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.