A familiar tapping echoed against the wooden door.

“Arbor!” Freya's commanding voice rang out."Honestly, I don't know how you manage to sleep in, even when a goddess personally requests you."

Inside, Arbor lay sprawled on their bed, their humanoid form curled in a heap. A leather-bound book sat firmly on their face. Their arms hung limply at their sides, fox-like ears twitching at the sound of Freya's voice.

"What goddess?" they muttered groggily. Then it hit them. Their eyes shot wide open, pupils dilating with sudden realization.

"Atheria’s meeting!" they gasped, flinging the book off their face. Out of all the things from yesterday to forget, of course it had to be that. Their ears pinned back in a mix of panic and embarrassment.

"SORRY, FREYA! I'M GETTING UP!" they yelled, their voice cracking midway.

Arbor shot to their feet, stumbling for balance as their legs caught up with their brain. Their eyes darted around the den. The clothes they'd worn yesterday—gone. Just like always. The enchanted clothes from the wardrobe only lasted for a day before vanishing at midnight. Magic clothing rules were annoying.

“Where is it, where is it, where is it—” Their voice became a frantic mumble as they rifled through the shelves, tossing aside odd knick-knacks and loose scrolls. Their eyes landed on a fresh bodysuit and a mage's cloak hanging neatly on a hook. The cloak was sleek black with light blue trim and a small moon crest stitched into the back.

"Perfect." They snatched them up. The bodysuit fit snugly as always, hugging their frame, while the cloak draped over their shoulders. The ends of the sleeves were just a little too long, but they’d deal with it.

Their eyes darted to the table. They grabbed their journal and cylinder bag hanging by the door.

With everything in place, Arbor dashed out of the den, bare fox-like feet tapping lightly against the dirt. They forgot their boots, but they would live. Outside, the fog still hung in the air, curling around the roots of ancient trees. Freya stood nearby, arms crossed..

“At least today you had a bit of speed to you,” she remarked with a sly grin, her eyes narrowing with mock approval. "Improvement is improvement."

Before Arbor could reply, Freya reached over and ruffled their hair. Her strong fingers pressed down on Arbor’s wild baby-blue hair, messing up the stubborn bang that always sat dead center on their forehead. Arbor let out a low growl, swiping at her hand like an annoyed cat.

“Hey! Quit it!” they grumbled, flattening their hair back into place.

Freya just laughed, already turning her attention to the ground in front of her. She crouched low, moving with precision and intent. Her fingers traced lines in the dirt, each movement steady and practiced. The lines began to glow faint blue as she carved out a complex set of runes and sigils in a perfect circle.

Arbor tilted their head, watching with squinted eyes. “What are you making?”

Freya finished the last stroke of the rune, wiping her hands together with a satisfied grin.

“A transportation circle,” she replied, stepping back to admire her work.

Arbor blinked slowly. “Hold up. You mean we could’ve used this instead of walking for an hour to get to the arena yesterday?” Their eyes narrowing.

Freya shrugged, eyes still on the circle. “Yeah, but walking wakes you up. Gotta get that morning cardio in.” She threw a quick glance at Arbor. “Guess next time, don’t complain so much.”

Arbor tilted their head back with a dramatic groan. “I hate you so much right now.”

“Nope, I doubt that,” Freya shot back, flashing a cocky grin. “Besides, today you didn’t complain, so I figured I’d reward you. Positive reinforcement? Something Jorma was on about.” She stepped onto the circle, planting one hoof in the center. Her gaze lifted to Arbor, her voice firm. “Step on.”

Arbor stared at the circle like it might explode at any second. Their eyes flicked from Freya to the runes on the ground, suspicion clear on their face. “Is this going to hu—”

“ZZZZZAP!”

A sudden bolt of lightning struck the circle, its blinding light erupting with a deafening CRACK. In an instant, both of them vanished.

All Arbor could see were blurs of color until, all of a sudden, they saw an unfamiliar wall about to collide with them.

“AHHHHH!”

Arbor’s form burst into existence mid-air, spinning as they plummeted downward. Their eyes went wide. Their limbs flailed. The ground was coming fast.

