Landing on a drooping leaf, the moth extended its triangular wings, casting a brown shadow across her face. She held her breath. The lights of fireflies swayed around her, tracing the invisible air currents flowing through the brush of the Northern Laul Forest. 

Perhaps feeling her stare, the moth abandoned its perch. Pouncing down instead onto her exposed forehead, it settled upon her dewy skin, outlined by two veils of curling gold. 

A moment of wonder went by before a tickling sensation fluttered at her nostrils. She sneezed. The insects dispersed. Sinking into the grass, she mourned the fleeting experience with a muted sigh.

Escaping after years of being trapped inside the roots of a tree and she already missed the feeling of another living, breathing creature resting on her arms: stiff, unmoving branches. On the other — moving — hand, she didn’t miss the timelessness. 

That’s when he found her.

“Ela Nektor.”

She was waiting for him, whether he knew it or not. 

“Join the dancers by the campfire. Nature watches over me well enough.”

Legs crossed, she remained sitting before him. He watched her tentatively beneath the shade of the canopy. The air around her seemed otherworldly. Glowing like a single beam of light. Celestial, even. Faerie: not a history book still in existence failed to describe her as such. 

“Unless you intend to reveal to me the goal of our pilgrimage to Alberos, I suggest you leave me and my inquiries to ourselves.” 

She didn’t argue against that, quickly ascending to her feet in one movement. Then, in wide strides, she hopped over fallen branches and muddied dirt towards the fire burning through the brush. The chatter and sounds of laughter increased when she arrived at the center of the Circus Tropes’ camp. 

Not many naturally reclusive Alberos denizens would so selfishly take on the task of traveling with common Exotians without a promising future. Their emerald eyes, tiny twisters of dark green swirling outwards from pitch black irises, were as legendary as the Seeress of Exo herself. However, Zhoumi could not ignore the vague message left for him by the 70th Seeress before her untimely death. 

“Seeing is believing.”

He had not seen her die. Perhaps she had. Yet disbelief somehow rooted itself into her mind. Every day, for the two years following her “death,” Zhoumi visited the site at the top of Jingxi’s grandest glass tower. He saw concrete set aflame, children abandon crippled grandparents, food stocks disappear down sinkholes. Still, pressed by her words and a vision, he would climb that long staircase to her grave. 

Here Lies the 70th Seeress of Exo: a monument marked by a cocoon of sentient vines as thick as iron beams. 

The roots had appeared while the ash was still falling, snuffing out the flames by tightening their coils. A sign of discontent on the Tree of Life’s behalf. A constant memorandum to Rank 3 royalty. An unsightly growth in the middle of an already collapsing state of affairs. The latter of the three the more popular opinion.

Yet here he was, believing — though certainly not seeing the end to Ela Nektor’s means. 

Alberos, settled between the northern Ytri Mountain ranges, was the one spot of life amongst frosted limestone. Doves flew low to the ground, playing tag between windmills. Children ran after them, bare feet kicking up at lush expanses of green. Red-roofed, wooden houses stood tall and ancient — generations old. Many a curious emerald eye looked on through their windows of blue-stained glass as the circus passed through the humble village.

Stopping to gaze at the flowers with the golden haired faerie, Zhoumi missed the grand welcoming provided by the young woman in charge of carrying down the tradition of the original “Gardeners:” the first group of Exotians to settle at the foot of the Tree of Life and formally — and unnecessarily — begin the now traditional act of “protecting” it. She related various rules and regulations onto the traveling circus troupe should they intend to carry on their performance without complication. 

One, do not climb the Tree of Life.

Two, do not draw resources from the Tree of Life.

Three, do not speak to the Tree of Life; for the Tree of Life speaks to you.

Not around to hear any of the dos and all of the do-nots, the Seeress of Exo with an identity disorder went about with the children of the troupe without a care in the world. Golden anklets and bangles jingling, she raced around the quaint village, memorizing every inch of it. 

“What are we looking for?” A young girl asked, the sun slowly setting over the white caps. 

A moment passed before someone said, “A back door.”

Zhoumi didn’t know sign language. 

