Eryshae

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Sam

The knock echoed again. Three soft raps, as polite as they were persistent. The kind of knock that expected to be answered. Sam blinked. His hand hovered just above the orb on his desk, its strange surface dull and inert now, as if whatever had drawn him to it had gone dormant; or fled.

His heart pounded. The room smelled like nothing. Sterile. Familiar. A place he'd once called home, but that now felt foreign. Smaller. Grayer. Too quiet.

He stepped to the door and opened it. She stood there.

Green curls framed her face like a summer vine twisted by habit. Her freckles were soft, scattered across cheeks kissed by sunlight. Her eyes; still that same rich hazel; caught his and held for a moment. But they weren't wide with fear. Or fury. Or love built in the bones like the Vael he remembered.

No, this version smiled. Casual. Almost shy. "Hey," she said, tilting her head. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Sam swallowed. His mouth was dry. He felt the weight of too many worlds pressing down on this one moment. "Vael," he breathed. She raised an eyebrow. "Still calling me that?" she laughed lightly. "My middle name, really? I thought we were past the fantasy nicknames, Sam."

Fantasy. His chest tightened. "You okay?" she asked, stepping a little closer. Her hoodie was zipped halfway. She wore jeans and a tank top. No blades. No daggers. No shadows of blood or gods or Guardians.

She was just… a girl. From this world. From his old world. She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. "You didn't answer your phone. I was starting to think you chickened out."

"Chickened out?" he echoed, voice distant..She smiled again, brighter this time. "College prom night? Tomorrow? Please don't tell me you forgot. You made a whole speech about how you were finally gonna wear something nicer than your 'forest goblin hoodie' and make up for not asking me in high school."

She looked at him a little more closely now. "You sure you're alright? You look like you haven't slept." Sam didn't answer. He couldn't. Because she looked like her. She sounded like her. But she wasn't her.

Not the Vael who had fought beside him beneath the Guardian's gaze. Not the one who held him while he bled roots into the soil. This Vael didn't know anything about the chalice. About amber. About bargains and empires and war.

And yet, a thread pulled tight between them. Not love. Not yet. But familiarity. Like she was an echo of the woman he had lost, molded into a new life where the pain hadn't yet happened.

And now she was here. Asking him to dance. To remember. To forget. "I'm… yeah," he said finally. "Just… weird dreams."

She nodded sympathetically. "You and your weird nature dreams. Must be that new tattoo. Creeping up into your brain." She reached out and gently touched his arm where the vine tattoo trailed. Her touch burned. Not painfully, but with memory.

Sam stood there for a breath too long, caught between two worlds, unsure which one would break first. Then she said, "Well, I'll let you rest. Just… be ready by six tomorrow? And maybe don't pass out this time, okay?"

She gave a playful salute and turned, walking down the hallway like the most impossible mirage in the world. Sam closed the door behind her, slowly. The orb on the desk remained silent. But something else hummed in his chest. He didn't know where he was anymore. Or if he'd ever truly left.

He stared at the door for a long time after it clicked shut. The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall. It should have comforted him. Instead, it felt like a fracture. A pressure building beneath the skin of the world.

Sam turned slowly, his eyes drifting across the too-clean lines of his apartment. The beige walls. The faint hum of the refrigerator. The stack of unopened mail. None of it felt real.

But the ache in his chest; that felt real. He stepped over to the desk. The Orb still lay there. He could still remember how it had pulsed, warm and strange, whispering across his thoughts like a memory with teeth. He didn't know what it was exactly, or how it had gotten here. Only that it mattered. That it was connected.

He stared at it for a moment longer, then reached down and slipped it into his jacket pocket. It was heavier than it looked. And warm. As if waiting. Next, his fingers found his phone; black screen, 34% battery. A few missed texts. Nothing from anyone important.

Then his wallet. Slim. Familiar. A half-used coffee shop punch card tucked inside, like a relic from another life. And finally, his keys. They jingled in his hand. Normal. Comforting. He hated them for it.

He turned, walked to the door, and stepped outside. The hallway was quiet. The elevator ride down took far too long, and the lobby smelled faintly of burnt dust and industrial cleaner. But when the doors slid open to the city beyond.

Air.

Cool.

Moving.

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Real.

Sam started walking. He didn't know where at first; his feet just moved. But the city pulled him. Through side streets. Past the corner café he used to haunt. Around the construction site that had never seemed to finish. Across the crosswalk where he'd once watched a street musician play cello like it could raise ghosts.

Until he found himself standing at the entrance to the park. His park. Just a patch of green caught between apartment buildings and a modest lake. Trees lined the edge. Joggers passed him. Kids kicked a soccer ball in the distance.

But Sam didn't hear any of that. Because he was listening for something else. For the sound of wind moving through ancient branches. For the rhythm of sunflowers blooming over bark. For her voice. For Vael; not the one who lived down the hallway, but the one who had once knelt in the mud, smeared with ash and love and fury, swearing to pull gods down if they didn't give him back.

He stepped onto the trail. Each crunch of gravel beneath his boots felt wrong. Or maybe… felt too right. This world was familiar. Safe. But it no longer fit. He walked deeper into the trees. The city sounds fell away. And still, his chest glowed faintly warm. Not with light. But with memory.

The Orb pulsed once in his pocket. He didn't stop walking. Not yet. The path curved toward the lake. Wind rolled gently through the trees, carrying with it the scent of grass, old bark, and the distant sugar of someone's pastry box. A squirrel darted across the trail ahead of him, chittering indignantly at a bird too close to its cache. Somewhere, a dog barked in that language only dogs and gods understood.