Instinct kicked in. Their body shrank, fur bursting from their skin as they shifted into their fox form. Tucking into a compact ball, they flipped mid-air, aiming to roll with the landing. The bark-covered floor hit with a loud thud, and they bounced twice like a tossed stone.

Thud. Thud. SLAM.

The third hit was less graceful. They ricocheted off the floor, spun awkwardly, and crashed head first into the wall. The impact left them sprawled in a heap, their legs tangled over their head.

For a moment, all they could do was stare at the world upside down, ears ringing.

A soft "Ughhhh..."

Arbor groaned as they sat up, rubbing their head with one hand. Their ears twitched, still ringing from the rough landing. They blinked away the blur from their eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of many gathering figures.

Slow footsteps echoed through the chamber as figures approached, their shadows growing longer against the faint glow of rune-light. Elven scholars and robed priests filled the edges of the room, their silken robes swaying. Their garments shimmered with faint sigils woven into the fabric, each more elaborate than the last. A few Elite Legion members stood along with them.

Arbor’s ears lowered instantly, pressed flat against their head. Too many eyes.

“Hmm... isn't that fox Freya’s student?” one of the robed onlookers muttered.

Another tilted their head, eyes sharp with curiosity. "I heard Atheria has plans for them."

The murmuring spread. The words bounced around Arbor’s head like an echo chamber, getting louder and louder as each voice layered over the last. Their eyes flicked from one person to the next. Too many faces. Too many eyes.

“What do they want?” Arbor thought, shifting. They glanced at their hands, watching their fingers twitch involuntarily. The unease in their chest grew.

It was that foreign feeling in their soul again. It pounded once again trying to get in again. They felt weak.

“Why now.” arbor thought.

The whispers dug in deeper.

“How pathetic.”

Arbor’s head shot up. Their heart thudded in their chest.

“Looks like we’re going to have to get rid of this one.”

Their breath hitched. Their hands tensed, claws threatening to dig into their own palms.

“Maybe they’ll do better on a platter.”

No. No. No.

The voices weren’t right. They didn’t sound like the people in the room anymore. The onlookers' faces shifted, melting like wax. Their robes twisted into writhing tendrils of shadow. Their heads cracked and reshaped themselves into crude fox-like masks, jagged smiles filled with rows of crooked, glowing orange teeth. Their eyes—orange slits, too wide, too sharp—all locked onto Arbor.

The whispering stopped.

The fox-faced figures tilted their heads in unison, their eyes unblinking.

Arbor’s breathing became shallow, their chest rising and falling like a caged animal. Their legs felt heavy. Their hands darted to the floor. It wasn’t bark anymore. It was... it was...

Tar.

Thick, oozing, black tar seeped up through the cracks in the bark. It clung to Arbor’s fingers the moment they touched it. They jerked their hands back, but it wouldn’t let go.

“No. No, no, no—” They pulled harder. Their heart was a drum pounding against their ribs. Their muscles strained as they tried to lift their legs, but the tar coiled around their ankles, tugging them down inch by inch. The harder they pulled, the stronger it clung.

From the tar, hands emerged. Dozens of them. Small, black, sticky hands reaching up like drowning souls clawing for air. They grabbed at Arbor’s cloak, pulling with slow, steady force.

The world around them flickered. The fox-faced figures leaned forward, their orange teeth curving into jagged grins.

Their faces pressed closer, surrounding Arbor in a halo of grinning foxes. The orange glow of their eyes grew brighter. The whispers returned, but now it sounded like a hundred voices, all laughing and violently vibrating in unison, louder, louder, louder—

“Arbor.”

A hand touched their shoulder.

Arbor flinched. Their eyes shot wide as the world blinked back into place.

The tar was gone. No hands. No fox faces. No orange eyes.

Just Freya, her brows furrowed in concern, her eyes locked on Arbor. Her hand gripped Arbor’s shoulder firmly, holding them in place.

“Hey. What happened?” she asked, her voice low but firm. "I know you had a rough landing, but—”

Arbor didn’t respond at first. Their ears were still pinned back, pressed so tightly against their head that they ached. Their hands covered their eyes as if doing so would erase what they’d seen. Their breathing was shallow, short bursts of air slipping past their lips.

