Goldie’s smirk lingered as she stroked his cheek, but her voice softened. “Okay, big guy, now what? You look good, but… did we fix it? You’re whole again?” Her breath hitched. “And you’re… going back to sleep now?”
“Yes,” Mycor intoned, the word resonant, carrying more weight than its simplicity allowed. He breathed in the scent of her once more before his arms uncurled from around her, like roots releasing their hold on warm earth. Goldie exhaled and eased back a step, her palms sliding from his chest.
A soft rustle stirred beside her as Splice stepped forward, one hand settling carefully on Goldie’s shoulder, the other lifting to touch his god. For a moment he hovered, then his fingers pressed against the Thornfather’s arm.
“Mycor,” he said, the name barely a whisper. “When you return to sleep… what happens to me?” He shook his head once, sharp, as if trying to clear it. “You told me to guard her. To watch her. That was your first command.” His breath stuttered. “But if you go silent… if I go silent with you… ”
His eyes found Goldie’s, wounded and terrified and wanting. “How can I stay with her if I am not awake?”
Goldie felt her heart seize in an aching, electric stutter that rattled through her ribs. His words carved straight into her, terrifying in their honesty. For a moment she couldn’t breathe around the mix of fear and fierce, impossible hope climbing up her throat.
With a slow, deliberate grace, Mycor reached out, one hand cradling Goldie’s face, the other reaching for Splice’s shoulder. His presence wrapped around them like the hush of the atrium itself, green and inexorable.
“Golden flower,” he murmured, gaze warm on Goldie, “you have given me breath again.” His eyes shifted to Splice, the faintest smile curving his mouth. “And you, my Splice, you have grown into a new shape. Awake, and wholly your own.”
Splice’s breath hitched.
“Together you are stronger,” Mycor continued, voice deep as roots. “Stay with her. Be with each other. You will not fade when I sleep.”
The god leaned forward. He kissed Goldie first, slow and reverent, sap-sweet and tender. Then he turned, cupped Splice’s jaw, and kissed him too, just as deliberate, just as full of weight. When he drew back, he looked at them both, his smile touched with sorrow and warmth.
“Both of you are dear to me,” he said softly. “You are bound now, to each other. Grow in that. Be strong in that. That is my gift.”
Goldie swallowed hard, throat tight. “But what about you?” she whispered. “When will you wake again?”
Mycor cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping a warm arc along her skin. “When the land calls for me,” he murmured. “When I am needed. And you will not be alone until then.”
Goldie sniffed, blinking too fast, then tipped her head back with a crooked grin. “Fine. Then I’ll just have to… figure out a way to manifest horny land energy. Preferably around Samhain. I want another round of ritual sex. I have ideas. Schematics. Plans.”
Splice choked on a startled laugh, color rising in his face, and Mycor’s solemn gaze warmed with mirth. He touched Goldie’s cheek with infinite gentleness, then laid his palm briefly over Splice’s heart, the gesture weighted with blessing.
“Goodbye, my loves.”
The air shifted as if the atrium had drawn a slow, reverent breath. Light rippled through the canopy high above them,dappling Mycor’s skin in molten gold and green. The vines along the walls lifted, stretching toward him in one synchronized, yearning motion, as if bidding their god goodnight.
Blooms unfurled suddenly then released their petals all at once, swirling around him in a spiral of soft pinks and dusk-lit whites. They drifted through the air like enchanted snow, catching and shimmering in the dim light before settling at his feet.
The koi pond brightened, its surface glowing from within. Threads of gentle blue magic curled upward like mist, coiling around Mycor’s antlers and drifting down his shoulders in soft ribbons.
The Thornfather, in a slow, deliberate movement, settled into the vast, sheltering posture of a live oak. His limbs relaxed, his rough skin taking on a deeper sheen of green and amber. Blossoms in his crown closed like tiny lanterns dimming for the night.
Roots shifted beneath him, rising tenderly to cradle his form in a bed of living wood and soft moss, forming itself beneath his weight with the ease of a heartbeat.
When his eyes finally closed, the entire atrium exhaled in a low, harmonious sigh, branches bowing, leaves whispering, pond water settling into perfect stillness. Magic rippled outward like a fading bell tone, soft and resonant.
And then, the god slumbered.
The hush was total and sacred.
Splice stood rooted to the spot, staring at the place where his god—his creator, his anchor—now rested in dreaming stillness.
A sound tore out of him, not quite a sob and not quite a gasp, but something raw and involuntary. He staggered toward Goldie, and before she could say a word, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He buried his face against her neck, breathshuddering, body trembling like a newly sprouted branch fighting the wind.
Goldie pulled him close, arms circling his back, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if she could hold him together through sheer force. “Oh, Splice,” she whispered, not sure if she was comforting him or herself.
His heart hammered violently against her chest. She felt the tremor in his shoulders, the way his breath stuttered, as if the world had shifted and he couldn’t find his footing.
When the trembling finally softened, she drew back just enough to see him. His leaf-shadow eyes, usually so sharp and watchful, were blown wide with aching wonder and loss. Her thumb brushed the angular line of his jaw, grounding him.
