Chapter 12. The Divide, my home.

The path curved gently beneath Ydoc’s boots, soft dirt marked by dancing petals that hadn't yet touched the ground.

He didn’t rush.
How could he?

The world had changed entirely.

The Divide here was alive in color and chaos, singing in strange ways.
Leaves spun like lazy dancers in the air. Velvet grass cushioned every step.
Tiny golden pollen motes glittered in the wind, trailing like stars from unseen branches.

And there—
On the petal of a colossal daisy—
Three fey the size of teacups tumbled over each other laughing, wings shimmering like stained glass. One fell face-first into the pollen and erupted into a fit of glittery sneezing while the others doubled over with squeaky mirth.
They paid Ydoc no mind—he wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t anyone dangerous.

He was just a wanderer.
And somehow… a welcome one.

He stood still for a long time.
Breathing.
Watching.
Letting his aching, bruised chest feel the sun again. Letting his cracked lips taste that sugary scent still floating on the breeze.

Behind him, further up the path, Edwards stood—still, stiff, arms crossed, tail flicking in irritation.

He muttered aloud, “He’s so slow this time…”

His voice was barely above the hum of distant insects and music, but it carried.
“Yet somehow… we’re still early?” His eyes narrowed. “What kind of trick is that?”

Edwards didn’t like this.

Not one bit.

The Divide was different this year. And it was Ydoc’s fault.

Every other time Edwards dragged him down this road, it was the same—sullen, silent, quickened steps through a gray-tinted grove. Ydoc never looked up. He never spoke. He never smiled.

But now…?

Now Ydoc was starry-eyed.
Looking. Feeling. Touching things.
As if he belonged here. As if this place wanted him to look. Wanted him to stay.

And worst of all…

The Divide itself was slowing down to accommodate him.
Stretching time.

Giving him the space he needed.
As if he were the main character now.

Edwards clenched his jaw.

He had always been the one to control the stage.

Not this time.

The music had no direction.
It seeped from everywhere at once—between the blades of grass, from the sighing leaves above, and from the belly of the wind itself.

It started with a deep, mellow strum of guitar.
Old wood. Calloused fingers. A beat that limped in and out of time.
Folk music.

Then—

Laughter.

Bright, effervescent.
The fairies had spotted him again.

One twirled in the air, another clasped her hands and sighed as if her lover had returned from war, while the third flung herself backward into the curls of a blooming mushroom, giggling,
“Oh look at him. Still wears his bruises like jewelry.”

Ydoc couldn’t help it—he laughed. Loud and airy and real.

And as if on cue, the forest sang back to him—

(“I’ve heard, since I was younger… that oil and water don’t mix.”)

His smile twitched.

He looked around, expecting some bard hiding behind a tree. But there was no one. Just petals. Trees. Moss.
And the invisible musicians of the Divide.

Another lyric trickled in, laced through the creak of a tree swaying:

(“They’re polar opposites, with a molecular rift you can’t fix…”)

He turned to Edwards, who had been following a few steps behind.
The older man had his arms folded tight, tail snapping with visible irritation.

“…Edwards? Are you hearing that?” Ydoc asked, half-laughing still. “I think the forest’s trying to say something. It’s like… music with intent.”

Edwards’ jaw tightened.
There was a pause. Then he barked out, bitterly:

“Gods, Ydoc. You’re such a psychotic schizophrenic—this is exactly why you should’ve stayed home.”

Ydoc blinked.

But… he didn’t frown. He didn’t cry. He didn’t shrink.
He turned away from Edwards and looked up into the dancing leaves.

Because the music wasn’t done.
The song swelled, the rhythm building—

(“But I swear, with all your burnt bridges…
You could leech what’s caustic and find—
A rudimentary lye,
Some kinda miraculous bind…”)

Something clicked in him.
Not a thought.
Not a memory.
Just a feeling—like something warm settling in his ribs.

He hugged himself lightly, arms over his chest, and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Even Edwards’ voice, scowling behind him, sounded muffled now. Distant.
Like a bad memory.

Ydoc stepped forward. Not fast. But… lighter.
The wind tousled his hair.

Then—
More words from the forest, blooming like flowers into his soul:

(“Oh no, I think I’m not quite ready
To let you circle the drain
All the things we’ve broken
Can be puzzled together again…”)

His smile grew.
And gods—it hurt.

The muscles in his cheeks trembled from it.
It wasn’t a grin of madness. It wasn’t defiance.

It was hope.
Quiet, unspoken, foolish hope.

“…is this all for me?” he whispered, half to himself.

And the fairies giggled in answer.
--------
[The Song you refused]

The world was a painting, vibrant and glistening.
Colors fluttered like birds.
Music hummed in the roots.
The air itself smelled like strawberry confections and cold cider.
And the fairies—they laughed again! One even blew him a kiss.

Ydoc turned to gesture toward them—“Look! Edwards! Did you see—?”

SNATCH.

