Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The house stood in a clearing, nestled so naturally into the land that it might have been part of the forest itself. Ivy curled around its stone walls, flowers bloomed in its window boxes, and its roof, covered in moss, looked more like the top of a hill than a dwelling. Smoke drifted lazily from the crooked chimney, carrying the scent of something herbal, something ancient. A careful observer might have noticed that the smoke did not rise in simple plumes, but twisted and curled, as if shaped by an unseen hand. But there were no observers, careful or otherwise. 

Inside the house, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and ink, of dried flowers and flickering candles. Shelves crammed with books leaned against the walls, scrolls lay half-opened across a long wooden table, and in the corner, a cauldron bubbled faintly over a slow-burning fire. Small objects hummed with energy—a quill that occasionally wrote on its own, a set of glowing stones arranged in a precise circle, a feather suspended in the air as if caught in an invisible breeze.

A man sat at the table one hand turning a page in an ancient tome, the other idly tracing patterns in the air, leaving glowing symbols that faded as quickly as they appeared. His brow furrowed as he read, lips moving slightly as he muttered words in a language older than the trees outside.

The house was warm, quiet. Safe.

Or at least, it had been.

Lately, something had been stirring in the woods. The trees whispered in unfamiliar tones, the rivers pulsed with strange energy, and plants grew too quickly, as if time itself were folding in on them. Magic in the Emerald Wood was old and steady, like the deep roots of an ancient Bristlecone Pine—but now the magic was restless.

The man sighed and sat back, pressing his twitching eyelid. He had spent hours searching for an answer, but the books had none. Whatever had upset the balance of magic, it was not recorded in any of his texts.

A flutter of wings broke the silence. A crow, sleek as ink, landed on the open windowsill and cocked its head. It stared at him expectantly, black eyes gleaming.

With a sigh, the man reached into his pocket and tossed a small piece of bread toward the bird. It snapped up the offering before ruffling its feathers and taking flight again, disappearing into the darkened trees.

"You're no help at all," the man muttered.

Then, at last, he stood, stretching his long spine. The candlelight flickered, illuminating the silver-threaded embroidery on his dark robes, the runes etched faintly into his belt, the way his fingers still crackled with fading energy from the spell he had been absentmindedly weaving.

It was time to leave the comfort of his home and search for answers.

It was time for Oliver to venture into the woods.

Not far from Oliver’s home, perched in the highest boughs of an ancient oak, perched a house unlike any other. Twisting vines wove through wooden beams, golden lanterns dangled from branches, and wide platforms stretched between limbs, blending nature and shelter. It was essentially perfect; at least that’s what the two elven brothers who’d built it thought. 

Elio stood at the edge of one of these platforms, watching the treetops sway in the wind. He was lithe and lean, his sharp green eyes scanning the forest below with quiet intensity. The disturbance in the woods had not escaped his notice. Birds had begun migrating in strange patterns, the deer had grown restless, and even the stars above seemed to flicker with unease.

Behind him, his little brother Ollie—smaller, livelier, and entirely unable to keep still—sat on the railing, swinging his legs. "You’re brooding again."

"I’m not brooding," Elio replied, though he didn’t look away from the trees. “I don’t brood.” 

"You do. And it’s a super duper broody sort of brooding," Ollie said with a nod. Though really, he felt it, too. “It’s the forest, isn’t it?” A strangeness, like something was buzzing under the ground, but they couldn't hear it properly.

Elio finally nodded. "Something is changing."

Ollie hopped down from the railing and landed lightly beside his older brother. "Think we should go find out what it is?”

Elio shot him a flat look. “What’s this we stuff?” 

Ollie frowned. "How am I suppose to learn anything if you never let me help!" he whined. 

“Stop acting like a 200-year-old, Ollie,” Elio said with a weary sigh. "You and I both know you just want an excuse to climb things."

Ollie grinned. "That's false!" he stated, but he was already scaling a nearby branch like a squirrel. 

Elio, head shaking fondly, watched his brother scramble higher. Ollie might be reckless, but he was usually right about things. If the forest was calling, then it was calling them.

Deeper in the woods, a tiny creature zipped through the underbrush, his wings fluttering in rapid, excited bursts. Leo, a Dewling with dappled fur and golden, shimmering wings, had spent his entire life among the deer. As far as he was concerned, he was a deer—just… smaller. And faster. And able to hover several feet off the ground when he got too excited.

His hooves barely touched the forest floor as he darted between trees, weaving among his herd. The older deer watched him with practiced patience, occasionally nudging him back toward the group when he strayed too far.

The young dewling skidded to a stop near the water’s edge, his reflection rippling in the moonlit pond. His wings glowed softly, and when he smiled at his own reflection, tiny blue flowers bloomed around the two miniature antlers that were barely visible among his blond hair. He liked the flowers.

A breeze shifted through the glade, carrying something… strange. The trees whispered uneasily, and the deer raised their heads in unison. Leo’s pointed ears twitched.

Something was different tonight.

A shiver ran down his spine, thorny vines curled around his mini-antlers. He yelped, shaking his head, and the vines immediately shrank away, replaced by harmless little daisies. 

His magic had been acting up more and more lately. Flowers sprouting when he was happy, vines twisting when he was scared, little apples dropping from his hair when he was hungry. He thought it was funny, but the other deer seemed to find the situation a bit off-putting. And now the lead doe stepped forward, nudging him gently. Leo looked up into her wise, knowing eyes. 

The doe bent her head, touching her nose to his forehead. Then, slowly, she turned toward the deeper part of the woods.

Leo shuddered slightly. His thumb found his mouth. He had felt the forest's tug but had never gone that far before.

But now… it was time.

As the night stretched on, four figures set out from different corners of the forest—

A wizard, leaving the comfort of his study, seeking answers hidden in the wild.

Two elves, moving like shadows through the trees, following a whisper on the wind.

And a tiny winged creature, stepping beyond the only home he had ever known, toward a destiny he could not yet understand.

The Emerald Wood was waiting for them.

Chapter Text

The air was sharp and green, like fresh rain clinging to new leaves, laced with the damp musk of earth. Every inhale filled Ollie's lungs with the scent of growing things, of life pulsing in the veins of the trees. He grinned, exhilaration bubbling in his chest as he swung from branch to branch, fingers gripping bark slick with dew. The forest whispered around him, the rustling leaves harmonizing with his steady breath. His necklace, a simple leather cord knotted securely around a small stone, bounced against his chest. When he paused to catch his breath, his hand found it instinctively, thumb tracing its smooth surface.

