The three had been walking the path for quite a while now and only found more of the endless chromatic red and orange sea of trees ahead. Alma had been silent most of the trip, only speaking up whenever they ran into a familiar landmark, meanwhile Qu'l-Nia was off in her own little world, taking in mundane sights that all seemed incredible and ethereal to her.

Frustrated with their navigator constantly brooding in her own thoughts, the Hecatian decided to break the silence.

"What's this mate of yours like, Alma?" asked Hwalín.

"Huh?” Alma pushed a painful memory to the back of her mind. “Uhh. Well… She's a bit… She's very… S-She's a handful. But it's not her fault!"

"It's not her fault she's a handful?"

"Well, her father's a scientist working for the Scarlet Church. Y'know, the type who gets way too into his work, then not having any time to spend with his family as a result. Her mom I never met. Left them when she was really young. Big surprise, huh? And of course that means she hates them both with a passion. Ended up going down the path of sorcery just to spite her dad."

"Rebellious type, eh? There's a familiar tale."

"Yeah, so she's a bit eccentric. Bit clingy. A little stuck-up.” She made a pinching motion with her fingers. “But we've always been there for each other. Two crazy kids against the world.”

"Makes me wonder what you did to scare her off."

Alma chuckled nervously. "Friends fight. You know how it is. Although I guess the last time we went without talking for this long was back during her academy days."

“Academy? Your friend is a scholar?” asked Qu-l’Nia, hovering over to them.

“Hey now. You didn’t mention this friend of yours being loaded.”

“She’s not. Her dad is. They moved to Malachias when she was around 10 years old. She used to run away from home a lot. Tried to impress the orphan kids with what little magic she knew. Snot-nosed brats didn’t like it. But that’s also around the time we met. She was the bullied and I, the outcast. A match made in Cockaigne.” Alma let out a small chuckle. “We would get into so much shit together. Then one day she gets the bright idea to steal some of her dad’s credit cards and pay the outrageous tuition for the magic academy. She grew tired of living under his thumb and wanted to make it on her own. Course she dropped out a year shy from finishing once she learned graduates are thrown into boring, menial jobs. Did you know most plumbers are wizards?”

“And she—what? Just scampers off to live inna forest like some magic hermit?”

“No. She went straight home. And you know what her dad said? Absolutely nothing. Almost like he didn’t notice she had gone. That was it for her, of course. After that, she packed up her things and with help from her academy training, moved all the way out here.”

“Then you two had some kinda squabble and now you haven’t seen hide nor hair in over a year now, is that right?”

"Y-Yeah."

"Something the matter?"

"No, I just keep replaying that moment over and over in my head and I keep wondering why we stopped talking in the first place and why I didn't try harder to get back in touch… I guess I figured things would've blown over by now. And then I got busy with military training and… yeah."

“You childlings do tend to have a habit of overcomplicating the most frivolous of matters,” added Qu’l-Nia. “I am sure your friend has gotten over whatever petty argument drove you two apart by this juncture. And if that is not the case, would not now present the perfect opportunity to reconcile?”

“I guess you’re right,” said Alma, now hovering over a large stone inconspicuously placed among the crimson Jacaranda trees. The sniper meticulously eyed the oddly-shaped stone before casting her gaze skyward.

"Carthas, are you out there? Can you hear me? Heli hasn't fed you to the wulfeites yet, has she?”

“Oh, if only,” came a disembodied voice from the trees. Deep and monotonous, there was a striking tone of resignation in its timbre. “But why would she ever do anything beneficial for me?”

“Can’t believe I’ve actually missed your voice.”

“Alma? Who in the colorless berylands is that?” asked the confused Hwalín.

“I can’t believe you came all the way here just to rub your new friends in that witch’s face,” the voice cried mischievously. “You mind if I watch?”

An intense rustling came from one of the nearby trees above. A black figure shot forth from behind the leaves and flapped its large wings as it swiftly perched onto the stone in front of Alma.

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“There’s the winged shithead I remember.”

Roosting comfortably before them was a grand, black bird tilting its head around inquisitively, looking at them through blood-red eyes. Its wingtips were colored a brilliant golden, along with the crest that circled around the top of its head. A feature that Alma always thought looked like a tiny crown. It spoke from a long, serrated, iridescent beak.

“Ladies,” called Alma, turning to her companions. “This is Carthas. My friend’s… let’s say… guard.”

Hwalín raised a hand in greeting while Qu’l-Nia looked on curiously. The Hecatian estimated the avian's wingspan to be larger than Alma herself.

"Alma, please,” protested the bird. “We prefer to be called domovoi. I was summoned to make a pact with dear Heloise. Guarding the entryway to her domain is just one of my many spectacular roles. My newest of which seems to be that of unwilling audience. Every day now she comes to me wondering, what could Alma be up to? Do you think Alma is thinking about me? Why does she have no social media presence I can stalk? It's all so tiresome. As if I enjoy soaring through freezing forests just to spy on you. But now you're here, at last, to take back that whining twat! R-Right?"

