“Because I was the one who did it,” she said plainly.

Arbor blinked, their body going still. Slowly, their hands curled into fists at their sides. “Why would you do that?!”

Atheria raised a hand. “Calm down, child.” Her voice remained level. “Freya found you far to the north, broken in ways most cannot imagine.”

The glow of the room dimmed, and for a moment, images flickered in Arbor’s mind. They saw a big silhouette of a fox locked inside an iron cage. It trembled, surrounded by the shadows of tall, faceless figures. Chains rattled. An auction. Gold coins exchanged hands. The fox flinched at every sound.

“She found you at a human auction for rare creatures, on an unrelated mission.” Atheria continued. “A spirit fox from a race long extinct. Freya brought you back here... with some force, I’m sure.”

The image vanished, and the glow of the chamber returned.

“She asked me to heal you, but your soul refused,” Atheria added, her gaze soft but steady. “You were dying. I had no other options. So I tried something... experimental.”

A flash of images hit Arbor like lightning.

“I sealed your original soul to let it heal,” Atheria said, her eyes meeting Arbor’s firmly. “Then I placed an Athernian soul inside you to keep the body alive. Looking back, it was a reckless choice.”

Silence.

Arbor’s breathing grew heavy. Their eyes widened, disbelief and anger flickering across their face. Their fingers dug into the fabric of their sleeves.

“You... what?!” Their voice cracked, and their ears shot up in alarm. “You put someone else’s soul in me?!”

Atheria’s gaze remained calm.

“For anyone else, it would have destroyed the body completely.” Her eyes softened, but her words were firm. “You survived.”

Arbor stood there, heart pounding, trying to push past the storm of thoughts in their head. Their fists clenched and unclenched, breaths shallow but steady. There was too much to process.

“So what happened before Freya found me?” Arbor asked, their voice strained but steady. They needed more answers.

Atheria’s eyes lowered slightly, her shoulders dropping with a quiet sigh. She shook her head slowly.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, her voice quieter this time. “Your memories were so tangled, I couldn’t extract anything from them.”

Arbor’s ears twitched, their eyes narrowing as they stepped forward. Their voice cracked with desperation and frustration.

“Can’t you just... I don’t know, lift the seal?” Their tail swayed sharply behind them growing in agitation.

Atheria's gaze shifted. Her voice remained calm, but there was a new seriousness in her tone.

“I can’t.” She spoke plainly. “That second soul? That’s you, Arbor. If I remove it, the original soul will consume you. Your sense of self would be gone. Who knows what would happen then.”

Gone.

The word sat in Arbor’s mind. They’d be erased? Their fingers twitched at their sides, nails pressing faintly against their palm.

“You’re saying... there’s some giant soul locked behind a door in me that’ll eat me if I want my memories back?” Their eyes were wide, pupils narrow with disbelief.

Atheria chuckled softly, her lips curling into a faint smile as if trying to ease the tension.

“Not exactly ‘your memories,’ but something like that,” she replied, her grin growing just a bit too wide. Her eyes flickered with a hint of wildness, and she raised a hand to gesture toward Arbor. Her tone picked up with an almost manic excitement.

“But Arbor, your existence is something amazing, a magical enigma, a push toward a greater understanding of the soul!” She leaned forward on her branch, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm. “The limits you can break are beyond anything we’ve seen! You’re not two souls—” Her grin grew wider. “—your something with far more magic. I see so much potential in you!”

Her voice rose and magic aura flared, like someone just on the edge of discovering a great secret. Her hands gestured wildly, like she was explaining the most exciting idea in the world.

Light began to glow of Atherias form, her aura was getting heavier. 

“You’re a walking miracle, Arbor! A symbol of boundless possibility—”

“Stop.”

Arbor’s voice cut through her rambling. Their eyes were sharp now, cold and clear. They raised one hand signaling her to stop talking. Their tail swished once. Atherias uncontained magic faded.

“You can’t just drop all this on me and expect me to be okay with it!” Their voice cracked with raw emotion. Their eyes glared up at Atheria with pure frustration.

Silence.

Their ears twitched, and their gaze dropped. Their teeth bit on their lip. They muttered quietly, their voice barely a whisper.

“So that’s what these dreams are about...” Their ears folded back flat against their head. “All these feelings... all this confusion. It’s been this the whole time.”

They sucked in air through clenched teeth before stomping their foot hard against the marble floor.