The stone was a wonder. Translucent green, streaked with silver that shimmered when it caught the light, almost as if something inside it stirred. He and Elio had discovered it nestles in the hollow of an ancient tree deep within the forest. Ollie had claimed it as his treasure, and Elio—perhaps feeling sentimental—had helped him craft the necklace. He had always said the stone was lucky, but Ollie liked to think he was the lucky one for finding it.

“Slow down,” Elio hissed from the branch below, voice low and sharp. “You’re making too much noise.”

“Didn’t you say we were on a weird-stuff-finding mission?” Ollie giggled, bouncing on his toes. The branch swayed slightly beneath him. “If something’s out there, I wanna be the first one it meets!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Elio murmured.

The forest had been... odd lately. Leaves whispering without wind, roots curling in patterns that didn’t feel natural. Even the birds seemed restless, flitting from branch to branch like tiny feathered messengers uncertain of their destination. The shadows between the trees stretched too far at dusk, and sometimes, just sometimes, Ollie thought he heard something breathing where nothing should be.

“Just be careful,” Elio added, as if saying it would make a difference.

Ollie grinned. “I’m just gonna climb a teensy bit higher.”

“Ollie—”

Too late. He was already scrambling upward, exhilaration bubbling in his chest. He loved this part—rising above the world, feeling the wind tug at his hair like an impatient puppy. He gripped the next branch, pulled himself up, and—

His foot slipped.

“Ollie!”

With a startled shout, the youngster tumbled. Branches snapped, scraping his arms and legs. He flailed, grasping at empty air, the world spinning in a blur of green and gold until—

CRASH.

Ollie landed hard on something solid. Something warm. Something that let out a pained grunt.

“OW!”

“Oof,” Ollie groaned, dazed. The ground felt oddly firm—more like muscle than dirt. He blinked, then realized his elbow was currently digging into a broad chest covered in dark robes. 

Elio, frozen mid-step, stared at them both. His grip tightened around the hilt of his enchanted shortblade, its surface etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

The man beneath Ollie was handsome in a way that caught Elio off-guard. His chiseled features were softened slightly by the flickering silver thread in his robes, which pulsed like candlelight. His clear blue eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked between Ollie and Elio with a mix of frustration and curiosity.

“What in the world—?” the man growled, shifting Ollie off him. “What are you doing?”

Ollie scrambled back, wincing as he checked his scraped palms. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to fall on you!”

Elio stepped forward, catching one of Ollie’s hands and inspecting the damage. His touch was careful, but his voice was exasperated. “Yeah? Well, maybe watch where you’re standing next time.” His little brother could fall out of any tree he wanted to, thank you very much.  

“You’re lucky I didn’t turn him into a toad,” the man snapped, brushing leaves from his robe. His silver-threaded sleeves shimmered, intricate patterns shifting like living ink. His fingers still crackled with the fading energy of the spell this tumbling intruder had interrupted.

“I was just climbing,” Ollie whined, jutting out his lower lip pitifully.

“Falling,” Elio corrected, seemingly satisfied that his little brother would not succumb to his injuries. His gaze locked onto the stranger. “And who might you be?”

The man studied Elio for a moment longer than necessary before smoothing his robe again. “Oliver,” he said shortly, his calculating eyes taking them both in. “And you shouldn’t be here. Neither of you. The woods aren’t safe.”

Ollie scrunched up his nose, glancing at Elio as if waiting for him to explode. He wasn’t disappointed; Elio’s fists clenched at his sides.

“We know. That’s why we’re here,” the older elf shot back. “Something’s wrong with the forest. We’re trying to figure out what.”

Oliver let out a dry laugh. “You two? Seriously? A tree-scrambler and his brooding babysitter? You’ll be no help. More like a hindrance.” He turned sharply, adjusting his pack as he strode away. "Go home," he called over his shoulder. 

Elio scowled after him, frustrated—and maybe just a little flustered.

“Well. That was mostly rude,” Ollie whispered.

Elio grabbed Ollie’s hand before he could follow. “Forget him,” he said. “We’ll keep searching.”

Oliver cast one last glance over his shoulder, perhaps out of irritation, perhaps out of intrigue. But as he did, the stone in the young elf's necklace flickered with light. Faint and soft, like fireflies in a jar.

“Wait,” Oliver commanded, stopping mid-step. His eyes locked onto the glow. His sharp expression faltered slightly, curiosity breaking through. “That stone... where did you get it?”

Ollie’s fingers curled protectively around his necklace. “I found it,” he said defensively. “It’s mine.”

Oliver stepped closer, voice lowering. “It's not yours. It’s enchanted."  Enchanted things could not be owned. Not really. Any magical creature worth their salt would know that. "And when it’s glowing like that, that means danger isn’t far off.”

The glow brightened, pulsing in warning. Ollie swallowed hard.

"Well," Elio said grimly, crossing his arms. "If that stone's reacting to something out here, then we need to know why."

Oliver exhaled sharply, looking like he wanted to argue, but his eyes flicked back to the glowing stone. "That kind of magic doesn’t react without reason," he admitted. "If it's warning you, something dangerous is close."

"Which means you're stuck with us," Ollie chirped, his nerves barely hidden behind his grin. There was something about this tall, grouchy man that made Ollie feel safe. "You do know how to deal with magical weirdness, right?"

Oliver's lips pressed into a thin line. "Unfortunately, yes." He gave them both a measured look before sighing. "Fine. But stay close to me, and if I tell you to run, run. "

Elio smirked slightly. "No promises."

They moved deeper into the forest together, tension thick as bramble. Elio kept to Oliver’s left, his bow strung and ready. Ollie stayed to his brother’s right, fingers fidgeting with the stone. Its glow pulsed like a heartbeat.

“You said my rock is enchanted,” Ollie said after a long silence. “What kind of magic is it?”

Oliver’s eyes flicked toward the necklace, then briefly to Elio. He seemed to be measuring something—whether the necklace’s glow or Elio’s quiet intensity, Elio couldn’t tell.

“That stone does not contain ordinary magic,” Oliver said slowly. “It’s old magic. Wild magic. It doesn’t just follow spells—it feels. Something about that stone must have connected to you.”

Ollie straightened a little, pride swelling in his chest. “Yeah, well, I did find it.” And that meant it was his, but it felt right not to bring it up again. 

“You found it, all right," Elio muttered. "By accident."

Oliver smirked slightly—just enough to be infuriating. “Doesn’t matter. That stone chose him.”

