Eryshae

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Sam

Leaving Prom

The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the bass thump of the final song. A hush replaced it, crisp night air washing away the heat and scent of sweat, punch, and youthful adrenaline.

Stars blinked faintly above the parking lot, scattered between the halos of flickering streetlamps. Sam walked beside Vael, one hand tucked neatly into his jacket pocket, the other loosely brushing hers whenever they swayed too close.

Her perfume lingered like warm spice and starlight. The chill in the air did nothing to dim the heat radiating off the memory of her pressed close to him on the dance floor.

Their driver, a lanky, cheerful guy named Theo whom Sam definitely did not remember from before, waved as they approached. "Hey, lovebirds!" Theo called. "The pumpkin's still a car, and I didn't turn into a raccoon. We call that a win."

Vael snorted, covering her mouth. Sam laughed, more from the absurdity of the line than the line itself. "Thanks, Theo," Sam said, his voice light but his mind already drifting beneath the surface.

He jogged forward a few steps and opened the back door with a dramatic flourish. "Your chariot, milady." Vael gave him a playful curtsy, hiking her crimson dress slightly to reveal the black tights beneath. "Such gallant service," she said. "I'll be sure to tip accordingly."

Her smile was radiant. Sam held onto it like a talisman. She slid into the seat, and Sam followed, the door clicking shut behind them. The interior of the car was dim, cocooned in soft shadows and quiet engine hum. The streetlights stuttered across Vael's skin in passing glows, gilding the gold at her ears, her wrist, her throat.

"You know," she said after a beat, "I really did have fun tonight." Sam turned toward her, eyes lingering on the curve of her smile, the way her lashes framed her eyes like painted feathers. "Me too," he murmured. "Even with everything else… for a little while, it felt like I belonged here."

"Not just here," Vael said, voice soft. "With me." The car turned, passing through familiar streets, but Sam barely noticed the route. His thoughts ran like tangled roots beneath his ribs. You don't even remember asking her out. You don't remember Theo. Or that suit. You should feel more… wrong.

And yet…

He'd caught a soccer ball midair without looking. Kids had called him Mr. Druid. He'd tasted an amber-honey Danish and remembered what it felt like to become wood and light and fury.

And Vael, this Vael, she felt real. Maybe too real. The silence in the car stretched, but not unpleasantly. He turned slightly, watching her profile as her head tilted back, relaxed. "Thanks for coming with me tonight," he said, quieter than before.

Vael smiled without opening her eyes. "Thanks for asking me." Theo coughed from the front seat. "If you two kiss back there, just let me know so I can raise the partition. This isn't a rom-com."

Vael stifled a laugh. Sam did not. The rest of the ride was silent. But not empty. Just full, with something fragile and golden, like the last breath before a leaf falls.

The car coasted to a gentle stop in front of Vael's house. The porch light glowed amber across the neat path of stepping stones leading to her door. A wind chime tinkled once above them, soft, almost uncertain.

Theo shifted in his seat. "Alright, you two. End of the line. Unless you want to hit a diner or elope in Vegas." Vael laughed softly. "Not tonight, Theo." Sam stepped out first. The cold air caught him by surprise, even though he'd expected it. He moved around to her side, already reaching for the door. Vael was waiting. Her hand slid into his the moment he opened it.

She stepped out slowly, letting the fabric of her crimson dress glide over the seat, the gold of her bracelets catching the porch light like fire. "Thanks again," she whispered as he closed the car door behind her. Theo gave them a mock salute before pulling away, tires crunching over the curb and vanishing around the corner.

Now it was just them. The porch light. The quiet. The moment. They walked in slow steps toward the door, her hand still in his, her fingers warm and impossibly steady. Sam's heartbeat, on the other hand, betrayed him, soft thuds echoing in his ears like drums played behind velvet curtains.

When they reached the top step, Vael turned to him. Not rushed. Not shy. She turned like this was a moment she'd known was coming all night. Sam met her gaze.

There were galaxies in her eyes. Or maybe just memories. "I know this version of me isn't quite what you expected," she said, her voice a little smaller now. "But I hope I lived up to… whoever she is."

"You didn't live up to her," Sam said, throat tight. "You… are her. Maybe not in the same way. But you feel the same. You remind me what home feels like." Vael looked down, smiling just a little, just enough. Then her eyes flicked up again.

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"I'm glad you found me," she said. Then, without hesitation, she leaned up and kissed him, soft, sure, with a quiet longing that made time pause. Not desperate. Not rushed. Just real.

When she pulled back, she lingered a breath away. "Tomorrow," she whispered, "we'll dance again. But tonight…" She stepped back toward the door. Sam watched her hand reach for the knob.

Watched the porch light gild her hair green again for just a flicker, just long enough to make him doubt the difference between this world and the other. Vael opened the door. The scent of her home spilled into the night, spice, warmth, something sweet baking far inside.

She paused one last time. "Goodnight, Sam." He smiled, whispering it back: "Goodnight, Vael." The door closed gently behind her. He stood on the step for another full minute, breathing the air, memorizing the moment, afraid that if he moved, he'd forget how it felt.

Only when the wind picked up again did he finally turn, his hand sliding into his pocket to touch the shape of the Orb. Its surface was warm. Like it remembered her too

As Sam descended the porch steps, the Orb pulsed once against his palm, faint, but distinct. A low golden glow shimmered from beneath his fingers, breathing in and out like a second heartbeat. He froze under the streetlight, the hush of the suburban night stretching around him like a held breath.