Sam found a bench just off the path, half-shaded by a honey locust tree. He sat. The Orb weighed down his pocket. The tattoo on his arm itched faintly beneath his sleeve. He leaned back and tilted his head toward the canopy. The leaves shimmered with sunlight and memory. How many times had he sat here before? How many lives ago?

For a few breaths, the world was quiet. Then: thump. thump. THUMP. A soccer ball came sailing through the trees. Sam's hand shot up; and caught it. Effortless. Instinctual. He blinked, still seated. Still half-lost in thought.

Three kids rounded the trail's curve, chasing after the ball. They froze mid-step when they saw him holding it. Then one grinned. "Whoa," the boy said, eyes wide. "Nice reflexes!" Another kid, older and grinning wider, called out, "Thanks, Mr. Druid!"

They all laughed. Sam's heart stuttered at the word. Druid. He tossed the ball back underhanded. Smooth. Easy. "Keep practicing," he said with a smile he didn't quite feel. The kids ran off, their voices echoing between the trees. Sam sat still as the last shout of "Mr. Druid!" disappeared behind laughter and leaves. And then the silence returned.

But something inside him had shifted. Druid. Magnolia's voice echoed in his head. "There are roots beneath every world, Sam. The seed remembers. Even when we forget." He closed his eyes.

His breath came slow.

Measured.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Again.

The sounds of the park faded. The distant rush of cars dissolved into wind. His muscles softened. His pulse slowed. And from somewhere far away; or far within; he felt it. The hum. Not a sound. A vibration. Low. Ancient. Alive. His left arm grew warm beneath the jacket.

The tattoo stirred. And then light. Faint bioluminescence traced the vinework spiraling from shoulder to forearm. Like chlorophyll catching moonlight. Like memory rising to the surface of a deep, still pool.

Sam didn't move. Didn't speak. He just breathed. Somewhere, far beneath the skin of this world, something was watching. And waiting. The glow of the vines along his arm pulsed.

Steady. Slow. Like breath. Like a heartbeat. Sam's mind drifted. Not into sleep. But into something between. The park blurred. The sunlight folded inward; becoming soft, flickering amber.

And then; He heard her. "…you're more bark than boy now, you know," came a voice. Familiar. Dry. Kind. Myrtle. Herbalist Myrtle.

Sam could feel the room before he saw it. Warm with herb-scent and firelight, quiet except for the occasional creak of wood settling like breath in an old chest. Then his vision shifted.

He saw her hunched beside him; his other self; the one left behind. The half-man, half-tree form cradled in stasis, roots tangled with linen, skin like polished walnut and gold.

He was beautiful, in a strange, tragic way. Stilled mid-transformation. Half-wild. Half-lost. Myrtle dabbed a cloth across his brow and gave a soft grunt. "Still warm," she whispered. "Not dying. Not really living either. Just… stubborn. Typical."

She adjusted the blankets around his wooden shoulders. One of his vines had grown slightly longer since yesterday. She patted it gently, as if stroking a cat. "I told them not to go," she murmured. Her voice cracked slightly at the edges.

"I told them. Told them it was foolhardy to storm into Eberflame's estate with nothing but secrets and stolen maps and fire in their teeth." She paused. Then softer: "But gods help me, I hope they succeed."

She leaned closer, her calloused fingers resting lightly on his bark-skinned hand. "You gave them something to believe in, you know. You and that girl with the voice like thunder and grief."

She laughed, gently, though her eyes shimmered. "Balance and bargains. Guardians and ghosts. What a mess you've made, boy."

The candle beside the bed flickered. "I'll stay," she whispered. "As long as it takes." The vision shimmered; then began to unravel like smoke at sunrise. Sam felt her warmth retreat like the tide.

He wanted to speak. To reach through the veil. But no words formed. Only the ache of memory and the distant echo of Myrtle's final words, fading into silence: "You come back now, ya stubborn twig. Come back whole."

The vision snapped. Sam blinked. The park returned around him, familiar and alien. A child laughed somewhere behind him. A bird took flight. He pressed his hand over his chest. The Orb in his pocket felt warm. And for the first time since he'd woken up on Earth, Sam didn't feel entirely alone.

The glow beneath Sam's jacket faded, slowly swallowed by the city light. He opened his eyes. The park was unchanged. Children still ran, their laughter rippling through the trees like windchimes. The soccer ball was gone. The scent of fresh grass lingered in the air. But inside Sam… everything had shifted.

He stood slowly, brushing his palms together. The Orb in his pocket remained warm against his thigh; like a quiet promise. Like Myrtle's touch. He walked back through the park, retracing his steps past the playground, the dog fountain, and the mural near the edge of the path. The world felt thinner now. As if something ancient had followed him home.

The streets were humming by the time he returned to his apartment. Neon from the corner bodega flickered against the sidewalk. A train groaned in the distance. He climbed the stairs and unlocked his door. Silence greeted him. The room was unchanged; sterile, simple. A half-eaten protein bar still sat on the counter. A pair of earbuds lay tangled on the floor.

He tossed his keys into the dish and exhaled. Then checked his phone. One message blinked on the lock screen.

From Vael.

"Here's my address for tomorrow :) Don't be late. I've been waiting years to dance with you."

(Location pin attached)

Sam stared at the message. The words were warm. Familiar. Flirty. But they weren't her. Not really. Not his Vael. Not the one who had thrown daggers at gods and wept over his broken body with rage like wildfire.

But this Vael; this echo of her; was all he had now. He swallowed, thumb hovering over the screen. The vines on his arm stirred faintly beneath the fabric, as if the tattoo remembered the girl behind the mask. He didn't answer. Not yet.