Elio hated the way Oliver’s smile made him forget he was annoyed.

The path narrowed, the trees pressing closer. The air itself felt thicker, harder to breathe.

“I don’t like this,” Elio muttered.

“Yeah,” Ollie agreed, clutching his necklace tighter. “I don't like it also.”

A branch snapped nearby.

All three froze.

Chapter Text

The forest grew denser as the trio pushed on, the air thick with an unnatural stillness. The usual nighttime chorus of crickets and rustling leaves had faded to a hush, as though the forest itself were holding its breath. The wind barely stirred, and the damp, spongy earth held onto their feet with each step they took, as if it were reluctant to let them pass. Shadows stretched long, and the scent of earth and damp moss was tinged with something floral and strange. 

Oliver, leading the way with a sharp gaze, suddenly stopped in his tracks. "Look at this," he murmured, his voice a whisper. 

Elio stepped up beside him, bow in hand, eyes narrowing as he followed Oliver’s line of sight. Ollie, ever curious, darted ahead before either of them could stop him. 

"Oh my GOSHNESS," Ollie breathed after skidding to a stop mere feet ahead of them. "Um... Eliooooo?" He pointed ahead with a small, hesitant finger. 

"I see," Elio said, stepping up beside his little brother and ruffling his hair. A delicate trail of flowers stretched before them, glowing faintly in the moonlight. Petals the color of twilight shimmered with an almost liquid sheen, their edges curling and uncurling in a smooth, steady rhythm. The blossoms clustered in small bursts, trailing in a winding path deeper into the woods. As Ollie took a step closer, the flowers seemed to respond, pulsing softly, their glow deepening for a brief moment before settling again. 

Elio crouched, brushing his fingertips over a bloom. "I've never seen anything like this."

 Oliver knelt beside him, his brow furrowing. "They're infused with magic. Wild magic." 

Elio looked away from the mysterious blossoms just long enough to offer Oliver a withering look. "Just because you're wearing robes doesn't mean you're the only person here who knows about magic." 

Oliver inhaled a deep breath and let it out with a long, exasperated sigh. 

"And besides," Ollie chirped. "Me and Elio aren't even people. We're elves." He nodded several times, because it was true. “And elves are mostly made of magic!” 

Oliver considered sighing again, but at the rate he was going, he was likely to hyperventilate if he spent much more time with these two. He cleared his throat instead. "I was going to say... This is not the kind of magic that spreads on its own. This was created by someone... or something."  

Ollie plopped down next to a patch of flowers, his fingers ghosting over the petals without touching. 

"They're not just growing. They're leading somewhere." Oliver straightened, adjusting his robes. "So we follow. But stay sharp. Stay vigilant. Magic like this doesn’t just appear out of nowhere."

 With that, they moved forward, their steps careful, senses alert. The flowers guided them like a whisper through the undergrowth, leading them deeper than any of them had ventured before. The trees seemed taller here, their trunks twisted with age, their branches intertwining like fingers locked in secret. The deeper they traveled, the stronger the scent of earth and blooming things became. It was intoxicating, thick, almost too sweet, as if the air itself was laced with enchantment. 

Leo had wandered far from his herd. At first, the flowers had seemed friendly, their soft glow comforting as they bloomed around him. When he giggled at a butterfly landing on his nose, the flowers brightened like tiny stars. But as his giggles faded and he grew more anxious, the flowers began to flicker, their glow pulsing weaker. His tiny hooves barely made a sound as he crept forward, the shadows pressing in like a heavy blanket. He turned once, hoping to spot his deer family, but he wasn't surprised when he saw nothing but forest. For the first time, the deer hadn’t followed him. 

Leo was all alone. 

He flitted to one of the lower branches of a nearby tree, curling his arms around his knees once he was situated. When he yawned around his thumb, the flowers beneath the tree shivered and dimmed. Leo shuddered slightly; he was afraid of the dark. "No fanks, be scary," he whispered, his curls quivering as thorny vines began to creep through his hair. Somewhere behind him, a branch cracked. Leo’s heart hammered, and the vines in his hair twisted tighter. Tears pricked his eyes. "No fanks be scary," he whispered again, this time a plea. Leo flitted down to an even lower branch, barely clinging to it as his wings buzzed tiredly. He curled his arms around the branch, his thumb creeping into his mouth as he tried to calm himself. His breath hitched as shadows stretched taller. Stumbling backward, Leo’s hand brushed against the tree trunk's rough bark—an ancient, hollowed-out tree with glowing runes carved into its surface. Curious, his tiny fingers reached out and traced the shapes. The runes pulsed at his touch, and for a breathless moment, the forest seemed to shift. Trees bent unnaturally, their branches groaning. The wind howled with voices from long ago, whispers curling through the air like smoke. 

That was enough for Leo, who promptly bolted, flitting blindly through the dark, his tiny heart racing. As he fled, miniature blossoms –now blood red– bloomed beneath his frantic steps, chasing him. The faster he ran, the faster they chased. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t bother. There was no one to hear it; no one to help. 

Then, through the shadows, a flicker of movement—voices. Unfamiliar, but kind. Leo barely dared to hope as he crept closer. 

Elio felt it first—the sensation of being watched. A prickle ran down his spine, the same instinct that had warned him of predators so many times in the past. His grip tightened on his bow, his other hand went down reflexively in front of his little brother’s chest, effectively halting his forward movement. 

Ollie frowned, but before he could object, Oliver’s hand was in his way, too. He growled in the back of his throat, but no one seemed to notice. 

“Something’s here." Oliver nodded at Elio, his voice low. "I feel it too." 

Ollie would let them sort it out. He just wanted to get back to the super cool flower-path he'd found. As he walked, the flowers pulsed softly as if responding to his presence. He was experimenting when a flicker of movement in the distance stopped him short. A small figure darted between the trees. Ollie gasped. "Elio!! I saw something!" 

"Ollie! Shh!" Elio tried, but Ollie was bouncing around, waving and pointing and looking as if he might just explode. "What is it?" Elio's gaze followed Ollie's, but he saw nothing but more of the faintly glowing flowers shimmering along the dark forest floor. 

Then, so quick it might not have happened, something flickered, flashed, and was gone. "There!" Ollie pointed just as the figure vanished behind a thick oak. "Did you see it? It was small! And fast!" 

Oliver exhaled, eyes scanning the darkness. They pressed forward, the flowers growing denser, their glow intensifying. The air grew heavier, filled with an almost imperceptible hum, as if the very fabric of magic was vibrating around them. The path twisted, guiding them around a massive tangle of roots that jutted out like skeletal fingers. Then, they stepped into a small clearing. 