Freya reached down with both hands and lifted Arbor off the ground by the back of their collar, hoisting them like a misbehaving cub. Arbor dangled limply, their arms hanging, face still hidden behind their hands.

“What happened, Arbor?” Freya’s voice was steady.

“I... I kind of don’t like this crowd,” Arbor muttered, still hiding behind their hands. Their voice was a whisper. “The way they look at me… there are too many eyes.”

Freya blinked, her lips pressing into a line. She glanced over her shoulder at the crowd still gathered in the room, eyes flicking to each person. None of them spoke now. Some watched with curiosity, others with judgment.

She turned back to Arbor, her arms loosening. She set them down gently, hands resting on their shoulders for a moment.

Her voice was loud and clear, cutting through the room like thunder.

“Alright, everyone, calm down.” Her eye swept over the onlookers. Her voice grew sharper, her horns catching the faint glow of the tree’s runes. “I know you all have better things to do. Move. Now.”

The shift was instant. The crowd hesitated at first, but eventually left.

Satisfied, Freya turned back to Arbor.

“Atheria’s through those doors and down the hall,” Freya said, jerking her thumb toward a pair of large double doors at the end of the room. The doors glowed faintly, their surface lined with smooth carvings of roots and runes. “It’ll just be you and her. I’ll wait outside.”

Arbor dashed down the hallway, the bark floor gradually shifting into smooth, cold marble beneath their feet. The air grew cooler with every step. Up ahead, the glow of two massive metal doors pulsed with a steady blue light, the carvings of roots and sigils weaving across their surface like veins.

They pressed their hands against the cold metal and shoved. It didn’t budge at first, but with a low groan, the doors swung open, releasing a cool breeze that carried the sweet scent of sap and fresh rain. White light flooded the space ahead, forcing Arbor to shield their eyes as they stepped inside.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

The first thing they saw was the tree.

A single, radiant tree stood in the center of the chamber, its bark smooth like glass, but still somehow alive. Golden sap dripped from its trunk, pooling into shallow glowing puddles on either side of the walkway. The glow from the sap reflected off the marble ceiling like scattered stars. The whole room pulsed faintly, like it was breathing.

Arbor stared, eyes wide with awe as they slowly approached. Their heart thudded harder with each step. The tree gave off the same aura the moon above the stadium did. But this one felt more inviting.

Then, from behind the tree, a figure popped up suddenly, grinning wide.

“Hello, Arbor,” she said, her voice softly.

Arbor stopped in their tracks, eyes narrowing. “You... you look like me!”

The figure stepped into full view, her four fox-like ears flicking playfully. Her face mirrored Arbor’s features, but older, sharper, and more feminine. Her dress flowed, their glow shifting between soft blue and white. Her gaze was calm.

“Actually, not many beings are like you,” she replied, tilting her head slightly. “I’ve assumed this form for your comfort.”

Arbor rubbed the back of their neck, looking away. “Well, I’ve been seeing faces like mine everywhere lately, and it’s... unsettling.”

Atheria placed a finger to her lips, thinking for a moment. “Oh. Hmm.”

She floated upward, landing gracefully on one of the tree’s thicker branches. Reclining there, she gazed at Arbor from above. Her form shifted, taking on a more human-like figure with dark skin. With another set of arms more animal-like with claws and fur. Her hair was in locs and from her head to horns curled almost like a crown.

“Arbor, I have a certain fondness for you,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “You remind me of someone I knew long before you—or even this place—existed. Tell me, how much of your past do you remember?”

Arbor’s ears twitched. “Nothing beyond two years ago.” Their voice had an edge to it now. “And how do you even know about that?”

Atheria leaned forward, eyes locked on Arbor. Her gaze wasn’t harsh.

“Because I was the one who did it,” she said plainly.

Arbor blinked, their body going still. Slowly, their hands curled into fists at their sides. “Why would you do that?!”

Atheria raised a hand. “Calm down, child.” Her voice remained level. “Freya found you far to the north, broken in ways most cannot imagine.”

The glow of the room dimmed, and for a moment, images flickered in Arbor’s mind. They saw a big silhouette of a fox locked inside an iron cage. It trembled, surrounded by the shadows of tall, faceless figures. Chains rattled. An auction. Gold coins exchanged hands. The fox flinched at every sound.

