The Gate of Trees shimmered like it wanted to be touched.
A warm, pulsing spiral of emerald and gold twisted upward between two impossibly tall trunks, glowing like veins under skin. The air smelled like sunlight after a storm, if storms wore perfume. It wasn't scary. It was... seductive. Pretty. And somehow, personal.
Antic stood too close behind me.
I could feel the heat of his breath brush the back of my neck as he muttered, "Well, that's new."
His voice was softer than usual. Rougher, too. Like even he wasn't sure how to joke about this one.
I took a step forward. My bare toes curled into moss. The light tingled along my skin like it noticed me.
Behind us, Dolly sighed like she'd been asked to babysit a haunted child.
"Oh please," she huffed, rolling her porcelain eyes and stepping forward, one pointed heel sinking into the dirt like it owed her money. "If this thing's made of actual tree sap and moon glitter, I swear I'm going to vomit magic."
She ran one pale finger along the golden spiral. It left no mark, but she still flicked her wrist afterward like she'd touched something beneath her.
"Looks sturdy," she said. "Probably built by elven poets on Adderall."
Antic gave a low chuckle. "Oi, No Eyes," he murmured, his palm brushing the small of my back—accidentally, maybe. Or not. "You alright?"
He always asked like that. Never directly. Just… around the feeling.
I didn't turn.
Instead, I said, "It's whispering."
Grin tilted his head, lounging against a tree with the effort of someone who'd rather be somewhere immoral. His voice came slow and syrup-thick.
"…Gate's got a voice, huh…"
He smiled. "Figures. Pretty girls tend to draw attention."
I didn't answer that.
Antic's fingers caught mine—loose, warm, calloused. A casual move that didn't feel casual at all.
"Still with me, then?" he asked, voice dropping a little, like the moss around us might rat him out if he spoke louder.
I nodded.
But that warm twist in my stomach had nothing to do with gates or moss or light. It was him.
And the way his thumb brushed mine once. Twice.
Dolly scowled. "Can we please get on with the magical trauma? Some of us don't have all century."
She flicked her skirt and stepped toward the portal like she was walking into a fashion boutique with bad lighting. "Honestly. If this thing eats me, I hope it chokes."
Grin was next, of course. He slinked up brushing past Antic's shoulder with a grin that might've been a warning.
"…let's see what this hussy of a tree gate has to offer…"
He turned to stare at me. "Hope.... it's.... not... too .....gentle."
Antic growled low in his throat. "Alright. That's enough."
Grin grinned wider.
But my eyes stayed on the swirling light.
It was still calling.
Still… breathing.
I stepped forward.
Antic followed, close enough that I felt the soft drag of his coat across the backs of my legs.
His hand brushed my hip, then slipped away too quickly.
"Ready, No Eyes?"
"No."
I looked up into his face. His stupidly handsome, panic-slick, forest-boy face.
"But I'm going anyway," I whispered.
He gave me that crooked smile—the one that made his lashes look criminal. "Gods, I love it when you lie."
Then he kissed my cheek.
Soft.
Fast.
Like a dare he knew I wouldn't catch until it was too late.
And then—
The Gate inhaled.
The forest went silent. Every bird, every leaf, every breath held still.
Then—
It exhaled.
And opened.
Not like a door. Like… a promise.
Dolly vanished into the light without hesitation, her silhouette warping like ink in water. Grin followed, giving the gate a pat like it was a good dog.
Antic held out his hand again.
I took it.
It was warm. Steady.
Too steady.
"You sure?" he whispered.
"No," I said.
He pulled me toward him anyway.
"Then I guess I'll have to keep you close."
I didn't argue.
We stepped through together.
And the forest swallowed us whole.
It was like stepping into the hush between heartbeats.
The Gate behind us collapsed without a sound—just a shimmer, like breath on glass—and disappeared. Not closed. Not hidden. Just… gone.
My bare feet sank into something that looked like moss but felt like velvet-slick snowfall. It made a soft sound under my weight, almost like a sigh. A strange light shimmered above us, but there was no sun, no moon—just a dim cream-colored glow bleeding down from a sky that looked like stretched candle wax.
I stood still.
The warmth from the Gate faded, and the world around us settled into a silence so thick it felt like it might swallow our words whole.
Antic brushed up beside me, barefoot too. Shirtless. Covered only by those too-short overalls that had no business hanging on him the way they did. His skin was dappled with the light, muscles twitching as he scanned the horizon.