Then the vine tattoo along his left arm flared to life. Not dramatically, not yet, but enough to see it glowing through the fabric of his sleeve, bioluminescent and alive, as though lit by moonfire. The tendrils curled faintly, reacting to the energy now humming against his skin.

The Orb brightened in sync.

Pulse.

Glow.

Pulse.

Glow.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. The same rhythm. The same warmth. The same sense that something was waking up. The stars overhead blurred slightly. Or maybe his vision did.

"Vael…" he whispered under his breath, not knowing if he meant the one he just said goodnight to, or the one still fighting for him across worlds. He stood in the quiet night, heart thudding in time with both relic and tattoo, feeling the impossible connection knit back together across space and memory.

A sound cracked; a tone that wasn't quite sound, more like pressure against the skull. A scream buried in iron. His vision narrowed, darkened, tunneled; and at the center was the Orb, blooming again, petals wider, impossibly wide now, revealing not a core; but a gate.

And beyond that gate: an Ancient tree. A vast forest of trees stretched beneath a storm-choked sky. Lightning forked in complete silence. Towering monoliths stood crooked in the distance like forgotten gods. Something vast moved beneath the ice. Watching. Waiting.

The roots came.

Then the world grabbed him. They erupted from the earth like serpents; thick, gnarled, pulsing with green veins of light. They coiled around his legs before he could run, yanked him down to his knees, then deeper still. The ground split open like a wound, swallowing him whole. Soil filled his mouth, his lungs, his eyes; yet he didn't choke. Didn't die. The forest had claimed him.

Then: light. It slammed into him, too fast, too bright, a burst of white that swallowed everything. He tried to scream, but the sound was lost in the rushing, tumbling sensation, his body weightless, torn from the world he knew.

And then; he hit. Hard. Flat. The breath was knocked from him in an agonizing rush, and his bones screamed with the shock. He lay there, gasping, blinking as the world slowly came into focus.

The ground beneath him was warm, solid, sun-dappled earth. But something wasn't right. Something felt wrong. A deep, throbbing pulse vibrated through the dirt around him, seeping into his skin, into his bones.

The Grove held its breath. Even the wind through the branches had gone still. Vael knelt beside his body, if it could still be called that. Half of him was a man, the other half a tree. His arms were twisted branches and bark, veins like rivulets of gold beneath splintered skin. Where his heart once beat, there was only a hollowed, blackened cavity, scorched and cracked from where the spear had pierced him.

She didn't cry. Not now. "I have you," she whispered. Myrtle's hands were on her shoulders, steadying. "This may not bring him back," the old herbalist murmured, voice thin with awe and fear, "but if anything can reach him, it's this."

A line split down the center of his chest. The bark peeled like wounded skin, ribs creaking open like branches curling back to welcome the sun. The cavity widened with a deep, aching groan. Her hands trembled. Her breath was ragged.

A deep thrumming sound echoed outward, low and resonant, like the heartbeat of the world itself stirred once more. The moment the Amber slipped fully inside, Sam's wooden form seized.

His back arched. His mouth opened in a silent roar. The glow spread, not just from the cavity, but from the veins along his torso, into his limbs, up his throat. Sunflower eyes blinked open along his shoulders and arms, wide, golden, weeping light. The vines on his arm surged, twining around the edges of his body, rooting him to the forest floor.

The Grove responded. Leaves rustled, not in fear, but reverence. The light from the Amber pulsed once. Twice. Then settled into a rhythmic glow in Sam's chest.

Sam floated. Not through air. Not through time, but through memory.

Through roots. He was nowhere, and everywhere, suspended in warmth and golden pressure. The universe had condensed to a rhythm, pulsing faintly in the dark: thum… thum… thum.

He didn't remember his name at first. Didn't remember the shape of his hands, or the sound of his voice. Only the feeling of something waiting. Of something calling him back.

A woman. Not the Vael from the Earth prom. No perfume. No borrowed past. His Vael. The one who had whispered her fury into the roots of the world. The one who had faced gods and monsters beside him. The one who had bled for him.

He felt her hands. Small. Steady. Hot with purpose. And then, Pain. A jagged splinter through the dark.

The sensation of cracking. Of bark breaking. Of ribs groaning as something impossibly ancient burrowed deeper into his core.

Thum. Thum. THUM. His chest seared. The Amber pulsed, hot and golden, lighting him from the inside. He could feel the way it locked into him. Not healing him. Not patching what was broken.

Rebuilding.

Rerooting.

Sam gasped. It was soundless, in the place-between-places, but it broke the silence of his soul. His fingers twitched first. Then his eyes, seeds in soil, reaching.

Sunlight.

He needed sunlight.

He felt it distantly, pouring through the canopy above. The Grove. Yes, he was in the Grove. Not dead. Not dreaming. Half-wood, half-mortal, and somehow still him. He remembered his name. He remembered her name.

"Vael…"

The word formed in his throat, raw and new, like a sprout breaking through winter-cracked ground. Then, real breath came. Lungs surged. Eyes opened, blazing gold.

The sunflowers on his arms flared with light, responding to the grove's call. He saw her then.

Vael.

Hovering above him, eyes wide with shock and wet with fury and love. Her hands pressed to his chest, still warm over the Amber embedded there. He lifted a trembling hand, bark and sinew, sunlight and soul, and cupped her cheek.

"You came for me," he rasped, voice heavy with moss and memory. She nodded, tears sliding freely now. "I always will."