CHAPTER 10: STAR BEARING TREE

  “Hello?”

  The voice had carried softly through the Dream Realm, uncertain but unafraid, as if its owner had already decided that whatever answered would not be allowed to frighten her.

  The four brothers froze mid-discussion, a conversation none of them wanted to be having and all of them were already losing.

  Their bodies reacted before their thoughts caught up.

  Heads tilted in near-unison.

  Familiar angles of jaw and brow caught the ambient glow of the realm, irritation shedding into disbelief in the span of a single breath.

  For a brief, brittle moment, even the Dream Realm seemed to hesitate, as though waiting to see which rule would be broken first.

  Suryel stood several paces away from them.

  She was barefoot on ink-dark ground that reflected nothing unless it wished to, dressed in a pale hospital gown that fluttered faintly, stirred by a wind that had not existed until she arrived.

  The fabric clung to her calves and wrists like it was unsure whether to protect her or apologize.

  She had clearly just crossed over.

  Her eyes were still adjusting, lashes damp, toes flexing experimentally against the surface beneath her feet as though testing whether it would collapse, swallow her, or politely pretend to be solid.

  It did not give.

  She stopped short when she finally noticed them.

  Her eyes widened.

  Recognition did not land cleanly.

  Not fear.

  Not relief.

  Just the sharp awareness of people where there should not have been people.

  The brothers were equally unprepared to see her.

  Yael stood closest, half a step behind her shoulder, posture already apologetic even before blame had a name.

  His hands hovered uselessly at his sides, fingers flexing as if he wanted to shield her without touching her.

  Worry and relief tangled in his eyes until they were indistinguishable.

  Michael’s gaze snapped to Yael immediately.

  His head tilted just enough to deliver a commander’s unspoken demand: Explain.

  His arms crossed a heartbeat later, but the movement lacked polish.

  Tension bled through his shoulders, composure strained thin by a variable he had not authorized.

  Gabriel shot Michael a look without turning his head, expression flat but heavy with subtext: You couldn’t even warn us?

  His stance remained rigid, fingers brushing unconsciously along the invisible ledger of consequence and contingency he carried everywhere.

  Habits built over centuries did not loosen easily.

  Azriel offered Yael a faint smile.

  It was brief.

  Understanding.

  Not forgiveness, exactly.

  More an acknowledgment of effort: I know you tried.

  He shifted a fraction farther away, giving space while observing everything with careful, archival focus.

  The kind of attention that recorded rather than interfered.

  Yael closed his eyes.

  His shoulders sank.

  Resignation softened the tension in his jaw, relief lingering just beneath it like an ache that refused to leave.

  He lifted both hands in surrender, gesturing vaguely at the space around Suryel before pointing at her with emphasis.

  “It wasn’t me,” Yael said quietly, urgency threaded through his calm. “I swear.”

  He motioned as if steering an invisible wheel, then dropped his hands. “I tried to redirect. She routed us here.”

  Suryel did not hear him.

  Her attention had already wandered.

  Curiosity bloomed fast and bright as she took in the space around her, pupils dilating as the Dream Realm responded in kind.

  The darkness bent subtly beneath her gaze, as though recognizing something old and uninvited.

  Behind her, the void shifted.

  A single point of light appeared like a buried seed, small and dense, pulsing once before unfurling and sprouting upward.

  A trunk rose.

  Towering.

  Luminous.

  The Star Bearing Tree emerged without violence, bathing the darkness in warm, impossible light.

  Its bark shimmered like layered starlight, veins of gold threading through deep indigo.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Roots spread outward beneath the obsidian lake’s surface, shaping an island that barely broke through the reflective black.

  Branches crisscrossed high above, each tipped with glowing spheres clustered like dew caught mid-fall.

  A low hum accompanied its growth, resonant and steady.

  Not sound so much as reassurance.

  A lullaby the realm remembered before it remembered silence.

  The orbs grew heavy with gentle gravity.

  They drifted from thicker branches to thinner ones, releasing themselves toward the lake below.

  They hovered just above the surface.

  Did not break through, only rippled.

  Warmth held.

  Reflected.

  Then slowly, deliberately, they lifted again, scattering upward.

  Stars formed.

  Constellations stitched themselves into being.

  Galaxies flickered into existence overhead, quiet orchestration unfolding without audience or applause.

  Suryel stared.

  Then she grinned.

  A soundless hum escaped her, delight written openly across her face and mirrored faintly in the black glass beneath her feet.