All at once, they saw the tiny creature standing in the moonlight, his wings shimmering gold, his curls tangled with wildflowers. His wide eyes—frightened yet filled with wonder—locked onto them. The flowers at his feet pulsed in time with his breath, blooming in delicate patterns as if drawn by his emotions. Leo had never seen anyone like them before.

Leo’s breath came in quick, panicked bursts as he hovered near the treeline, eyes darting between the strangers. The flowers beneath his feet shimmered like a living heartbeat, their glow pulsing in time with his own trembling chest. He had been so scared—alone in the dark, chased by shadows, unsure where to go. But now… now there were voices. His ears twitched at the sound of Ollie’s excited whisper. “Elio! Look, it’s a tiny human! A tiny, glowy, winged human!” Ollie tapped his chin thoughtfully. Wait. That couldn’t be right. He was pretty sure humans didn’t have tiny, glowy wings. 

But before he could take it back, Leo’s head snapped up, wide eyes locking onto the boy with wild, brown curls. His fear wavered, replaced with a flicker of hope. “Tiny hooman?” he echoed softly, his voice high and hesitant. “I—I are not tiny!” 

Ollie’s eyes grew impossibly wide. “Um…. ELIOOOO? It talks!” 

Elio nudged him. “Of course, he talks.” Then, crossing his arms, he took a step closer, his keen gaze studying the small creature before them. “But the question is… what is he?”

Leo clutched his tiny hands together, hovering anxiously. “I are a Leo,” he repeated, brow furrowing.

“That’s who you are,” Elio said, determined to figure this out. “Right. But, like… what are you? You’ve got wings, so maybe… a pixie? No, too small for a sprite. Some kind of fairy?” 

Ollie grinned. He loved guessing games! “A baby forest spirit? A—oh! A starborn mothling?” 

Leo frowned. “I not are a mofth,” he complained, crossing his arms indignantly. 

Oliver, who had been watching the exchange with increasing exasperation, finally stepped forward, brushing past Elio. “He’s a Dewling, of course.” 

Elio turned to him, eyes narrowing. “A what?” 

“A Dewling,” Oliver repeated matter-of-factly. (Elio hated the way the man spoke these words; as if everyone and their bat should know what a Dewling was.) “They are rare, winged creatures known for their quick movements. They call them Dewlings because they’re as fast as dewdrops dripping off a leaf.” He motioned to Leo, who blinked in surprise. “It explains the trail of magic he’s been leaving behind. His kind have an innate connection to nature—it responds to their emotions.” 

Leo gasped, glancing down at the glowing flowers at his feet as if noticing them for the first time. His small hands flew to his mouth. “I do it?” he asked.

Oliver nodded. 

Leo beamed. “I do it ALL by MYSELF?”

“Yes. Your magic is leaving a trail.” 

Leo’s wings fluttered in alarm, and he stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own tiny feet. He didn’t care about glowing flowers or strange words. He cared about only one thing—he wasn’t alone anymore. With a relieved squeak, he flitted toward Ollie, practically launching himself into the boy’s arms. 

Ollie caught him with a surprised oof! and blinked down at the trembling little creature clinging to his shirt. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of you. And Elio is super DUPER good at taking care of things.” It was true. His big brother had kept him alive for nearly 800 years, and that was just so far! 

Leo buried his face against Ollie’s chest, wings shivering. “No fanks, be scary,” he whimpered. 

Ollie patted his back. “Don’t worry. We got you.” Then, looking at Elio, he added, “We can keep him, right?” 

Before Elio could figure out what to say, Ollie was already nodding enthusiastically. “Yep! You’re going to LOVE our house! And you can share MY ROOM with ME!!” 

Leo beamed, a small blue butterfly landing on one of his antler buds. “Hoo-yay!” 

Elio sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yay,” he agreed. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want the small whatever-it-was. It was only that—

Oliver cleared his throat. “Actually… maybe we should go to my home instead.” 

Elio turned to him, frowning. “What? Why?” 

Oliver gestured vaguely to the tiny, shivering Dewling in Ollie’s arms. “Dewlings are not meant to be raised by elves. It wouldn’t be kosher.” 

The gang started moving forward again, the trail of flowers disappearing behind them as they stepped. “Kosher?” Elio scoffed at that. 

“What’s kosher?” Ollie wanted to know. 

“It’s an expression,” Oliver said.

“Actually, it’s a real word,” Elio put in, Eureka finger up. 

Oliver rolled his eyes. “When I use it, it’s an expression.” 

“What’s kosher?” Ollie asked again. The real one or the expression one, it didn’t matter to Ollie. He just needed to know. 

But neither Elio nor Oliver answered. In fact, they walked together for quite a long time before anyone spoke again. 

“Absolutely not,” Oliver was shaking his head as if words just wouldn’t suffice. The sage wizard had assumed that “treehouse” was just a term of endearment for a small structure near a tree. Perhaps a small shack with a ladder. Something sensible like that. 

Elio grinned as he climbed up the rope ladder with practiced ease. “What’s the matter? Afraid of heights, fancy robes?” 

“That isn’t a house. It is a death trap in a tree.” Oliver rubbed his temples. “Do you live here?” 

Ollie had already scampered up, disappearing into the wooden platforms high above. “Yep! It’s the best! Come on! We got hammocks and everything!” 

Oliver made a strangled noise in his throat as he eyed the haphazard collection of wooden planks, rope bridges, and barely-stable support beams. It looked less like a treehouse and more like an accident waiting to happen. “You can’t seriously—” 

“I swear it’s sturdier than it looks,” Elio said, smirking as he leaned over the edge. “Unless, of course, you’re too delicate to climb up?” 

Oliver inhaled sharply. “I am not delicate.” If anyone was delicate, it was the tiny Dewling… speaking of… he whipped his head around, looking for Leo. He shouldn’t have been surprised to hear the click clack of miniature hooves on the overhead planks. With a grumble, he carefully made his way up the ladder, grimacing as it creaked with his weight. The moment he stepped onto the platform, he felt the entire structure sway ever so slightly. “This is madness.” 

Leo darted around excitedly, half-trotting, half-flying, hooves scraping lightly over wood. “It home?” 

“Yep!” Ollie announced proudly, digging through a pile of books and odd trinkets. “Home Sweet Home! It’s the best place ever!” Leo fluttered around, touching everything within reach. He sniffed at a pouch of dried fruit, giggled at a wooden carving, and nearly got tangled in a hammock before zooming back to Ollie’s side. “It my home?” 

