if to confirm a suspicion he had been harboring. He knelt and carefully opened his satchel after lowering it. He pulled a small, cloth-wrapped package from inside.

He almost bashfully said, "I brought bread." "And, honey, I wasn't sure if deities consumed food."

Willow gave a blink.

"I don't have to."

"That wasn't what I wanted to know."

Thane's mouth was briefly brushed by the slightest suggestion of a grin.

An odd warmth that was spreading across Willow's chest like spring thaw through frozen soil moved.

He knelt across from the mortal, being careful not to let their knees come into contact. Thane dipped a piece of bread into honey and then offered it upward.

Willow was unsure.

A god would not accept mortal offerings in this way. Distance was worshipped. Ritual was adoration. This was sharing.

However, he continued to move ahead.

Their fingers contacted one another.

Even though it was brief and unintentional, the meeting hit Willow like lightning through every branch and root. The forest shook. Even though there was no breeze, the leaves shook.

Thane experienced it as well. He gasped.

Thane questioned gently, "Does it ache?"

"What?"

"Being by myself."

The inquiry cut deeper than any blade.

Willow diverted her attention from the canopy. His face was covered with moving patterns that were painted by the light breaking through the leaves.

He remarked, "I am not by myself." "I possess the woodland."

"That's not the same thing."

The mortal's voice was free of any accusations. Only sureness.

Once again, there was a hushed silence between them—though this time it was not empty. Awareness was interwoven into it. with danger.

Willow finally said, "You shouldn't keep showing up here."

Thane was still.

"For what purpose?"

"Because I'm not supposed to want anything outside this forest."

Willow couldn't prevent the admission from escaping.

Thane's eyes softened, not out of pity, but out of understanding.

"And yet you continue."

Willow remained silent.

There was no need for him to.

Finally, the wind started to blow, gently but uncomfortably. Despite the absence of any living beings, a branch abruptly broke somewhere further in the woods. The forest felt… observant.

Not of Thane.

Of Willow.

A faint pulse rippled between the runes sculpted into Aethyria's Cradle.

A caution.

Brushing dirt from his hands, Thane gradually stood up. He said, "I'll come tomorrow," as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Willow repeated, "You shouldn't," but the words had already diminished.

Thane only halted long enough to glance back at him.

"Then halt my progress."

Into the woods, he vanished.

Heart racing, Willow stayed kneeling in the dappled light.

The branches of the willow moved over him, not with a wind but with strain. Something old stirred in silent disapproval far beyond the edge of the forest, where the earth met the horizon.

Gods weren't supposed to love.

However, Willow discovered that loneliness may be more agonizing than punishment for the first time in his protracted life.

Which fate terrified him more, he was no longer sure.