She walked, and from time to time it seemed as if she’d disappear into the trees. But each time Hageawn caught up, as if she were waiting for him. His confidence surged and an inexplicable smile settled around his lips. After a while, she stopped in front of a tree, gazing up into its branches. Hageawn stopped beside her, looking at the tree and then at her, he studied the curve of her jaw, the light in the corner of her eye, her furrowed brow.

  Before he could stop himself, Hageawn blurted out,

  “Do you have a name?”

  She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Of course I have a name,” she said, her tone flat. “Don’t you?”

  She moved with a natural ease, her long legs gliding around trees and slipping behind bushes. At times, she seemed to blend into the shadows of the forest, as if she belonged to the glade itself, always just a step ahead. Hageawn quickened his pace, a strange thrill running through him as the odd feeling of chasing her made him pause. It was almost as if she wanted him to follow.

  His eyes lit up, and he couldn’t help the grin that twitched at the corner of his lips. His steps became lighter, his confidence growing as he kept up with her.

  After a while, she stopped in front of a massive tree, its trunk glowing softly with mana. She stared up at it, her expression unreadable. Hageawn lingered beside her, eyes moving from the tree to her face, studying the way her brow furrowed in thought.

  Without thinking, he asked again, his voice more playful this time.

  “So, what’s your name?”

  She turned her head, regarding him with a look that was equal parts curious and annoyed.

  “Don’t you already know?” she asked, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

  She sighed, rolling her eyes as if weighing the effort it would take to humor him. After a moment, she turned her gaze back to the tree. “Shirai,” she said quietly.

  Hageawn blinked, letting the name settle in his mind. “Shirai,” he repeated softly, testing the sound of it. His grin softened into something closer to a genuine smile. “It suits you.”

  Shirai glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips pressing into a thin line as if to suppress a reaction. “Don’t get used to it,” she said briskly, turning back toward the tree.

  Hageawn chuckled, undeterred, and nodded. “Hageawn.”

  Shirai glanced at him again, this time more directly, her green eyes flicking over his face as though weighing the name against the person. “Hageawn,” she repeated slowly, her tone neutral, almost detached, as if testing its weight.

  He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “What? Doesn’t suit me?”

  Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she shrugged and turned back to the tree. “I didn’t say that,” she replied, her tone dismissive, though a faint glimmer of amusement betrayed her.

  Hageawn chuckled softly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the tree’s trunk. “You didn’t say it didn’t, either.”

  Shirai shook her head, clearly unimpressed, though she made no move to leave. “Do you always talk this much?”

  “Only when someone’s listening,” he shot back, his grin widening. Hageawn’s grin widened, leaning into the challenge. “So, what’s so special about this tree?”

  Shirai paused, her gaze narrowing as if sizing him up. “It’s not just a tree,” she said, voice taking on a more serious tone. She turned slightly, as if debating how much to reveal. “This isn’t the place to be messing around.”

  Hageawn didn’t back down. His eyes shifted to the glowing trunk in front of them, studying the way the light danced across the bark, its edges seemingly alive with mana. “I’ve messed around in worse places,” he said with a shrug, keeping his voice light but still intent on learning more.

  She gave him an unreadable look but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer to the tree, her movements deliberate and measured, as if listening to a rhythm only she could hear. The tree’s glow seemed to pulse with her presence, as if responding to her.

  “Everything here is a little different,” she said softly, as though more to herself than to Hageawn. “This glade… it guides you. You learn to let it, or you get lost.”

  Hageawn was drawn to the tree as well, intrigued by its unspoken pull. It felt alive in a way he hadn’t experienced before, gently quaking beneath his skin. He stepped forward, his gaze lingering on the intricate patterns of the bark, drawn to it almost against his will. He reached out, fingers hovering just above the surface of the trunk, sensing something deep within.

  “Where does it take you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, a touch of awe creeping in. “Is it real?”