“She found you at a human auction for rare creatures, on an unrelated mission.” Atheria continued. “A spirit fox from a race long extinct. Freya brought you back here... with some force, I’m sure.”

The image vanished, and the glow of the chamber returned.

“She asked me to heal you, but your soul refused,” Atheria added, her gaze soft but steady. “You were dying. I had no other options. So I tried something... experimental.”

A flash of images hit Arbor like lightning.

“I sealed your original soul to let it heal,” Atheria said, her eyes meeting Arbor’s firmly. “Then I placed an Athernian soul inside you to keep the body alive. Looking back, it was a reckless choice.”

Silence.

Arbor’s breathing grew heavy. Their eyes widened, disbelief and anger flickering across their face. Their fingers dug into the fabric of their sleeves.

“You... what?!” Their voice cracked, and their ears shot up in alarm. “You put someone else’s soul in me?!”

Atheria’s gaze remained calm.

“For anyone else, it would have destroyed the body completely.” Her eyes softened, but her words were firm. “You survived.”

Arbor stood there, heart pounding, trying to push past the storm of thoughts in their head. Their fists clenched and unclenched, breaths shallow but steady. There was too much to process.

“So what happened before Freya found me?” Arbor asked, their voice strained but steady. They needed more answers.

Atheria’s eyes lowered slightly, her shoulders dropping with a quiet sigh. She shook her head slowly.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, her voice quieter this time. “Your memories were so tangled, I couldn’t extract anything from them.”

Arbor’s ears twitched, their eyes narrowing as they stepped forward. Their voice cracked with desperation and frustration.

“Can’t you just... I don’t know, lift the seal?” Their tail swayed sharply behind them growing in agitation.

Atheria's gaze shifted. Her voice remained calm, but there was a new seriousness in her tone.

“I can’t.” She spoke plainly. “That second soul? That’s you, Arbor. If I remove it, the original soul will consume you. Your sense of self would be gone. Who knows what would happen then.”

Gone.

The word sat in Arbor’s mind. They’d be erased? Their fingers twitched at their sides, nails pressing faintly against their palm.

“You’re saying... there’s some giant soul locked behind a door in me that’ll eat me if I want my memories back?” Their eyes were wide, pupils narrow with disbelief.

Atheria chuckled softly, her lips curling into a faint smile as if trying to ease the tension.

“Not exactly ‘your memories,’ but something like that,” she replied, her grin growing just a bit too wide. Her eyes flickered with a hint of wildness, and she raised a hand to gesture toward Arbor. Her tone picked up with an almost manic excitement.

“But Arbor, your existence is something amazing, a magical enigma, a push toward a greater understanding of the soul!” She leaned forward on her branch, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm. “The limits you can break are beyond anything we’ve seen! You’re not two souls—” Her grin grew wider. “—your something with far more magic. I see so much potential in you!”

Her voice rose and magic aura flared, like someone just on the edge of discovering a great secret. Her hands gestured wildly, like she was explaining the most exciting idea in the world.

Light began to glow of Atherias form, her aura was getting heavier.

“You’re a walking miracle, Arbor! A symbol of boundless possibility—”

“Stop.”

Arbor’s voice cut through her rambling. Their eyes were sharp now, cold and clear. They raised one hand signaling her to stop talking. Their tail swished once. Atherias uncontained magic faded.

“You can’t just drop all this on me and expect me to be okay with it!” Their voice cracked with raw emotion. Their eyes glared up at Atheria with pure frustration.

Silence.

Their ears twitched, and their gaze dropped. Their teeth bit on their lip. They muttered quietly, their voice barely a whisper.

“So that’s what these dreams are about...” Their ears folded back flat against their head. “All these feelings... all this confusion. It’s been this the whole time.”

They sucked in air through clenched teeth before stomping their foot hard against the marble floor.

“I just wanted some peace!” they shouted, voice raw with anger and exhaustion. “I didn’t ask for this!”

“I want this to end! I need closure! How do I get my memories back and stay me?!”

Their eyes locked on Atheria, waiting for anything. An answer. A solution. Anything.

Atheria remained calm, her eyes heavy. She gazed down from her perch on the tree branch.