Maybe that’s why he didn’t notice. She had something to tell him. She wasn’t saying a word, but it was quite clear from her imposition upon him so early this morning that he wished to speak with him. Or rather stare at him.

“Last night’s activities surely wore you out. I did not expect you to recover from it so quickly.”

She shook her head, twirling in place. Jewelry twinkling. Free-flowing cloth unusually heavy as she twirled. Golden hair bidding him a good morning wave. 

“I intend to visit the Tree of Life in accordance with our daily prayers. If it pleases you, join me.”

She did. 

Towering high at the head of the village, its shade extending outwards for miles, the Tree of Life stood tall and proud. There was no back door, but there was certainly a front. In accordance with the daily prayers every Gardener was to make to its roots, Zhoumi was ignorantly willing to lead her right to it. 

His intent to educate her regarding the gift of foresight the Tree grants to its followers in exchange for their daily prayers went ignored as they climbed the steep, unmarked path nestled between two unextraordinary homes. Noticing her interest lied more in their ever-nearing destination, he stopped mid-sentence. Once they reached a small clearing, the Tree of Life planted right before their eyes, he reiterated his first point.

“If not for the Tree’s guidance, I would not have found you, Ela Nektor.”

Clearly, he was misguided. A vision of the past about a golden-haired faerie and he suddenly believed she would rise from the dead. Kneeling, gems hidden from sight, he couldn’t have been more unaware of her slow steps towards the plant he blindly worshipped.

It was the sound of twinkling that gave her away. Black irises constricting to adjust to the eruption of light, tiny twisters of green spinning madly, he could only see her outline tugging hard at something overhead. When the blur became a low-hanging vine, outrage thundered against the walls of his throat, coming out all out once. 

“What,” “Why,” “How,” and “I will not stand for this.”

He didn’t. 

In fact, the shock had him toppling over. Neither history nor rumor recorded anyone touching the sacred tree — despite the absence of a rule against it. Rising to his feet, their gazes of disbelief connected. Hers implied he was the odd one. 

“Status and title aside, we do not taint the Tree of Life with our human hands. Our selfishness only corrupts its good intentions.” Reprimand failing to faze her, he pressed with a command of, “You will let go this instant, your highness.”

Hand still attached to vine, she took advantage of his attempt to physically drag her away then. Quality time with the children of the rambunctious circus troupe gave her a skill more useful than foresight: knot-tying. Within seconds, his hands were bound by thick vine without an inch of slack. He realized his dilemma immediately. An intense and almost overwhelming amount of respect had him babbling like a child after her retreating form. 

Luckily, Zhoumi chose to begin his daily prayers an hour earlier than the rest of the village. Snatching up the opportunity right then and there, she produced a pair of metal appliances from her pockets and firmly attached them to her feet. Zhoumi recognized the tool as belonging to the circus troupe. They often used the tool for better grip on wooden surfaces should an occasion ever call for tree-climbing.

Occassion calling, she began to scale the mighty Tree of Life. One foot. Another foot. Audacity as persisting as the marks she left behind. Zhoumi wailed after her. He could neither undo the knot nor bring himself to separate the vine from its birthplace. 

“Ela Nektor.”

He spoke her name like a final plea. Features twisted, tears streaming from emerald eyes, distant facade breaking down along with his long-instilled beliefs, he willed her to stop. She did. For only a moment, she did. And then she turned, looking down upon him from the great distance she’d already climbed — yet even more remained to be claimed before her.

Voice husky with lack of use, she laughed and said, “Regretfully, Ela’s not home right now.”

Black roots sprouted from her golden mane. A wry smile set itself firmly on her face. Stiff arms flexed to pull her higher up the stretching vine. 

When she descended hours later, the moon full in the sky, she shook Zhoumi awake and stuffed a mint leaf in his mouth. As he slowly chewed on the herb born from the tree he loved, she told him the sad tale of the 68th Seeress of Exo, Ela Nektor — a version quite different from the one he was familiar with.

A/N: This chapter is later than it should have been because 1) I rewrote it many times, 2) golden stars distracted me, and 3) my internet connection is spotty at best. Whatever-way, it's here. Happy Valentine's Day!