Page 80 of May: Bloom & Bane

“I know!”

The leaves in my elauvhe‡ start turning so fast it throws my hair around. (Halo) It’s one of the only tells I cannot mask.

Eden shifts slightly against the tree, letting out a small snore.

We both go still until she settles.

“We need to visit Tellian,” I say quietly.

Damon straightens, the charm sliding fully back into place like armor.

“The others?”

“Remavau is in the dream realm. Runak has not surfaced in weeks. Vyxen is⁠—”

“Vyxen,” Damon finishes.

“Let us hope Tellian has found something.” I say. “If anyone can find it… it is him.”

“And if he doesn’t find it in time?”

I look at Eden one last time. A simple human, who woke up in a meadow with no name, and somehow she has become the axis around which everything turns.

“Then we figure it out, like we always do.”

He makes a squawking sound in skepticism.

Behind us, a single cedar needle still holds her scent until she’s ready to be found.

This tree is older than almost anything on earth. Its hollow sits at the junction of three roots, wide enough for those who belong.

I step through first, warmth hitting me immediately. Books are stacked from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, in directions that do not even have names.

Tellian doesn’t bother looking up. He sits behind his desk, wearing a cardigan the color of old parchment, his reading glasses perched at the end of his nose.

Behind me, the sound of a struggle rings out.

“Has this portal gotten smaller?” Damon pants.

“No. But you have gotten bigger,” I murmur. “It is all those strawberry cream cheese danishes you have been devouring.”

“That was unnecessary.”

I pause a moment, inspecting his giant form, trying to push past the structural limitations.

“It was accurate.”

Damon finally squeezes through, his gold charms tangled, several feathers drifting free. “Vhosk‡, Tellian. Get a bigger tree.” (Fuck)

Tellian turns a page. “You are late.”

“We didn’t even tell you we were coming.”

He looks up over the rim of his glasses. “And yet, you are late nonetheless.”

“Who pissed in your cereal, Professor?”

On the corner of his desk, half-hidden beneath a star chart, lies a book bound in brown paper.