Ollie nodded vigorously, but then Elio pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, Ollie.” And in that moment, everything stopped. 

Elio held his breath. 

Oliver pressed his eyelid. 

Ollie’s mouth fell open. 

Leo landed heavily on his hooves with a thunk. Similarly, Elio’s heart sank with a thunk. What was he to do? Turn away this baby —what had the wizard called it?— Dewling? Leave it to fend for himself? Sure, life was hard. Many nights Elio fell asleep hungry so that Ollie could have enough to eat. With another mouth to feed, would Ollie still get enough? He hadn’t harvested mushrooms in a while. There would be enough of those to get them by for a while. Maybe?

Elio was still working it out in his mind when Oliver exhaled sharply. “Well now that that’s settled, let’s get down from this glorified bundle of sticks before it collapses.” 

Elio crossed his arms. “What does that mean? It’s settled? And our treehouse is not collapsing.” 

Oliver jabbed a finger toward a particularly loose plank. “That moves when the wind blows.” 

“So does your hair, and no one’s calling you a structural hazard.” 

Oliver took a slow, deep breath before shaking his head. “I’ve made an executive decision.” 

Elio narrowed his eyes. “Oh, have you?” 

“Yes. You all are coming to my house tonight. Immediately.” Elio scoffed. “Excuse me?” “You cannot sleep here. Not with that tiny, fragile creature, and certainly not with your reckless younger brother.” 

“We’re fine,” Elio argued. 

“You’re not fine,” Oliver countered. “You’re one strong gust of wind away from waking up in a pile of splinters. And just look at the little thing. He’s exhausted, likely hungry, and your treehouse isn’t exactly built for comfort.” 

Elio bristled. “Our treehouse is fine—” 

“Your treehouse is haphazardly nailed together wood in the trees,” Oliver deadpanned. 

Elio scowled. “And?” Before the argument could escalate, Leo yawned, popped his thumb into his mouth, and leaned heavily against Elio’s leg. 

Ollie looked down at him, then at Elio. “He’s really tired…” 

Before Elio could protest further, Ollie had already started galloping toward the rope ladder. “Come on, GUYS! We’re going to Oliver’s house! He’s got snacks!” 

Leo perked up. “Snacks?” Without hesitation, he zipped after Ollie, wings buzzing in excitement. 

“Wait—” Elio reached out, but his brother was already climbing down. “Ollie!” 

Oliver, smugly victorious, began descending the ladder at a reasonable pace. “See you on the ground.” 

Elio let out a growl of frustration before stomping toward the ladder. “I swear, if you two break something expensive, I’m not paying for it!” Oliver’s laughter echoed through the trees as they made their way toward his home, Ollie and Leo leading the charge, leaving Elio with no choice but to chase after them.

Chapter Text

Oliver’s house stood at the edge of a quiet clearing, where the trees of the Emerald Wood bent ever so slightly inward, as if whispering secrets to one another. The cottage was a curious sight—small, but sturdy, made of stone, with ivy creeping up the sides. The windows glowed warmly from within, casting golden light against the encroaching twilight. A crooked chimney puffed out the last remnants of a fading fire, sending wisps of smoke curling into the cool evening air.

Ollie was the first to rush up the stone path leading to the front door, eyes wide with wonder. "Oh. My. Goshness," he whispered, mesmerized. Then, to Oliver, "It's awesome! Do you have a cauldron? Oh! A talking cat?"

Oliver sighed as he pushed open the heavy wooden door. "No cauldron. No talking cat. Sorry to disappoint."

Ollie gave a one shouldered shrug as Leo flitted past them, wings buzzing with excitement as he glanced around, looking for snacks.

When Oliver held out his arm in an after you gesture, Elio stepped inside last, eyeing the place warily. The interior was just as peculiar as the outside—shelves lined the walls, crammed with ancient tomes, glass vials filled with unknown substances, and trinkets that shimmered and quivered with latent magic. The oak table looked massive where it stood, covered in parchment, ink bottles, and half-finished spells, in the center of the small room. Herbs hung from the rafters, filling the room with an earthy scent. The only part of the house that seemed remotely normal was a small fireplace, glowing embers in the hearth next to a worn armchair, its cushions slightly sunken from years of use.

Ollie wandered around, awestruck, touching anything and everything within his reach. "Do you live here all alone?"

"Yes," Oliver said, plucking a glowing crystal from Ollie’s fingers before he could accidentally activate something. "Careful not to turn yourself into a toad."

Ollie grinned mischievously and opened his mouth—undoubtedly to ask if that was actually possible—but before he could speak, a loud crash echoed from behind him. They turned to see Leo hovering guiltily over a fallen stack of books, his tiny hooves kicking midair in embarrassment.

"Uh oh," Leo said, a shy smile appeared behind the thumb in his mouth. Also behind his thumb he mumbled, "It do it by itself." 

Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course, it did."

Elio chuckled under his breath. "I think your house is in more danger from these two than whatever you're worried about outside."

Oliver raised an eyebrow at him, but there was something in his eyes—something unreadable. Something that made Elio’s stomach twist in a way he didn’t particularly want to acknowledge.

Fortunately, he didn't have time to dwell on it before a sudden gust of wind rattled the windows. The atmosphere in the room. The warm glow dimmed slightly, and the ever-present hum of magic in the air thickened.

Oliver’s brows furrowed, the fallen books forgotten. He opened the door, peering out into the forest beyond. The trees swayed though there was no longer any wind. "Hmmmm," he hmmmed.

"Hmmm?" An alarmed Elio was immediately beside him, following his gaze to study the treeline. He didn't notice anything unusual, though this part of the forest was unfamiliar, and the night was devoid of moonlight. "What do you mean, hmmm?"

Oliver’s fingers tightened around the edge of the door. "The trail… it’s gone."

Ollie's head squeezed between them, followed by one shoulder, then the other. Trails didn't just disappear; and if one had, he wanted to see it. Or not see it, as the case may be.

Sure enough, as if the forest had swallowed it whole, the worn, winding path they had followed for the final half mile to Oliver's house had vanished without a trace.

"Where'd it go?" the young elf asked, wrapping his arm around his brother's leg.

A heavy silence filled the room until Oliver finally exhaled, shut the door with a decisive click, fastened the bolt, and muttered something under his breath about cleaning up books and finding enough pillows and blankets to go around.