“There is one way,” she said at last. “It’s more likely to keep you from being consumed, but you’re probably going to hate it.”

Arbor folded their arms, ears still pressed flat against their head. Their eyes squinted with suspicion, their tone sharp with sarcasm.

“Oh really? My whole existence is some sick magic experiment, but this part is the one I’m gonna hate?”

Atheria leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. The playfulness was gone.

“You’ll have to leave Atheria,” she said slowly, each word deliberate. “My Eden. This includes the elf kingdoms.”

Arbor flinched as if they’d been slapped.

“What?” Their arms dropped to their sides. Their tail twitched low behind them, stiff and still. “Leave the little I have? I—why?!” Their voice cracked again. "That’s all I have!"

Atheria continued. “The further you go from my domain, the weaker my influence becomes,” she explained. “This weakens the seal instead of breaking it outright, causing a slower merge.”

Her eyes remained locked on Arbor.

“It gives you a better chance to stabilize your soul. A slower merge means you’ll have time to adapt.”

Arbor’s face paled. Their eyes darted to the glowing pools of sap beneath them, their reflection looking back at them.

“A slower merge?” Their fingers fidgeted at their sides, looking for a rock they didn't have. “You mean there’s still a chance I won’t survive this?”

Atheria gave a small shrug, her expression gentle but brutally honest.

“Yes.”

She glanced away briefly.

“But it’s far safer than breaking the seal outright.” Her eyes locked on Arbor once more. “And, honestly, it’s your best shot.”

Silence hung in the air. Only the faint drip, drip, drip of sap echoed through the room.

Arbor stared at the ground, their arms folded tight across their chest. Their ears twitched slightly, their breath slow and heavy. Their mind was spinning, racing through every possible path forward.

No path felt safe.

No path felt right.

“So... leave everything, huh?” they muttered, trying to sound sarcastic. Their voice was hollow. “Leave the only people I have. The only home I know.”

Atheria didn’t answer right away. She leaned back against the tree, closing her eyes like she was remembering something.

“Growth requires risk, child,” she said at last. “Roots only grow deeper when they seek out new soil.”

“What am I even supposed to do out there?” they asked. “I’ve never even been to the surrounding elven kingdoms. I can probably count on one hand how many places I’ve been my whole life.”

Atheria’s gaze shifted. Her eyes grew distant. Her expression held a quiet sadness.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure,” she admitted, folding her hands in front of her. “I haven’t left Eden in a very long time. According to the Legion, it’s not great out there—lands ruled by sin, monsters, demons, wastelands torn by war...” Her voice trailed off as if she’d seen it all herself.

Her gaze shifted back to Arbor, her eyes softening.

“But there are still places of order,” she continued. “Peaceful villages and towns. You’ll find your way, I’m sure.”

Her words hung in the air like leaves caught in the wind.

Arbor stayed quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, their fingers curled into fists.

Determination.

“I’m tired of these dreams,” Arbor said. “I’m tired of not knowing who I am. And I’m really tired of hearing about my potential. I don’t even have much.” They stopped, eyes darting to the side in thought, before breathing in deeply. Their gaze rose, firm and focused.

“I’m going.”

Atheria sighed softly, tilting her head as she gazed down at Arbor. Her eyes glowed faintly with something difficult to read — part sadness, part pride. She frowned, but there was a sense of approval in it.

“Hmm. If that is what you wish, then I can’t deny it,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Before you go, you still have to prove you’re able to survive out there. This means you’ll still need to finish training for the Legion.”

Arbor rolled their eyes, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Yeah, I figured.” Their voice was flat. “But it’s always so boring and repetitive. Same drills, same lectures, over and over.”

Atheria’s lips curled into a grin that bordered on mischievous.

“Don’t worry about that, Arbor,” she said. “These tests will be much more... hands-on.”

Her grin widened.

“Speaking of training, I heard you might need a new staff.” Her hand rose slowly, fingers curling upward. In a soft glow of blue and gold light, she opened a weapon gate. A staff began to materialize in front of her. Its surface gleamed with smooth, polished black metal streaked with faint golden veins. The grip was shaped perfectly to fit a hand, and faint runes were etched down its length, glowing faintly as the staff hovered in the air.