“I just wanted some peace!” they shouted, voice raw with anger and exhaustion. “I didn’t ask for this!”

“I want this to end! I need closure! How do I get my memories back and stay me?!”

Their eyes locked on Atheria, waiting for anything. An answer. A solution. Anything.

Atheria remained calm, her eyes heavy. She gazed down from her perch on the tree branch.

“There is one way,” she said at last. “It’s more likely to keep you from being consumed, but you’re probably going to hate it.”

Arbor folded their arms, ears still pressed flat against their head. Their eyes squinted with suspicion, their tone sharp with sarcasm.

“Oh really? My whole existence is some sick magic experiment, but this part is the one I’m gonna hate?”

Atheria leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. The playfulness was gone.

“You’ll have to leave Atheria,” she said slowly, each word deliberate. “My Eden. This includes the elf kingdoms.”

Arbor flinched as if they’d been slapped.

“What?” Their arms dropped to their sides. Their tail twitched low behind them, stiff and still. “Leave the little I have? I—why?!” Their voice cracked again. "That’s all I have!"

Atheria continued. “The further you go from my domain, the weaker my influence becomes,” she explained. “This weakens the seal instead of breaking it outright, causing a slower merge.”

Her eyes remained locked on Arbor.

“It gives you a better chance to stabilize your soul. A slower merge means you’ll have time to adapt.”

Arbor’s face paled. Their eyes darted to the glowing pools of sap beneath them, their reflection looking back at them.

“A slower merge?” Their fingers fidgeted at their sides, looking for a rock they didn't have. “You mean there’s still a chance I won’t survive this?”

Atheria gave a small shrug, her expression gentle but brutally honest.

“Yes.”

She glanced away briefly.

“But it’s far safer than breaking the seal outright.” Her eyes locked on Arbor once more. “And, honestly, it’s your best shot.”

Silence hung in the air. Only the faint drip, drip, drip of sap echoed through the room.

Arbor stared at the ground, their arms folded tight across their chest. Their ears twitched slightly, their breath slow and heavy. Their mind was spinning, racing through every possible path forward.

No path felt safe.

No path felt right.

“So... leave everything, huh?” they muttered, trying to sound sarcastic. Their voice was hollow. “Leave the only people I have. The only home I know.”

Atheria didn’t answer right away. She leaned back against the tree, closing her eyes like she was remembering something.

“Growth requires risk, child,” she said at last. “Roots only grow deeper when they seek out new soil.”

“What am I even supposed to do out there?” they asked. “I’ve never even been to the surrounding elven kingdoms. I can probably count on one hand how many places I’ve been my whole life.”

Atheria’s gaze shifted. Her eyes grew distant. Her expression held a quiet sadness.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure,” she admitted, folding her hands in front of her. “I haven’t left Eden in a very long time. According to the Legion, it’s not great out there—lands ruled by sin, monsters, demons, wastelands torn by war...” Her voice trailed off as if she’d seen it all herself.

Her gaze shifted back to Arbor, her eyes softening.

“But there are still places of order,” she continued. “Peaceful villages and towns. You’ll find your way, I’m sure.”

Her words hung in the air like leaves caught in the wind.

Arbor stayed quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, their fingers curled into fists.

Determination.

“I’m tired of these dreams,” Arbor said. “I’m tired of not knowing who I am. And I’m really tired of hearing about my potential. I don’t even have much.” They stopped, eyes darting to the side in thought, before breathing in deeply. Their gaze rose, firm and focused.

“I’m going.”

Atheria sighed softly, tilting her head as she gazed down at Arbor. Her eyes glowed faintly with something difficult to read — part sadness, part pride. She frowned, but there was a sense of approval in it.

“Hmm. If that is what you wish, then I can’t deny it,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Before you go, you still have to prove you’re able to survive out there. This means you’ll still need to finish training for the Legion.”

Arbor rolled their eyes, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Yeah, I figured.” Their voice was flat. “But it’s always so boring and repetitive. Same drills, same lectures, over and over.”

Atheria’s lips curled into a grin that bordered on mischievous.

“Don’t worry about that, Arbor,” she said. “These tests will be much more... hands-on.”

Her grin widened.

“Speaking of training, I heard you might need a new staff.” Her hand rose slowly, fingers curling upward. In a soft glow of blue and gold light, she opened a weapon gate. A staff began to materialize in front of her. Its surface gleamed with smooth, polished black metal streaked with faint golden veins. The grip was shaped perfectly to fit a hand, and faint runes were etched down its length, glowing faintly as the staff hovered in the air.