Ollie was pulled from his dreams by the feeling of spiders on his face. His eyes popped open, heart hammering, but he was relieved to discover that rather than spiders, it was only Oliver’s dark robes brushing against him as the very tall man moved silently through the very small room.

“‘Morning,” Ollie yawned. He’d slept well, snug and cozy on the sofa, with Leo curled up next to him. “Where are you going?”

The robes froze. When Oliver finally turned toward him, he was pressing his eyelid. Ollie’s head tilted quizzically. "I'm... going out," was all the man said.

"To look for that path thingy?"

Oliver almost smiled despite himself, but managed not to. "Something like that," he murmured, his voice carrying an edge of secrecy.

Ollie scrambled out of a tangle of blankets lickety-split, waking Leo in the process. "I'm coming with you," the young elf said, hastily galloping toward the door in nothing but a T-shirt Oliver had found that was so large it pooled on the floor around his feet. It had been lots of fun until his party-pooper big brother had made him stop saying BOOOooOOOoooHHHHhhhh in his super cool ghost voice.

"I are go, too!" Leo agreed, zipping after Ollie.

"Hang on, hang on,” Oliver was shaking his head in a way that Ollie did not like at all. “No one is going anywhere," he said decisively. "Absolutely not."

Ollie and Leo both blinked up at him. "Not even you?" Ollie asked after a pause.

"Me, yes. But no one else," Oliver said, wondering how he could possibly endure his young guests for any length of time.

"We're all going," Elio declared, stretching out on the warm rug where he'd slept in front of the fire.

Seeing Elio like that, stretched out long and lean, his tousled hair falling just so over his forehead, the faintest smirk playing at his lips, Oliver found himself momentarily caught off guard. There was something effortlessly careless about the way Elio moved, the lazy stretch of his limbs, the slow drag of his gaze when it landed on him. Suddenly Oliver found himself less averse to their tagging along. "Fine," he relented, perhaps a little too quickly. His warm cheeks tingled. "But I'm in charge." 

Ollie's eyes went round as he sneaked a covert look at his brother, whom he knew from 800 years of personal experience, absolutely loved being in charge. It was one of Elio's favorite things to be. Sure enough, Elio's eyes were so narrow, Ollie worried they'd shoot laser beams again. But to his great surprise, Elio only said, "Ollie, get dressed. And put on your shoes."

The deeper the group ventured into the Emerald Wood, the more enigmatic the forest seemed. The once steadfast trees now seemed to waver, their forms shifting as if responding to an unseen force. The crunch of fallen leaves underfoot echoed strangely, as though the sound was reluctant to settle. The air had taken on an stillness, thick and stagnant, carrying the faintest trace of something metallic, like the scent of a brewing storm.

A heavy mist curled at their feet, weaving among the knotted tree roots like living tendrils. Shadows stretched and shrank unnaturally, moving as though they had minds of their own. The deeper they walked, the stronger the sense of distortion became, as if the very fabric of the forest was unraveling before them.

Ollie bounded ahead, his enthusiasm unwavering despite the eerie atmosphere. "Look at this!" he called, his voice bright against the unnatural quiet. He pointed to a large, flat stone half-buried in the moss, its surface covered in intricate carvings. "It looks like a map or something! Maybe it's a clue!"

Oliver crouched beside him, brushing dirt away from the markings. "This is old magic," he murmured. "It could be significant."

Elio, trailing a few steps behind, cast a skeptical glance at the stone, his arms loosely crossed. "Or it's just an old rock," he said, his voice smooth, almost teasing.

Ollie rolled his eyes. "You have no imagination. We should—"

A sudden gust swept through the clearing, scattering leaves into a chaotic spiral. For a fleeting moment, the world wavered, its edges smearing like wet paint. The trees groaned, their rustling branches shaping sounds that almost resembled words, just beyond their threshold of understanding.

When the air again stilled, Ollie’s eyes widened. "Wait—what?"

The carved stone was gone.

In its place lay an ordinary, smooth rock, unmarked and featureless.

"It was right here! You saw it!" Ollie insisted, spinning to face Oliver and Elio. "It had symbols and—"

"We saw it," Oliver said slowly. His fingers hovered just above the stone as if expecting the carvings to reappear. "Something changed."

Elio frowned. "Or something wants us to question reality."

A rustling in the trees interrupted them. Above them, Leo hovered, his small wings keeping him aloft as he peered into the distance. "I see it!"

Ollie scrambled up the tree, branches bending slightly under his weight as he tried to get a better view. "Where?" his green eyes darted in the direction Leo had pointed.

Leo hovered midair, his wings slowing as he turned his head sharply, scanning the trees. His tiny hands clenched at the air in frustration, then opened again. He pointed, then hesitated, his expression shifting. Whatever he had seen—it was gone.

"Come down; let's check it out," Oliver said, already stepping forward.

They traveled quickly at first, following Leo’s lead, but soon the undergrowth thickened, branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The deeper they went, the more the forest seemed to shift around them. Silhouettes flickered at the edges of their vision, vanishing the moment they tried to focus. The air pressed in, damp with something unseen. Every so often, the whispering wind returned, this time carrying a name none of them dared acknowledge hearing.

When they reached the spot Leo had pointed out, they found nothing but a patch of flattened grass.

Leo’s wings drooped. He pointed, his eyes wide. Finally, he shrugged. It had been right here; he'd seen it. 

A sense of unease settled over them, seeping into their bones like cold mist. The path behind them, once clear, had faded into a tangle of unfamiliar trees.

Elio took a slow breath. "Tell me I'm not the only one who feels like the forest is toying with us."

Oliver nodded his grim agreement.

As the silence stretched, Ollie huffed, breaking the tension. "This adventure isn't as super duper fun as I thought it would be," he complained. 

"No fanks," Leo agreed, shaking his head as if he'd been offered a vegetable. 

Elio placed a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, more for reassurance than anything. "Let’s find our way back before things get any worse."

Oliver, staring into the twisting trees, thought that it might be too late. 

Chapter Text

Before the voice, there was the sneeze.

It happened like this. Leo had been sniffling all morning, his nose twitching with the kind of magical buildup that Elio was beginning to dread. One second he looked perfectly content, perched on Ollie’s shoulder, and the next—

"Aaaaah... AH-CHOO!"

The blast of magic that followed was like a burst of springtime. A three-foot patch of moss burst into tulips. Elio’s hair turned bright blue. Oliver’s robes gained a set of shimmering polka dots.

Ollie doubled over laughing. "Oh my GOSHNESS! You look like a wizard jellybean!"