Next to it, a small glowing gem appeared, floating just above her palm. Atheria held them both out toward Arbor as she floated down to her.

“This staff was forged with the intent to be given to you,” she explained. “It was supposed to come later, but I doubt Freya will let you ‘borrow’ any more of hers.” Her smile remained. “This staff can withstand your soul’s magic fluctuations. A staff isn’t just a tool for a mage — it’s an extension of the body. It needs to resonate with your soul.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Normally, if it didn’t resonate, the staff simply wouldn’t work. But in your case... your first soul is much more... violent.”

She tapped the gem lightly, sending it spinning slowly in the air.

“And this gem—just hold onto it. You’ll need it later.”

Arbor stepped forward, eyes wide as they reached out. Their fingers hovered just above the staff, hesitant at first, before finally wrapping around the smooth black metal. They pulled it closer, eyes scanning every detail. The glow from the runes reflected in their eyes.

“Wow, thanks,” they muttered, eyes still glued to the staff. They turned it over, testing the grip. It felt... right. Like it was made just for them.

“By the way,” Atheria added, her eyes sharp but still kind. “There’s a lot going on out there. Be careful. If you see people filled with gems, avoid them. Freya has already been informed of your choice. You’re free to leave.”

Arbor stood still for a moment, gripping the staff tightly with both hands. Their gaze stayed on it, but their thoughts were elsewhere. They took in a breath and exhaled slowly, grounding themselves.

“For a goddess, you seem very... down to earth,” Arbor said, glancing up at her with a crooked grin.

Atheria chuckled, her eyes half-open with calm amusement.

“When you’ve lived among your creations, it rubs off,” she said, her voice carrying a light warmth. “Good luck, Arbor.”

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in silence. No more lectures. No more speeches. Just quiet understanding.

Arbor turned, staff gripped firmly in their hand, and began walking toward the large metal doors. Their steps were brisk but steady. Their ears twitched, and their tail flicked behind them as there cloak shifted with the movement.

As they passed through the doorway, they muttered under their breath.

“Well... there goes my peace.”

The chamber was quiet now. Atheria stood alone, her gaze fixed on the door Arbor had just walked through. The soft hum of the glowing sap pools and the drip-drip of golden blue sap filling the silence. Her eyes stayed still, her expression unreadable.

From the far edge of the room, a faint shift of movement. A figure stepped out of the shadows.

It was the bunny maid. Her long ears drooped slightly, her arms folded neatly in front of her holding a broom, as she walked closer. Her eyes squinted at Atheria with mild annoyance.

“Did you have to do that whole ramble about their souls?” her tone was sharp but not unkind. Her eyes narrowed, ears flicking. “I’d feel like a lab rat too if I heard all that.”

Atheria turned her head slightly, glancing at the maid with a faint look of amusement. Her gaze softened, and her lips curled into a small smile.

“I got lost in the moment for a second, Bella,” she admitted with a light shrug. “It seemed to convince them to go, though.”

Bella tilted her head, letting out a long, slow sigh. Her arms stayed folded, one of her feet tapping lightly against the floor. Her skeptical gaze stayed fixed on Atheria.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Her sigh lingered.

Atheria chuckled, her grin sly and playful. Her body lifted into the air as if weightless, floating backward until she reclined lazily on the branches of the tree again. Her head rested in one hand, her dress shifting merging with the sap below, and the soft glow of sap lit her form with a golden halo.

Her gaze tilted toward the ceiling as if she could see something far beyond it.

“The best people for a job, Bella,” she said with a hint of mischief, eyes narrowing. “Are the ones who think they’re doing it for themselves.”

Bella glanced away, ears twitching. She knew better than to argue with Atheria.

Atheria’s gaze drifted toward a small, smooth moonstone floating above her. It glowed faintly, its soft blue light flickering like a heartbeat.

Her fingers reached for it slowly. It was just out of reach.

Her eyes narrowed, her fingers stretching as far as they could. But she didn’t move any closer.

“All the cards are in motion,” she said softly, her eyes locked on the moonstone as it pulsed in sync with the glow of the tree. “I hope you will see this.”

Her fingers hovered just a little closer—just an inch away, but never quite reaching it.

The soft drip... drip... drip from the sap echoed louder.