  Beneath the Star Bearing Tree, the siblings seemed impossibly small.

  Other shapes moved at the edge of the island.

  Unnamed dream-figures passing through their own half-stories.

  Watchers who pretended not to watch.

  The Dream Realm was never empty, only selectively attentive.

  Azriel met Gabriel’s eyes.

  Gabriel glanced at Michael.

  Together, their attention landed on Helel.

  He was already moving.

  His boots pressed firmly against the roots as he approached Suryel, each step deliberate, measured, carrying an undercurrent of playful inevitability that made Michael’s jaw tighten on instinct.

  Michael shifted forward.

  Azriel’s hand closed around his shoulder. Firm.

  He whispered quietly. “Not now.”

  Gabriel leaned slightly toward them, voice barely more than breath, unheard by anyone else. “Should we… Intervene?”

  Helel stopped just short of Suryel.

  Recognition sparked in her expression, sharp and immediate.

  Her hands curled reflexively at her sides.

  “For the love of all things good,” Suryel shouted, stepping back toward Yael and the shelter of the roots. “Why are you here?”

  Her gaze flicked past Helel then, finally clocking the others.

  “And who are you people?” she demanded, pointing vaguely at the remaining brothers.

  Michael straightened, expression carefully neutral.

  Gabriel inclined his head a fraction, polite to the point of suspicion.

  Azriel offered nothing but silence.

  Yael waved awkwardly, then immediately dropped his hand like it had betrayed him.

  They all failed spectacularly at pretending they were strangers.

  Helel watched.

  Silent.

  Smiling.

  Noting everything.

  He regarded Suryel again, smugness settling across his features once his thoughts caught up with her reaction.

  “You’re the one who came here,” He said lightly. “I was already here.”

  He flicked the end of her hair toward her face with infuriating ease. “And you didn’t comb this. How rude of you to appear in public with your manners in disarray.”

  Behind them, Gabriel’s brows lifted.

  Azriel’s attention sharpened.

  Michael surged forward again and was stopped more firmly.

  Yael attempted to disappear.

  Suryel glared at Helel.

  Then paused.

  Studied him.

  “You know.” She said slowly, circling him, eyes never leaving his face, “You’re always teasing me like that.”

  Her irritation softened into curiosity. “And you have this habit of staring. In a way I can’t place.”

  Michael’s jaw tightened.

  Gabriel covered his mouth with his hand.

  Azriel did not move.

  “Why does every interaction with you,” Suryel continued, stopping directly in front of Helel, “Leave me annoyed and… Strangely affected?”

  She stepped closer.

  Helel matched her movement without realizing it.

  “When we part,” She said, glancing toward the lake as a warm breeze tousled her hair, “It feels like I’m about to fall into something heavy. Like grief. Like losing something I don’t remember owning.”

  For once, Helel had no retort.

  The weight of her words pressed into him, unwelcome and familiar all at once.

  He swallowed, instincts scrambling.

  The plan to interrogate his brothers quietly dissolved, replaced by a sharper idea.

  He thought: Ask her.

  “What if,” Helel said carefully, stepping fully into her space, “I told you I felt it too?”

  A warm yellow flame sparked to life in his palm.

  He shaped it without thinking.

  A sunflower bloomed.

  He tucked it gently behind her ear.

  Her cheeks flushed immediately.

  She hissed and swatted his hand away. “Hey! Back off! You are absolutely a creep. Do not put random things in my hair.”

  He grinned. “Good. You’re still fighting.”

  “You’re enjoying that way too much,” She said, shivering. “Learn boundaries. What is wrong with you?”

  She pulled the flower free, examining it with reluctant fondness before pressing it lightly against her stomach.

  She winced. “Ow. What the heck?”

  Something flickered.

  Helel felt it click.

  Déjà vu.

  Then— “Miss?” An ER nurse’s voice cut sharply through the dream. “Time to wake up and drink your medication.”

  Suryel vanished.

  The flower slipped from her fingers and fell soundlessly to the ground.

  “No— Wait—” Helel’s hand lingered mid-reach, fingers curved around absence.

  Silence dropped.

  Even the Star Bearing Tree stilled.

  Helel bent and picked up the sunflower, rolling it between his fingers as pieces aligned in his mind with alarming speed.

  “Oh,” He murmured.

  The other brothers went very still.

  He turned slowly.

  Placed both hands on Yael’s shoulders.

  “Why don’t we,” Helel said pleasantly, voice edged sharp beneath the warmth, “have a long talk?”

  The question hung.

  Waiting.