Craft tugged on Enthusia’s hand. She widened her eyes, an act to ask him what he wanted to say.

“It’s not just that I’m afraid of going,” he said. Once the first words were out, the rest couldn’t be stopped.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be my first time going into unmapped territory.” He shook his head. “No, that’s not the problem.” His gaze wandered, looking for distractions, but only for a moment before he returned his focus on Enthusia. “Even after everything yesterday, I’m still just another flimsy guy. Naturally cynical, suspicious, ready to kill or die — I’m sure you know. Even right now, like this, it’s taking a lot out of me to talk to you.” He looked at her hand. He was, at once, afraid to let go and afraid if there wasn’t a mistake to his luck. “I’ve been lucky to meet you. You’ve been blindingly kind, but too blinding, I think.

“I want to give back what you’ve given me, but it’s impossible for me right now.”

He went silent. He’d let go of the words. In the best case scenario, she’d hit him with some divine lightning.

“I already knew,” Enthusia replied. Those were terrible words for a spy to hear; for all their carefully-laid plans to have been seen through, it crushed their pride, lulled them into a trap, and had them rifling their pockets for cyanide.

But, Craft’s pride had been crushed a long time ago, and he was already very dead. Instead, he could only mentally complain: “Then what did I sum up all my courage for, huh?” Having been hit with a different kind of lightning, he could only stand there, looking at her in absent shock.

Enthusia chuckled. “I did look through your memories, you know.”

Oh. Yeah. That happened. He was forgetting quite a lot of things today.

“Your life was terrible,” Enthusia continued, “There was no one to listen to you, and no one to rely on. Of the people who’ve shown you real kindness, you couldn’t find a way to keep them. Is that wrong?”

The two held gazes for a moment. Enthusia’s eyes glistened, while Craft’s drooped.

“No,” he said. “It’s right.”

Enthusia sighed through her nose. “You don’t have to go through that anymore. Now, you can keep them. That’s why” —

She paused. Craft’s eyes came alive, curious as to why such an open and forward goddess was suddenly hesitant. … And poking her fingers together?

“What” — he pointed at her gesture — “what’s that?”

She mumbled something. He couldn’t quite hear it.

“Sorry?” he said.

“Can we be […].”

“I can hear a pin drop from the opposite corner of a bar, but man am I having a hard time here.”

She grunted in annoyance and squeezed her hands into fists, looking at him with enough fiery intensity to spook him. “I don’t want you to go through your troubles alone! Let’s be friends!”

Such passion! Such fanatical belief! … And none of it made sense!

He pointed at himself, then at her. “Friends?” The scale was just too off. How about something closer to a ‘I will forever be in your debt’ -level of relationship? Wasn’t that more accessible?

His feelings must have been written all over his face, because she chuckled. “It’s not complicated.” She smiled. “Wasn’t it the case that you took a long time to warm up to Rafflesia?”

The mention of her name surfaced sweet memories for him. During their first twenty bowmaking lessons, he remembered being terrified as shit that she’d find out he was a spy and flay him alive at any moment.

— “Today, we’ll make a bow with bones!” (Yours, that is.)

He’d imagined it would go that way. It never did, thankfully. Looking back now, it was just a funny thing that happened.

“That did happen, yeah,” he said.

Enthusia smiled. “Everyone needs a different kind of proof before they can open up to someone else. Some different version of you could’ve opened up to me a little faster, but that’s him, not you. For you, it’s time, and I’m happy with that.”

He was a soldier, a killer, a spy; it was hard for him to imagine that anyone would want to carry his wrongs with him. Anyone who did so willingly would be deranged.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be. You’re such a good person, I don’t think I’ll ever feel deserving to be around you.”

She smiled — but for a moment, frowned. That didn’t seem right. Craft picked up that tiny twitch of the corners of her lips, and then that moment when her gaze traced the ground before shooting back up.

Stolen novel; please report.

She took his hand in both of hers. “It’s hard to do everything on your own,” she said.

He nodded. “It is.”

“That’s why” —

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” The softness of her voice hadn’t changed, but just by being immediate in her reply and how she squeezed his hand, she was being stern, and he felt it.

“If not with me, then with others,” she continued. “Sing and dance with my people. Hold their hands like I do yours. Even if I can’t be of use to you, just don’t carry everything on your own. I’ll be happy with that outcome.”

Why are you insisting so much? He couldn’t understand her, and it seemed she wasn’t understanding him; she might have read his mind, but she hadn’t connected the dots.

He cast his gaze downwards. “But that’s not really the problem.” He looked back up at her. “I don’t want anyone to suffer the burden of knowing my burdens — not anyone I’ll ever meet, and least of all you. You’re a gift to your world. Really. All you have to do is keep on being bright up here. As long as I can see your light wherever I go, just that much will be enough for me to manage on my own.”