A violent grip clamped around his upper arm, just above the elbow—sharp, hot pain flaring as fingers dug into already bruised flesh.

“Ow—!”

Before he could finish, Edwards yanked him forward.

No warning.
No mercy.

“Enough of this fantasy parade,” Edwards growled, not even looking him in the eye. “Stop staring at nothing.”

Ydoc stumbled as he was dragged forward—his boots catching on a stone, knees buckling slightly. The pain in his arm burned like a hot brand, and his voice cracked:

“B-But the fairies—! I saw them! They welcomed me back, they were laughing, and—”

“You saw nothing, Ydoc,” Edwards hissed. “You’re hearing wind and calling it poetry. You’re seeing flies and calling them sprites. There’s no music, no singing, no dancing lights in the FUCKING trees!”

But—

(“I’ve heard, if I were tougher…”)
—came the gentle voice of the forest again.

A voice Edwards did not hear.

Ydoc’s eyes widened. The lyric came from behind them. From within the trees.

It wasn’t a hallucination.
It couldn’t be.
It was real. It had to be. It was—warm. Gentle. Honest. Nothing like Edwards' voice.

Edwards kept pulling, muttering under his breath.

“Every time we do this… every gods-damned time you start slipping. Like it’s a game. You don’t get to change the script just because you want to feel special for a day.”

He wasn’t speaking to Ydoc anymore. He was speaking at the air. To the sky. To some invisible stage director who wasn’t obeying him.

Ydoc twisted his arm, wincing, trying to pull back.

“Please—let go. That hurts—”

“Oh, does it?” Edwards snapped. “So sorry, didn’t realize your imaginary pixie friends were gonna call the guards.”

But the fairies didn’t stop.

They danced just out of reach. Their colors shimmered like droplets of watercolor in sunlight. And one stuck her tongue out at Edwards before blowing a raspberry loud enough to make Ydoc laugh through the sting in his arm.

That laugh was real.

And just like before, the forest heard it.

(“…Maybe I could’ve stayed…”), came the next line, slower this time. A bit mournful. Still for him.

Edwards didn’t react. Not to the music.
Not to the fairies.
Not to the wonder all around them.

He saw only dead leaves.
Mud.
A broken boy who needed to be dragged to the finish line.

But Ydoc—
Ydoc saw a kingdom coming back to life.

And he was smiling again.
Even through the pain.
----------------
[And the love in the words]
“Ed—Edwards, please—slow down!”

The tug on his arm grew sharper, crueler. Each time Ydoc tried to plant his foot or breathe or simply look, Edwards punished the delay with another yank, a gritted curse through his teeth.

The path through the Divide narrowed—tall, gnarled trees swayed above them like cathedral arches, their bark pulsing with color beneath the skin. The farther they walked, the more everything shimmered.

Everything except Edwards.

“Gods, I swear,” Edwards hissed. “Every year I bring you here and somehow you forget how to walk in a straight fucking line—”

“I said slow down—!”

His voice cracked. The ground stumbled beneath him, almost giving way—and that was when he saw them.

Out of the corner of his eye.

Between two red-limbed trees, far too wide and impossibly still—

A tail.

Then another.

A long, curled body, like a velvet whip—no, like a living ribbon, slithering in coils through the high branches.

Two enormous, serpentine beasts.

They danced like lovers through the trees—each at least 10… 13 feet long, with wings built into their forelimbs, dragonlike but elegant. Fangs? Perhaps. But beauty, unmistakably.

One of them turned—her skin like deep, gleaming blue-black ink, and an underbelly of pale rosy pink that shimmered like the lining of a shell.

Her head twisted toward Ydoc. She smiled with a mouth just too wide.

Her voice, raspy—like wet ribbons tearing—yet feminine, amused.

“Ohhh,” she cooed. “They’re so early this time. Hehe… Felinkin, my love—look who it is.”

A Holokon.

He knew it, though he couldn’t say how.

Beside her, tangled in a different branch, was the other—a creature of rich purple, soft as dusk, with small pastel hearts blooming in his feathered mane like lazy fireworks.

He sang without moving his lips, his voice soaked in gentle melancholy.

(“But if seeing is believing
I don’t know I’ve seen a thing grow
Without an open coat—
Not without a softness showing…”)

Ydoc stared, slack-jawed. The pain in his arm dulled for a moment. His breath hitched, eyes wide, searching—

Were they real?

His feet slowed to a stop.

Another brutal tug.

“Do you need another reminder to keep walking?” Edwards barked, dragging him forward.

Ydoc winced, but didn’t cry out this time. His eyes stayed locked on the trees.

He said nothing.

The moment had left him too stunned to speak. Not horror. Not yet. But awe.

Even the pain began to quiet itself. He was too caught in the surreal bloom of emotion.

Edwards, seeing no more resistance, relaxed his grip. Just a little.

“…Drama queen,” he muttered.

But he didn’t stop.

And the trees… they kept watching.