"Well," he said, voice low and light with a slant of nerves. "Either we died pretty or we're inside a god's weird terrarium."
I didn't answer yet.
The air was thick and slow. It clung to my skin. My braid had loosened at the end—again—and I automatically reached back to tuck the strands in tighter. Wrap, tuck, pull. Always.
Antic watched me do it with a soft kind of smile.
Behind us, the last figure stepped through the vanished gate—Grin.
He stood still for a moment. Like a tall shadow that wasn't supposed to be here. His massive frame didn't fit the light—he bent the world around him just by existing. The grin, stretched permanently across his face, twitched slightly. He blinked slow. Once. Then again.
"...ooooooh..."
His breath ghosted out like a haunted wind chime.
His eyes went wide, and the glow inside them glistened like tears.
"…it's... b-b-b-beautiful…"
He bent down—tall as a streetlamp, with bones that never moved quickly—and gently scooped up a handful of moss with both gloved hands.
"…so... soft... l-like... moon... fur... if the moon... had... a... cat…"
Dolly clicked her heels three times on a nearby root, arms crossed, face already disgusted.
"Oh for the love of molten fairy piss," she snapped. "If you cry on the moss, I'm going to drown you in it."
Grin turned, holding the moss reverently like a newborn lamb. His voice came out even slower than usual.
"…why... would... you... drown... something... so... precious...?"
"Because I have taste," Dolly said with a grand sweep of her skirt. "And patience the size of a napkin."
I crouched and ran my fingers through the moss too. It was cool. Damp. But clean, somehow. It didn't stick. Just sighed away from my touch like water that knew how to keep a secret.
Up ahead, the trees grew backward. Their roots hung above us like tangled chandeliers, and their leaves stretched toward the ground as if gravity was just a suggestion.
"Creepy in a posh way," Antic muttered. "I like it."
I stood slowly. My breath caught in my throat—not from pain or fear—but from the feeling crawling up my spine. Like I was being watched. Or remembered. Like something had known I'd be here, barefoot and glowing.
Antic noticed my pause.
"You feel that too?" he asked quietly. "Like the air's breathing under your skin?"
I nodded.
He took my hand without asking.
Dolly turned in a circle and sighed loud. "Well, what now? Anyone see a magical tour guide? No? Excellent. Let's walk toward the flickering doom on the horizon. Because that always works out."
We followed her gaze.
Far, far ahead—barely more than a shimmer—a single shape flickered in the distance. It could've been a tower. Or a ruin. Or just a trick of this world's weird air.
Grin took one giant, slow step forward.
"…I... will... follow..."
Dolly grumbled. "Try doing it faster than tectonic plates this time."
Antic looked back at me, a spark in his eye. Mischief, yes—but something warmer too.
"You good, No Eyes?"
I blinked up at him.
"Yes," I said softly. "Just… listening."
He tugged gently on my hand. "Alright, Listener. Let's see what this world whispers."
And together, we began walking.
The ground pulsed with quiet life beneath our feet. The light didn't grow brighter, but something ahead of us did.
Something waiting.
The feeling came first—prickling at the back of my neck like the air had teeth.
"…someone's... here…" Grin's deep voice rolled out like distant thunder, slow enough I could almost walk between the words.
Antic's hand tightened around mine. He didn't stop looking at me, but I could see the shift in his posture—a lazy slouch suddenly wired and ready. "If it's a squirrel, I'm gonna be real embarrassed."
"It's not a squirrel," I said.
"Right," he said, eyes narrowing. "Too quiet."
Dolly's porcelain head turned slowly, unnervingly smooth, her painted smile fixed. "We're being sized up. I can feel it." She rolled her shoulders with theatrical irritation. "I hate being on the menu."
The mossy path curved ahead, just enough to hide what came next. That's when I saw it—past the curtain of drooping leaves—a faint orange glow. Not the wild shimmer of the Gate behind us, but steadier, warmer, pulsing like a heartbeat in the dark.
The four of us moved toward it, the air still too heavy, too still.
As we passed through the last veil of leaves, the source revealed itself.
A cottage.
Not the sort you stumble on in a fairy tale, all sugared roofs and whimsy. This one looked lived in. Smoke curled from a crooked stone chimney, the scent of wood and something yeasty and warm clinging to it. The walls were timber darkened by age and weather, patched here and there with mismatched planks. Light leaked from the windows in soft rectangles across the grass.
Antic let out a low whistle. "Not bad. Bet the inside smells like old books and bread."
"You think everything smells like bread," I murmured.