Enthusia’s face was on the verge of breaking into a difficult expression, but she let go of his hands — stiffly as if she didn’t want to — and turned around, walking ahead. The last frames of her face ran through his mind over and over, asking himself whether she was confused, upset, or sad. When she was ten steps away, it dawned on him she was exactly the kind of crazy person who indiscriminately wanted friendship, and the only reason she could be so sad was because she wanted it from him — but he refused to give it.

He followed her, agonizing over the feeling of having stolen candy from a baby.

Entering the gazebo, he ran it over and over in his mind: Was that alright? Was that okay?

“Please stand in the middle,” Enthusia said. He looked at her, but she couldn’t look at him. Instead, her eyes were transfixed on a rotating holograph on the floor.

He walked over it, watching his legs phase through its channels of light. He stood in the middle of it, still thinking about the face she had made. This was the person he was supposedly grateful towards, and somehow, as he stood there on the summoning circle, it felt like he was just running away.

It’s not right. Wasn’t this just like what he’d done to Rafflesia? She’d kept on telling him not to think too deeply about it, but he’d ignored her. Constantly afraid and carried away, he had put all his efforts into creating hope for a future that didn’t even exist, telling himself he’d be happy only once they’d reached the end of the rainbow in that stormy sea.

Now, he was wiser and full of regret. Now, he knew that even if he’d reached that pot of gold, after all that effort, it wouldn’t have even made him happy. He should’ve just paid attention to her — took that inevitable missile to the face like those beavers and their dam.

Enthusia wasn’t Rafflesia, but Raffie often made that same lonely face. For him to do such a thing twice … He couldn’t hurt anyone that way again.

“It’s not like I’m not seeing you again,” he said, and Enthusia looked up and showed him a gasp and the brighter face he wanted to see. It hadn’t been friendship he’d offered, but it was evidence that he wasn’t burning a bridge he didn’t have to; that he wasn’t just running away.

“Is that a promise?” Enthusia said. She had clasped her hands together, holding herself in comfort and hope.

Craft breathed in and strained to smile. He thought he might be showing more of the face of a soldier who was seconds away from going over the top. He didn’t know what would happen from now on, but this promise was still something he knew he had to do, or else there would be no way forward at all.

“I promise,” he finally said. The tension left his face. The moment before the charge was always worse than the charge itself, and now, all he had to do was run straight ahead.

Enthusia swayed left and right, rocking on her heels. She clapped a few times and smiled the brightest he had ever seen until now. “As long as you keep up that courage … you’ve already won.”

— A translucent blue panel, like from one of those VR games, popped up in front of his face: [Rights Obtained: Enthusia’s Nickname - Enty]

His face twisted like a mop. Huh? What’s this? He shot a confused look towards Enthusia, but she was shooting a look towards Amacus.

“Begin,” she said.

Amacus intensified the magic, and the light grew brighter.

“Huh? Wait!” Craft cried out. Before he could complain, Enthusia turned towards him with a pained but hopeful smile. “I will always look out for you. The rest is up to you.”

He held back on saying anything else. There was nothing left to do other than what he’d said he’d do. The fact of the matter was he didn’t want to stay the same. Next time they’d meet, he would bring her the answer she wanted, unashamed and uncut.

She waved to him. He waved back. “See ya.”

He blipped out of this existence and into a new one, leaving Enthusia together with her angel.

…

“Dropping Nickname Rights on him, I see,” Amacus said. “With no warning. With no explanation.”

Enthusia looked away. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not saying you’re not allowed to play pranks, goddess.” Amacus summoned a broom from her shadow. She tied an apron around her waist and a black bandana around her head, and started sweeping the gazebo’s floor. “As long as you don’t make a mess.”

Enthusia sighed. She twirled her hair. With a thought, the tea table blipped back into existence, and a chair appeared to catch her just as she’d begun to sit down.

She watched Amacus sweep the floor. It perplexed her how the power dynamic here wasn’t quite right, but Amacus was a good angel, no matter her origins.

“Was it alright not to tell him about Rafflesia?” Amacus continued.

“I promised her I wouldn’t tell him anything,” Enthusia replied. “Normally, I’d have a hard time keeping this kind of promise, but, well” — she shrugged — “she said she wanted to surprise him. Isn’t it cute?”

Amacus paused, and the sounds of brushing stopped. “That’s a promise from almost three hundred years ago.”

A jug of chamomile tea appeared in Enthusia’s hand and she chugged it down, slamming it back down on the table like a bar regular during happy hour.

“Have you found her yet?”

“I’ve narrowed down the search, but things will be easier if we can decipher the codes she left behind.” Amacus leaned her broom against a post. Without so much as turning around, she asked, “Should I go after him, goddess?”

Enthusia’s shoulders sank. “Please.”

“Very well.” The apron and bandana came off, streaming from Amacus’ figure like a cape and a black flag. Ever the performer, Enthusia thought, but it was this same flashy confidence that put her at ease.

Amacus began to sink into her shadow. She looked back one last time. “Your will be done, Enty dear.”

The angel sank all the way through, leaving Enthusia on her own.

“If only I still had the power I used to, I could see how she’s doing,” she mused and sighed. “I hope they meet again.”