Oliver muttered something unrepeatable under his breath while batting tulip petals away. Elio stared upward, sighing at the fringe of indigo now cascading into his eyes.

Leo sniffled again, blinked at the chaos, and mumbled, "S'cuse me."

Ollie clapped. "Do it again!" he cried. "Make Elio plaid!"

"No," Elio said flatly, already trying to smooth his hair. "Absolutely not."

Oliver conjured a breeze to dissipate the leftover pollen. "Next time he sneezes, I'm putting a containment charm on the nearest unsuspecting mushroom log."

Leo gave a sheepish giggle, wings drooping like wet leaves. Elio rolled his eyes, but his fingers brushed Leo’s curls gently as he passed.

It was only then that Ollie heard the voice.

"Elio!"

The name drifted through the trees, too clear to be wind. Too close to be imagined. It wasn’t the urgent kind of call, more like a memory—soft around the edges and wrapped in static.

Ollie stopped mid-hop and tilted his head, curls bouncing as he scanned the woods. They were somewhere between Oliver's cottage and the outer edge of the glowflower path now, where the trees grew knobbier and the moss underfoot was spongy and deep. The light filtering through the leaves had a faint blue tint, as if the sun was having second thoughts about shining.

"Did you hear that?"

Elio, a step behind him with an arrow half-nocked, muttered, "Hear what?"

"That voice!" Ollie pointed toward a cluster of trees to the east. "It said your name. It sounded like... Mom. But not really? Like if Mom was also a whisper and also maybe a leaf."

Elio lowered his bow. "A whisper-leaf Mom?"

Ollie nodded. "Exactly!"

Oliver, who had been scanning the trail ahead with his usual grim precision—shoulders taut beneath his dark robes, a frown etched into the space between his brows—turned slowly. His presence always felt slightly out of place in the forest, as if the wilderness barely tolerated his careful intellect and steady disapproval. Yet, even with his aloof demeanor, there was something quietly reassuring about the way he seemed to notice everything, like the world was a puzzle he wouldn't stop trying to solve. "Voices in magical forests are almost never real."

"Yeah, but what if this one is?" Ollie said, already bounding toward the sound. "Or what if it’s, like, a warning? Or a clue? Or a magical voicemail!"

Leo, riding atop Oliver’s shoulder like a sleepy winged mushroom, blinked slowly. "Clue," he said helpfully.

"Great, now he’s encouraging him," Elio said with a fond eye-roll, already stepping after them.

Before that, they had paused for a quick break near a patch of sun-dappled moss, and Oliver—ever the pragmatist—had conjured up a tiny pan from the depths of his pack.

"You brought a skillet into the forest?" Elio asked, incredulous.

"I always bring a skillet," Oliver said simply. "Unlike some people, I enjoy edible food."

Ollie beamed. "Does that mean you’re making pancakes?! Not the Elio kind, right? The not-burnt kind?"

"Yes, the kind that doesn’t require a chisel to eat," Oliver replied, already pouring perfectly golden batter into the pan with an elegant flick of his wrist.

Elio narrowed his eyes. "You never complain when you eat three of them."

"Three sacrifices to the god of burnt breakfast," Oliver said, dry as ash.

Leo, still nestled on Oliver’s shoulder, chirped, "’Pakes!"

Ollie wiggled with joy. "Forest pancakes! This is the best quest ever."

Elio sat nearby, arms crossed but smiling despite himself as the warm, toasty smell filled the clearing. But he couldn’t quite stop thinking about how Oliver’s hand had lingered against his. It wasn’t just a brush—it had felt like something deliberate, or at least hesitant in a way that meant something. The heat of it stayed with him longer than he liked to admit. When Oliver handed him a finished pancake with a faintly smug expression, their fingers brushed—warm, brief, and a little too lingering for either of them to immediately brush off. Elio looked away quickly, pretending to inspect a moss-covered rock.

Ollie didn’t miss it. He grinned down at Leo. "Did you see that? Sparks."

Leo nodded solemnly and whispered, "Zap."

Then they heard it again. Not just Ollie this time, but all of them. A voice—Elio’s name—drawn out and strange, like it had been dipped in a dream. It didn’t come from ahead or behind, but from somewhere in between. Overlapping, echoing.

Elio turned sharply. Oliver froze. Even Leo straightened a little from his perch.

They looked at one another. No one spoke for a beat.

"Okay," Elio said finally. "We heard that, right? Not just Ollie."

Oliver gave a sharp nod, expression tightening. "It’s not natural."

"So we follow it?" Ollie asked, eyes already gleaming with the thrill of adventure and the promise of something unknown.

Elio sighed. "We follow it. Carefully."

The echoes led them through a thicket of silverleaf shrubs and over a mossy ridge where the air felt heavier, like it had been breathed in and never let go. The voices grew more fragmented the deeper they went. Familiar syllables twisted into something strange, stretched like taffy. Sometimes Elio heard his name. Once, he was sure he heard Leo giggle—but it came from behind them, and Leo was very clearly in front, babbling to his new friend, Mr. Pinecone.

"What if it’s like a copycat magic?" Ollie mused breathlessly as they climbed a steep slope. "Like, it hears us and then tries to sound like us, but it gets the vibes wrong."

Oliver gave him a dry look. "That would be mimicry magic. Advanced, but unstable."

"Ooooooo," Ollie said, clearly thrilled that his contribution hadn't been tossed out like one of Elio's burnt pancakes. "Let’s find it!"

Elio exhaled sharply, but he couldn’t deny the forest had changed again. The leaves overhead had a strange shimmer to them, like they were reflecting light that wasn’t there. A faint blue tint hovered over everything, as if they were walking through a memory instead of a place.

Then they found it.

But before the glade opened, they came upon something else.

A narrow trail veered briefly off the main path, leading to a small clearing ringed with slender birch trees. In the center stood a still, silver pool. The surface was mirror-like, undisturbed by breeze or falling leaves, reflecting the canopy above with eerie precision.

"Whoa," Ollie whispered. "It’s like... it’s pretending to be sky."

"It's a memory pool," Oliver murmured, already kneeling at its edge. "Rare. Temperamental. They sometimes echo the strongest memory in the heart of whoever touches them."

Ollie had already dropped to his knees beside it. "Does it work like a mirror? Can it see what I had for breakfast?"

"No," Elio said dryly. "More like what you were feeling when you ate it."

Ollie stuck out his tongue but leaned forward anyway. The pool’s reflection shimmered, and for a moment, the surface rippled to reveal a younger version of Elio, maybe only a teenager, sitting beside their mother beneath a sun-dappled tree. She was laughing softly, brushing hair from his face. The vision was fuzzy around the edges, but the emotion in it was clear.