Alma smiled nervously at the other two girls.

“You are a Star Baron, are you not?” observed Qu’l-Nia. “It is interesting seeing your kind down here and not flying on the star-winds of the nyctorealms of Haast.”

“You know of my god?” The bird perked up. “Alma, I like your new friend.”

“Yes, I would say I am well acquainted with him. He is of my kin, after all.”

The black bird’s red eyes widened in surprise. “You’re just casually hanging out with gods now, Alma? And you’re bringing them right here to my doorstep? At least let me make myself more presentable!”

Carthas closed his eyes and when they re-opened, they had turned a midnight black, along with a newly opened third eye that had appeared on his forehead. His golden crest swayed spectrally and wildly like a flame. The gilded color on his feather tips had spread to the rest of his wings that now shone brilliantly.

“May I ask what brings you to this humble witch’s abode, my lady?” There was now an odd droning sound in his voice.

Alma stepped between them. “We’re looking for Heli, because we need her help with something. Also, what the fuck, dude? I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You lowly humans don’t need to be privy to all our secrets.”

“Actually, I meant acting like a gentleman. After everything that’s happened in the past few days, I’m not even surprised about all this.” She made a motion with her hands.

“Right. Now I remember why you two were such good friends. You already know how this works, Alma. If you want in…”

“Oh yeah. What was it again? Some kind of password?”

The bird spread his powerful wings wide and puffed out his chest. From his open mouth came a different voice this time—that of the witch Heloise,

“To gain entry into my domain, pray tell, what is divine nature’s name?"

Alma looked at Hwalín who shrugged and Qu'l-Nia who smiled but said nothing. The ex-soldier leaned in close toward the fiery bird-creature and let loose a single, quietly-named whisper,

"Azotha."

Carthas flapped his enormous wings and disappeared among the endless trees. Somewhere above the trio rang a loud, powerful cawing. A good distance in front of them, between the trunks of ageless, unspoiled trees appeared a single, elaborate, ivied window floating mysteriously in mid-air.

"You know what they say about finding a lone window deep in the forest," remarked Alma.

A strong gale picked up, forming a vortex of colorful, dead leaves all around them. It blew wildly across the wind-swept path, unveiling a long, arching tunnel festooned with gorgeous, kaleidoscopic flowers.

"This friend of yours is something else," remarked the Hecatian.

Alma chuckled proudly. “She’s always had a flair for the dramatic, that girl.”

Qu'l-Nia had already begun walking down the flowery aisle, looking astonishingly child-like as she admired the magical reception Alma's friend had put together. An action that seemingly belied her earlier scorn of human magic.

The trip through the decorated tunnel was brief but it made each girl feel warm and happy, as if they were frolicking in a springtime dream. A mild blush rose to Alma's cheeks as she remembered a distant memory from before. When Heloise had first constructed the long archway, not with magic or tricks but with simple reeds and branches. They had spent days collecting flowers and decorating the small road together. One of the few times Alma had fun doing something rather feminine. She didn't speak up about her part in the construction, but it made her smile with how impressive they found it.

Hwalín said nothing, but in her mind the flowers had brought back memories of her youth. The Hecatian had led a troubled childhood, living an isolated life with only her uncle to guide her. Different fates had pulled her away from her parents, each living separate, dangerous lives that had no place for the presence of a child. Yet that didn't stop the young elf from finding herself engaging in her own perilous adventures. And the price that comes with them. Like during one such rambunctious folly where she was forced to sacrifice her only tail. Luckily the medicine of flowers had saved her. Flowers had a special meaning to Hecatians. Each one having a unique trait that cultivated growth and capability, reacting in wondrous ways with their biology. It was a matter of fact that their long lives and youthful looks were due in part to the medicinal advantages they gained from the romantic blooming of the planet.

Qu'l-Nia, marveling at the flowered arches, was reminded of the twilit fields of her home. The eons she would spend prancing among enigmatic, ethereal meadows when she was still young and first discovering the freedom of a fleshless mind. She was always lauded as the showiest dancer among her fellow lightforms—a title she cherished fondly. She would often travel deep into her ward universe to dance inside the cores of the brightest stars. A thermonuclear waltz that would time and again lead to the creation of glittering supernovae in the infinitude of space.

As the three emerged from the short pass—and their nostalgia—they were greeted with a quaint gothic cottage nestled comfortably below the lush undergrowth of an enormous orangewood bough.

"Alma,” called the alien girl, “that was a very delightful sensation I just experienced, but there was a distinct impression of magic at work.”

“Oh, that feel-good tunnel? Yeah, I love going through that thing. It’s actually supposed to be another layer of security. Magic in the petals that pacifies any would-be intruders. I’d say it’s too much but damn if it isn’t a good way to spend a lazy afternoon.” She expressed a languid smile.