  Shirai nodded, her gaze distant as she watched him. “Very real, they hold memories, of lives…lived and gone; waiting….” She trailed off.

  Hageawn looked at her, waiting for her to say more, but she turned away, obviously unwilling. He let it go, pressing his fingers finally against the bark.

  And then, without warning, he felt it—a rush of energy, like a surge of current through his veins. He pulled his hand back, a jolt of surprise running through him. It wasn’t painful, but it was… powerful.

  “Idiot,” Shirai whispered under her breath.

  And for a moment, the silence stretched between them like tightened rope, broken only by the soft hum of the glade and the rustling of the tree’s blue-tinged leaves. Finally, Shirai sighed, glancing at him with a resigned look.

  “Alright, Hageawn,” she said, her tone carefully measured. “If you’re so determined to stay, try to keep up. I’m not waiting for you next time.”

  Hageawn pushed off the tree, his grin returning. Playful and confident as he fell into step beside her. “We’ll see about that.”

  Shirai didn’t run, though her pace was quick and deliberate. She seemed to move through the glade with a natural ease, as if the floor of the forest rushed to carry her. Every now and then, she seemed to slip out of sight, vanishing between wooded valleys and spacious glades.

  But Hageawn was determined not to lose her. His feet moved instinctively, and as his focus sharpened, something strange began to happen.

  One step stretched further than it should have, the ground beneath him blurring for a brief moment. When he landed, he was suddenly much closer to her than he’d been before. He stumbled, catching himself on a tree.

  Shirai paused, glancing back at him with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to keep up,” Hageawn replied, masking his surprise with a shrug.

  She gave him a skeptical look but turned back to the path. Hageawn adjusted his stride, experimenting. Another step, and the world around him flickered. He blinked, realizing he was suddenly ahead of her.

  Her sharp intake of breath confirmed it. “How did you…?”

  Hageawn blinked, feigning nonchalance. “Guess I’m quicker than I look.”

  Shirai’s gaze hardened. “That’s not normal.”

  “Neither is this place,” he countered, gesturing at the glowing trees and the softly swaying grass.

  She frowned but said nothing, resuming her walk. Hageawn grinned at her, but his heart was hammering in his chest. Each step felt like he was falling, and his throat became dry.

  His control over the strange ability was slipping, and the bewilderment etched into Shirai’s expression was trivial compared to the waves of dizziness that had begun to assail his mind. But he was adamant about not emptying the contents of his stomach in front of her.

  However when Shirai had once again vanished from his sight, he grit his teeth and stepped forward.

  His body trembled, not from exhaustion, but from an unfamiliar force that pulled at his very sense of balance. The world flickered like the pages of a book being hastily turned, disorienting him with each disjointed step—sending him hurtling…into a tree.

  Hageawn let out a gasp of pain, and clenched his jaw to keep from crying out.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself,” Shirai said sharply. “I don’t know what you’re doing but you should stop, it feels…dangerous.

  Hageawn smiled faintly, rubbing his shoulder. “Probably,” he admitted, biting back a whimper. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it,” he finished hurriedly.

  Her expression softened slightly, though she quickly masked it. “Just don’t fall on me,” she muttered, turning away from him.

  Was that… worry? Hageawn craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of her expression, but Shirai kept her face turned away, firmly hidden from him.

  He grinned despite himself, brushing away the fallen leaves clinging to his cloak, and chased after her, the sound of her steps barely audible over the soft hum of the Glade.

  As the days in the Glade stretched into months, Hageawn collapsed onto his discarded cloak in the shade of a towering tree. The torso of his robes hung loose around his waist, secured by a fraying belt. His braids, now longer and wilder, framed his face in untamed strands. He didn’t care. Leaning back, he shoved a handful of berries into his mouth, their sweetness bursting on his tongue.

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  A moment later, Shirai crawled around the tree’s wide trunk and flopped down beside him, her head resting on a gnarled root. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable, before shifting her gaze to the canopy above.