He smirked. "Not true. Sometimes it smells like you."
I stared at him. "That's—"
"—a compliment," he said before I could finish, voice dropping so it brushed over my skin.
Before I could react, the cottage door opened.
The man who stepped out was bathed in the last light of the dying sky. Robes moved around him like they'd learned to breathe on their own. His hair caught the orange glow, threaded with silver. His eyes—God—his eyes were the color of twilight after a storm, and they lingered on me like he'd been expecting me.
The Soul Keeper.
"Welcome," he said, voice soft but clear, like chimes swaying in slow wind. "You've come far."
Dolly tilted her head. "Oh, look. A mystic with manners."
He smiled faintly, as if she'd confirmed something he already knew. "Come in. Rest. There's tea. And bread."
Antic shot me a told you so grin.
We stepped inside.
The warmth hit first—thick with woodsmoke and the deep, rich scent of baking bread. Shadows from the fire danced over shelves crammed with books, jars, and odd relics whose purposes I couldn't guess. The table in the center was rough-hewn and scarred, but set with steaming mugs and a loaf so fresh I could see the steam curling from it.
The Soul Keeper gestured gracefully. "For the body," he said, "and the mess your souls carry."
I took the mug he offered. My fingers brushed his—cooler than I expected—and a faint shiver ran up my spine.
Antic's voice cut through softly. "Careful. He's got that wise and tragic thing going. It's dangerous."
I shot him a look, but he was already sipping his tea like he owned the place, bare shoulders catching the firelight in ways I tried not to notice.
The Soul Keeper took the seat opposite me, his gaze steady, pulling me in without force. "Tell me what chased you here."
I spoke, my voice quieter than I meant, words spilling as I told him about the alleys, the running, the way the air behind the Gate had changed. He listened like no one else had—head tilted just enough to make me feel like each syllable mattered.
When I finished, the room seemed smaller, the fire louder.
"I felt it," he said at last. "The unease. Your defiance."
I didn't know what to say to that.
Antic's fingers found mine under the table, slow and deliberate, and I didn't pull away
The Soul Keeper's words lingered in the air, heavy but not suffocating. The kind of weight you feel in your chest when someone names something you didn't even know was there.
I sipped my tea. It was… too good. Smooth, herbal, with a sweetness that made me think of honey that had been aged for years. It slid down warm, loosening something in my ribs I hadn't realized was clenched.
Across from me, Antic leaned back in his chair, one arm slung lazily over the backrest like he belonged here. He hadn't let go of my hand. His thumb traced idle circles against my palm—not enough to be distracting, but enough to make me aware of every single nerve in my arm.
I hated him for that.
And maybe for the way the firelight kissed the planes of his shoulders.
"So," Dolly said, breaking the moment with all the grace of a jeweled guillotine. She perched at the table's edge, fingers tapping against her teacup like it had personally insulted her. "Is this where you tell us our 'true destinies' and then send us on a noble but clearly fatal errand? Or are you going to give us a nice, harmless map with a few X's and call it a day?"
The Soul Keeper's smile twitched. "That depends on whether you want the truth or something that will let you sleep tonight."
"Truth," Dolly said instantly, crossing her legs with a sharp click of porcelain knees. "I haven't slept since the century turned."
Grin sat at the far end of the table, tea untouched, his massive frame hunched like he was trying to take up less space. His scythe leaned against the wall beside him, blade catching faint glints from the fire. He stared into the flames, and for a moment I thought he was ignoring everything.
Then, slowly—painfully slowly—he turned his head toward the Soul Keeper.
"…this… place…" His deep voice rolled out like boulders tumbling down a long hill. "…it… feels… like… home…"
The Soul Keeper met his gaze, and something unspoken passed between them. A faint crease softened in Grin's ever-fixed smile, like the edges were cracking into something real.
My chest squeezed unexpectedly.
Dolly snorted. "Careful, Reaper. You're going to make the rest of us look emotionally repressed."
"I'm… already… crying…" Grin said, tilting his head toward the corner of his eye where a single tear really was forming. "The bread… smells… happy…"
Antic choked on his tea, half laughing, half trying not to.
The Soul Keeper's gaze swept over us, lingering on me a moment longer than it should have. "This place doesn't open itself to everyone. You're here because you're meant to be. At least for now."
I tried to hold his gaze, but Antic's thumb pressed against my palm in that way again, pulling my attention sideways. He leaned in just enough for his breath to touch my ear. "Careful, No Eyes. Men who speak in riddles have an 80% higher chance of stealing your clothes."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing into my tea.