Elio froze.

Then the pool shifted again.

This time, Oliver appeared—alone in his study, seated beside a glowing hearth. The scene was quiet, calm. He was smiling faintly at something just out of frame. As the image held, his hand slowly reached toward a chair that was no longer there.

The scene dissolved.

Leo approached cautiously, thumb in mouth. When he leaned close, the pool sparked. A rush of images bloomed: bursts of color, petals, a vast night sky twinkling above wild antlers. Ollie caught his breath—it felt like watching a dream trying to become real.

And then it was gone.

No one spoke for a moment.

Elio turned. "Let’s keep going."

They followed the trail.

Then they found it.

The glade opened suddenly, like the forest had drawn back its curtains. The air was still, almost too still. A single leaf hung midair, caught mid-fall, trembling gently as if unsure whether to continue. Drops of dew sparkled, suspended mid-drip from ferns that didn't sway. Even the usual hum of magic in the forest was silent, like it was holding its breath.

"Whoa," Ollie breathed, stepping into the circle. "It’s like somebody hit pause."

Elio frowned, gaze sweeping across the frozen scene. "I don’t like it."

"Of course you don’t," Oliver muttered, but his expression had gone distant. He stepped forward slowly, eyes flicking from branch to branch, stone to still-standing blade of grass. Then he crouched beside a puddle where a droplet hovered inches above the surface. "This is a time anchor."

Ollie crouched next to him, wide-eyed. "Is that like an anchor...but for time?"

Oliver nodded. "Magic like this doesn’t happen by accident. Something here is holding time in place."

"So it's, like, stuck?"

"Worse. It's still trying to move, but something’s pulling it back."

Elio crossed his arms, wary. "You think it's an artifact?"

"Could be. An object. Or a curse. Or something reacting to nearby magic."

Leo floated down from Oliver’s shoulder, landing softly on a fallen log that had somehow paused mid-creak. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, wings drooping more than usual, and let out a long, slow sigh.

He glanced around, face scrunched. "Bad," he said quietly, as though unsure if he meant the air or the feeling or the place itself.

"What’s wrong, buddy?" Ollie asked, already moving to him.

Leo yawned, stretching his arms upward before pointing at the sky, then at the leaf frozen above his head. "Stuck."

Elio knelt next to him. "You feel it too?"

Leo didn't answer. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and put his thumb in his mouth, little shoulders trembling.

A flicker shimmered through the glade—like heat over a stone path—and the droplet in the air suddenly snapped downward, splashing into the puddle with a tiny plink.

"Did you see that?" Ollie yelped. "It moved!"

Oliver frowned, looking back at Leo. "Interesting."

More flickers followed. A cluster of petals tumbled upward, reversed direction, then froze again. The leaf rotated slightly. Then the glade shimmered again, brighter this time, as Leo whimpered.

"He doesn’t like it," Ollie said. "I think it’s making him scared."

"Maybe it's reacting to something in the glade," Oliver said slowly, gaze narrowing as the leaf twitched again midair. "Some old enchantment stirred up by all this movement."

Elio straightened. "Could be anything. Let's get out of here before it decides to stir harder."

As they stepped out of the glade, the change was instant.

The breeze returned. The sounds of birds chirped overhead. And behind them, the glade melted quietly back into motion—as though nothing had ever been wrong.

Ollie turned just in time to see a single red leaf fall from the tree and land gently on the forest floor.

Leo sniffled, rubbing his eyes. Ollie reached for him, scooping him up like a teddy bear. Leo leaned against him heavily, but the tension in his wings eased.

And then, out of nowhere, Leo giggled.

At the same moment, the leaves on a nearby sapling shimmered pink.

Oliver blinked. "Did anyone else—?"

"Yep," Elio said, watching the color fade.

They said nothing more.

A little farther down the trail, Ollie tugged on Elio’s tunic. "Do you think it’s possible Leo’s magic is... like, wild? Not just forest-y, but connected to time or space or something?"

Elio hesitated. "That would be pretty rare."

Oliver didn’t speak, but the look on his face said he was already entertaining the thought.

They traveled another mile in silence, tension swirling like mist around their feet. The shadows had started stretching again, and the moss underfoot squelched oddly—as though remembering different steps from long ago.

Then Oliver suddenly stumbled forward and vanished up to his waist in a patch of deceptively normal-looking moss.

"Woah!" Ollie gasped. "Is it quicksand?!"

"It’s roottrap," Oliver growled, struggling. "Old enchantment."

Ollie stepped forward, but Elio stopped him. "Stay back; I got this."

He moved to Oliver’s side, knelt, and slipped his arms beneath the wizard’s shoulders. "Hold still. Don’t tense."

"You say that like it’s helpful."

Elio smirked. "Well, you do a lot of tense."

With a practiced tug, Elio hauled Oliver up and out. They collapsed backward into the ferns, Oliver panting, Elio half-laughing.

"Not a word," Oliver said, but there was no real heat in it.

Elio was quiet for a moment, then nudged Oliver’s shoulder. "You smile like you’re not used to it."

Oliver turned his head. His eyes were blue, soft now, without their usual shield. "I’m not."

But even as he said it, part of his mind circled back to that moment by the fire—fingers brushing against Elio’s, warmth lingering longer than it should have. He had passed it off at the time, but now, after the panic and laughter, the memory glowed brighter. He hadn’t imagined that spark. He didn’t think Elio had either.

They lay there a beat longer than necessary. Then Leo landed on Elio’s stomach with a soft oof and said, "Snack?"

"Mood ruined," Elio said, sitting up. But he was smiling.

Oliver rose to his feet, brushing moss from his robes, and extended a hand to Elio, who took it without hesitation. As they walked, their shoulders brushed now and then, but neither pulled away.

Behind them, Ollie was making up a new song about roottraps, in which the villain was a grumpy sorcerer who got eaten by a plant. Leo added background sounds with his mouth: dramatic wooshes, thuds, and a goat noise for no apparent reason.

Oliver glanced at Elio, amused. "You live with this energy every day?"

Elio huffed a laugh. "Every day."

"It’s... surprisingly nice."

Elio didn’t answer right away. He watched Ollie scoop up Leo and spin him around, both of them shrieking joyfully as petals burst from Leo’s antlers like confetti.

Then he said quietly, "Yeah. It really is."

And for the first time that day, the forest around them held no secrets—just light, laughter, and the echo of belonging.