  “Hageawn,” she said suddenly.

  Her voice carried a rhythm that made his smile widen. It almost sounded like music, each word played delicately on her lips.

  “Yes, Unicorn?” he teased.

  Shirai rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to correct him. “You’ve been here a long time, you know?”

  His brow furrowed. “It’s been a few months,” he replied, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him.

  She shook her head. “Hageawn,” she said softly, her tone measured, careful. “It’s been a few years.”

  His stomach tightened. He sat upright so quickly the berries spilled from his hand, rolling onto the forest floor.

  “Years?” He scratched his head, his fingers brushing the base of his braids.

  “Time is different here.” Shirai’s gaze remained fixed on the canopy. “Have you even looked at yourself? You’re already sixteen.”

  The words struck him harder than he expected. His gaze fell to his bare chest, to the broadness of his shoulders, the leanness of his frame. He had grown. But six years? He shook his head, disbelief etched into his features.

  “Impossible,” he murmured.

  “Hageawn.” Her voice softened. “I think it’s time you left the Glade.”

  He stared at her, his mind reeling. The words didn’t seem real, but the quiet finality in her tone anchored them in reality.

  “You want me to leave?” he said, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

  Shirai shifted slightly, her weight resting on her elbows as she turned toward him. not a Druid. You’re not… immortal. If you continue to stay here, you might die.”

  Her words lingered, heavier than the silence that followed. Slowly, he reached out, his hand trembling as it neared her cheek. Shirai shifted slightly, her head angling toward the tree, as if distracted by something in the bark. His hand faltered, brushing empty air before falling to his lap.

  His jaw tightened. “Unicorn, I—”

  “Don’t.”

  The whisper was soft, barely audible, but it cut through him like a blade.

  Shirai…” His voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I don’t make you happy?”

  “You’ve already lost so much time.”

  “No.” His voice came out sharp, startling them both. He straightened, his breath unsteady as anger and pain warred within him. “No, Shirai. You don’t get to say that—not without an explanation, not without telling me the real reason.”

  She flinched, and for a moment, he regretted his tone. But the fire wouldn’t relent.

  She didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she looked toward the horizon, as if the trees might offer her escape. “You know the reason,” she said quietly.

  A knot of frustration rose in his throat. “What, Shirai? What is the reason? Why can’t I stay here, with you?”

  She flinched, the faintest twitch of her shoulders, but her voice remained steady. “Because I don’t have the love you deserve, Hageawn. I never did.”

  His heart lurched, a sharp pain radiating through his chest. For a moment, he said nothing, his breath coming in shallow gasps. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked, carrying a note of desperation.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  Shirai’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I do.”

  “You don’t,” he insisted, his voice rising. “You don’t mean that, Shirai. How could you? After everything—everything—I know you feel something, I’ve seen you smiling, how could you say that?”

  She closed her eyes briefly, as if bracing herself. “Hageawn, I never asked you to—”

  “That doesn’t matter!” he snapped, his voice breaking with the force of his emotions. He leaned closer, his hand trembling as he reached for hers. “You didn’t have to ask. I stayed because I love you. Because I couldn’t imagine leaving you behind. And you’re telling me it was all for nothing?”

  Her fingers caressed his cheek, the motion slow but deliberate. “It wasn’t for nothing,” she said softly. “But it doesn’t change the truth.”

  The silence between them stretched unbearably. Hageawn’s chest heaved, his breaths shallow and uneven. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to keep his composure.

  “Then let me stay,” he said finally, his voice trembling. “Let me love you. Even if you can’t love me back, I can live with that. But don’t push me away.”

  Her expression crumpled, a flicker of pain crossing her features. “Hageawn, you can’t live like that. You’ll destroy yourself.”

  “Then let me!” he croaked, the words tearing from his throat. “If loving you destroys me, so be it. At least it’s my choice.”