The fire popped, sending a crackle of sparks spiraling into the chimney. The smell of the bread was everywhere now—yeasty, warm, like a blanket you could eat. I didn't want to admit how much it made my stomach twist with hunger.
Antic reached for another piece, holding it in his hand without eating. "Too soft," he muttered in that lazy drawl, rolling the bread between his fingers. "Makes me think it's hiding poison."
"Or kindness," I said.
"Same thing, darlin'," he shot back, flashing that grin that looked too careless to be anything but deliberate.
Dolly groaned, her jeweled earrings clinking as she tipped her head back. "If I have to watch another domestic little moment between you two, I will walk into the Blight voluntarily." She swirled her tea dramatically. "Honestly. All this hand-holding and bread-sharing. Can't we just stab something already?"
"You… stab… things… too much…" Grin rumbled from his end, voice dragging like honey over stone. He still hadn't touched his bread, just cupped his mug like it was something alive. "…sometimes… you… gotta… let… the warm… parts… in…"
Dolly froze mid-eye-roll. "Did you just therapy me, Reaper?"
"…bread… smells… like… my mother's kitchen…" he said, voice even slower, a tear sliding down his cheek. "…back… before… she… sent me… away…"
The room stilled. Even Dolly's biting tongue faltered.
Antic shifted in his chair, jaw tightening just slightly. His thumb pressed into my palm again—firmer now, less playful.
I should have looked away. I didn't.
The Soul Keeper finally spoke, his voice soft enough to almost blend into the fire. "This house was built for resting hearts. Broken ones. Wandering ones. The kind that still want to beat."
"Ugh," Dolly said, tossing her hair, though her voice wobbled. "You make it sound like we're some tragic, love-starved little gang."
Antic smirked at her. "Ain't we?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, my attention drifted back to him. He was still holding my hand under the table, and now his other hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw as if he was checking to see if I was real. My skin prickled. I hated that it did.
"You staring again," I murmured.
"Yeah," he said without apology, his accent curling around the word like smoke. "Ain't gonna stop."
For a moment, the fire was the only thing making noise.
Dolly's porcelain fingers drummed a quick staccato on the table, each click sharper than the last. Her painted eyes darted between me and Antic, then rolled with theatrical disgust.
"Oh, for—" she shoved her chair back so hard it screeched against the floorboards. "If you two keep simmering like that, you're gonna curdle the milk in the pantry." She snatched her mug, swirled the last mouthful of tea like she was judging it, and downed it in one tilt. "I'm off to wander somewhere with less humidity."
"Goodnight to you too, sugar," Antic drawled, but Dolly was already halfway to the door, skirts swishing with every impatient step.
She stopped just long enough to toss over her shoulder, "Try not to do anything that'll make Grin cry. The poor thing's been hydrated enough tonight."
"…I'm… fine…" Grin rumbled, though his mug trembled just slightly in his hands. "…this… is… nice… even… if… you… all… keep… breathing… at… each… other…"
Dolly vanished into the hallway. The fire popped again. The room suddenly felt much bigger. Much quieter.
Antic didn't let go of my hand.
If anything, his thumb dragged slower over my palm now—lazy, deliberate circles. His knees brushed mine under the table. Bare skin. Warm. The contact made my chest tighten in a way I didn't want to name.
"You're still tense," he murmured.
"I'm not," I lied.
"Darlin'," he said, leaning forward until his breath stirred the hair near my ear, "you're wound tighter than a preacher's daughter in a saloon."
I shot him a glare, but my voice came out softer than I meant. "You're impossible."
"That's why you like me."
Before I could answer, his other hand slid to the back of my chair. Not pulling me closer—just resting there, heavy enough that I could feel the strength in his arm. My spine straightened on instinct.
Across the table, Grin tilted his head, that fixed grin looking both eerie and oddly comforting in the firelight. "…you… two… remind… me… of… old… stories…" His voice had gone low, almost like he was speaking to himself. "…the kind… where… they… never… admit… what's there… until… the world… ends…"
I looked away from Antic, meeting Grin's too-wide smile. "And how do those stories end?"
He didn't blink. "…badly… or… beautifully… but… never… in-between…"
The silence after that wasn't awkward. It was heavier. It settled over us like another blanket.
Antic leaned back finally, though his knee stayed against mine. "Guess we'll have to find out which way we're goin'."
I didn't answer. My tea had gone cold, but I still took another sip just to give my hands something to do.
The fire kept burning.