Next to it, a small glowing gem appeared, floating just above her palm. Atheria held them both out toward Arbor as she floated down to her.

“This staff was forged with the intent to be given to you,” she explained. “It was supposed to come later, but I doubt Freya will let you ‘borrow’ any more of hers.” Her smile remained. “This staff can withstand your soul’s magic fluctuations. A staff isn’t just a tool for a mage — it’s an extension of the body. It needs to resonate with your soul.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Normally, if it didn’t resonate, the staff simply wouldn’t work. But in your case... your first soul is much more... violent.”

She tapped the gem lightly, sending it spinning slowly in the air.

“And this gem—just hold onto it. You’ll need it later.”

Arbor stepped forward, eyes wide as they reached out. Their fingers hovered just above the staff, hesitant at first, before finally wrapping around the smooth black metal. They pulled it closer, eyes scanning every detail. The glow from the runes reflected in their eyes.

“Wow, thanks,” they muttered, eyes still glued to the staff. They turned it over, testing the grip. It felt... right. Like it was made just for them.

“By the way,” Atheria added, her eyes sharp but still kind. “There’s a lot going on out there. Be careful. If you see people filled with gems, avoid them. Freya has already been informed of your choice. You’re free to leave.”

Arbor stood still for a moment, gripping the staff tightly with both hands. Their gaze stayed on it, but their thoughts were elsewhere. They took in a breath and exhaled slowly, grounding themselves.

“For a goddess, you seem very... down to earth,” Arbor said, glancing up at her with a crooked grin.

Atheria chuckled, her eyes half-open with calm amusement.

“When you’ve lived among your creations, it rubs off,” she said, her voice carrying a light warmth. “Good luck, Arbor.”

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in silence. No more lectures. No more speeches. Just quiet understanding.

Arbor turned, staff gripped firmly in their hand, and began walking toward the large metal doors. Their steps were brisk but steady. Their ears twitched, and their tail flicked behind them as there cloak shifted with the movement.

As they passed through the doorway, they muttered under their breath.

“Well... there goes my peace.”

The chamber was quiet now. Atheria stood alone, her gaze fixed on the door Arbor had just walked through. The soft hum of the glowing sap pools and the drip-drip of golden blue sap filling the silence. Her eyes stayed still, her expression unreadable.

From the far edge of the room, a faint shift of movement. A figure stepped out of the shadows.

It was the bunny maid. Her long ears drooped slightly, her arms folded neatly in front of her holding a broom, as she walked closer. Her eyes squinted at Atheria with mild annoyance.

“Did you have to do that whole ramble about their souls?” her tone was sharp but not unkind. Her eyes narrowed, ears flicking. “I’d feel like a lab rat too if I heard all that.”

Atheria turned her head slightly, glancing at the maid with a faint look of amusement. Her gaze softened, and her lips curled into a small smile.

“I got lost in the moment for a second, Bella,” she admitted with a light shrug. “It seemed to convince them to go, though.”

Bella tilted her head, letting out a long, slow sigh. Her arms stayed folded, one of her feet tapping lightly against the floor. Her skeptical gaze stayed fixed on Atheria.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Her sigh lingered.

Atheria chuckled, her grin sly and playful. Her body lifted into the air as if weightless, floating backward until she reclined lazily on the branches of the tree again. Her head rested in one hand, her dress shifting merging with the sap below, and the soft glow of sap lit her form with a golden halo.

Her gaze tilted toward the ceiling as if she could see something far beyond it.

“The best people for a job, Bella,” she said with a hint of mischief, eyes narrowing. “Are the ones who think they’re doing it for themselves.”

Bella glanced away, ears twitching. She knew better than to argue with Atheria.

Atheria’s gaze drifted toward a small, smooth moonstone floating above her. It glowed faintly, its soft blue light flickering like a heartbeat.

Her fingers reached for it slowly. It was just out of reach.

Her eyes narrowed, her fingers stretching as far as they could. But she didn’t move any closer.

“All the cards are in motion,” she said softly, her eyes locked on the moonstone as it pulsed in sync with the glow of the tree. “I hope you will see this.”

Her fingers hovered just a little closer—just an inch away, but never quite reaching it.

The soft drip... drip... drip from the sap echoed louder.