  She looked at him then, truly looked at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw her resolve waver. Slowly, hesitantly, she leaned forward, her lips brushing his. The kiss was warm, hesitant, and fleeting, but it was enough to ignite the hope that burned so brightly within him.

  Hageawn responded fiercely, trying to pour everything he felt into that kiss, into her. Hisache, his longing—his truth.

  But when she pulled away, the distance between them returned, wider and colder than ever.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t give you what you want.”

  His heart shattered, splintering under the weight of her words. Tears welled in his eyes, and though he tried to hold them back, they spilled over, unchecked and unbidden.

  I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t give you what you want.”

  His heart shattered, splintering under the weight of her words. Tears welled in his eyes, and though he tried to hold them back, they spilled over, unchecked and unbidden. He didn’t care anymore—about his pride, about the strength he so desperately clung to in her presence. It was gone, stripped away by the truth she had given him.

  “You can’t, or you won’t?” he asked, his voice trembling, barely more than a whisper.

  Shirai’s breath caught, her lips parting as if she wanted to respond, but the words didn’t come.

  “That’s what I thought,” Hageawn said, his voice raw. “You don’t even know, do you? You don’t know if you can’t love me or if you just won’t let yourself try.” He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him, though it held no joy. “I stayed here because I believed in you. I believed in us, Shirai. And you’re telling me I was wrong?”

  “I stayed here because I believed in you. I believed in us, Shirai. And you’re telling me I was wrong?”

  “No.” Her voice cracked, her composure breaking for the first time. Then, more forcefully, “Yes! You’re wrong, I did try!”

  The words tumbled out of her, unrestrained and trembling. “I tried to show you the love you deserve, Hageawn—to give you back even a little of what you’ve given me. You’ve always been everything I could have wanted—but I can’t give you what you deserve. I don’t have it in me, Hageawn. Not for you, not for anyone.”

  She pressed her hands to her face, her shoulders trembling as the truth spilled out, jagged and unrelenting. “I wish I could. I’ve wished it every day since you’ve been here, but wishes don’t make it real.”

  Her words should have felt final, but instead, they sparked something desperate within him. “Then let me decide what I deserve,” he said, his voice fierce. “Let me decide if it’s enough. I’ll stay, Shirai. I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, even if it kills me.”

  She reached out again, her hand trembling as it touched his face, her fingers brushing away a tear that lingered on his cheek. For a moment, her eyes softened, and he saw something there—something deep, unspoken, that gave him hope.

  But then she pulled her hand away, and the wall between them slammed back into place.

  “I won’t let you do that to yourself,” she said quietly, her voice laced with sadness. “I won’t let you destroy yourself because of me.”

  “Then why did you kiss me?” he demanded, his voice breaking. “Why, Shirai? If there’s nothing, why did you—”

  “Because I wanted to,” she interrupted, her voice firm but trembling. “Because for just a moment, I wanted to pretend. But it’s not enough, Hageawn. It never will be.”

  His breath hitched as the words sank in, cutting deeper than any blade. He stumbled back a step, as if the distance might somehow dull the pain, but it didn’t. The ache inside him was relentless, clawing at his chest, threatening to consume him whole.

  “I gave you everything,” he said, his voice barely audible. “And you’re telling me it’s not enough.”

  Shirai’s gaze fell to the ground. “It was more than enough. But it’s not about what you gave me. It’s about what I can’t give you.”

  He couldn’t hold it in any longer. The sobs tore through him, unrelenting and raw. His hands trembled at his sides, clenched into useless fists as the tears came harder, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.

  “I hate this,” he choked out, his voice barely recognizable through the anguish. “I hate that I love you this much.”

  “I know,” she said softly, and though her voice was steady, he could see the tears glistening in her own eyes.

  The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Shirai shifted as though she might step toward him, her hand half-raised, but then she stopped, her resolve hardening once more.

  “You have to go, Hageawn,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering. “This place… it’s not for you. I’m not for you.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with the force of his sobs. Then, slowly, he nodded.

  “Fine,” he said, the word brittle and hollow. “I’ll go.”

  His legs felt weak as he turned away, his steps unsteady and uneven as he stumbled into the trees. The world around him blurred—the glowing grasses, the whispering leaves, Shirai’s tear-streaked face—all of it dissolved into a haze of pain and heartbreak.

  As he stumbled away, the whispering leaves carried her voice faintly: “I hate this too.”

  But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Because if he turned back, even for a second, he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave her.

  His only thought was to run, to put as much distance as he could between himself and the unbearable ache tightening in his chest. His breath came in ragged bursts, his vision swimming, his tears burning hot against his cheeks.

  He didn’t know where he was going; he didn’t care. All he wanted was a hole to bury himself in, somewhere deep and dark where the world couldn’t reach him, where his heart wouldn’t feel like it was splitting apart.

  Deep in the maze of trees, the silence was deafening. The strange sensation locked inside his chest clawed its way free, and a terrifying howl of agony tore from his throat. His voice echoed through the Glade, swallowed by the towering forest. His tears fell like molten slag, dripping onto the forest floor, and did nothing to soothe the unbearable pain.

  His vision blurred, a haze of sorrow veiling the world around him. All he could see was the faint silver glow of the tree before him, radiant and calming, its light pressing gently against the storm raging within him.

  With great effort, he clawed back a tenuous grip over his emotions, his breathing shallow and uneven. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, as if trying to steady the fractured pieces of himself.

  “I did not…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice catching like a jagged blade. “Believe…” The words faltered, but he forced them forward. The branches of the tree bent toward him, its leaves whispering softly, as if listening.

  “I did not believe in rainbows, beloved unicorn…

  Until the day I saw one shining, reflected in your crystal horn.

  Dewdrops traced a shallow river from your lashes to your lips;

  You blinked, they disappeared—who knew my heart would pound like this?

  Is it fear? I’m so afraid; my heart hammers in my chest.

  It seems to be escaping—having found its home at last.

  I place it in your hands; be gentle, I must beg,

  For I never knew it was so fragile until the day we met.”

  The final words hung in the air, fragile as spun glass. His voice quivered, cracking under the weight of his sorrow. He stared at the tree, its branches reaching as if in silent acknowledgment, but no comfort came. His heart still ached, raw and open, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking aloud the words he’d kept locked away for so long.

  “I love you, Unicorn.”

  The confession hung in the air, heavy with a tremendous weight that refused to fall. Glowing motes of light flickered in the stillness around him, their brilliance dancing in time with the tremor of his voice. He didn’t notice at first, but his body began to emit a faint silvery glow, the light growing brighter with each heartbeat.

  As his voice cracked on the final line, the rawness of his emotions bled into the air around him, a force uncontained. A faint glow began to radiate from his chest, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.

  Then, with a sudden flash, the world spun. The forest blurred in his vision, twisting and distorting as though caught in a whirlwind.

  In the chaos, something flickered—a glimmer of silver light. His eyes widened as the glow of the tree shifted, taking shape. A woman stood in its place, radiant and sorrowful, her expression etched with pain that mirrored his own. Her lips moved, but no words came, her voice swallowed by the twisting light.

  The woman’s form shimmered like mist caught in moonlight, her sorrowful eyes meeting his for the briefest moment. It was as though she wanted to say something—but then, she was gone.

  Moments later, the world settled. Hageawn stood on the edge of a forest, the air crisp and unfamiliar. He turned quickly, his gaze searching for the Glade, but all he saw was an ordinary stretch of trees and green grass. The shimmering blue grasses, the glowing trees, the whispers of the Glade—everything had vanished.

  The crisp air bit against his skin as he stumbled forward, his gaze darting through the ordinary stretch of trees. He called out her name, his voice breaking against the stillness, but no answer came. Only silence remained, suffocating in its finality.

  The Glade was gone, and so was she.