Page 47 of I Married A Syllen

My chest constricted for him. Despite his best efforts at keeping a neutral expression, I could feel the distress and maybe even something akin to shame in his voice.

“Something like this never should have happened. Truth be told, had you not pointed out the fact that the soil was changing in a negative fashion, it would have taken us a long time to realize that something bad was happening as well,” I said gently. “So you see, technology may have its upsides, but it is merely a tool. Without your awareness, it would have been of no use to anyone. We each have our strengths, and when we combine them, everything is possible.”

He gave me a grateful smile. I didn’t know if my words helped lift his spirit, but he looked a bit less dejected.

“In the morning, we travel to Ungaro,” he said. “It is important that we share with them what we’ve discovered so far. We must obtain their permission to use your device to scan their land and find the entrance to their secret cave, if the same thing occurred there.”

“Gladly,” I said without hesitation.

He smiled and raised his hand as if to caress my cheek with his knuckles before stopping himself. I groaned inwardly. This was going to suck the big one if he felt compelled to stifle his nature to comply with my boundaries.

It never dawned on me how many subtleties existed in our social interactions. What we naturally understood as acceptable or not was built over years of subtle and sometimes open training. How was he to understand what were appropriate social interactions with me? I would have more than welcomed that caress, especially since we were soulmates.

With a will of its own, my left hand caught his wrist and brought his hand back towards my face so that he could complete the gesture he had initiated. His eyes widened, and then his face softened. He gently caressed my cheek with the back of his hand before extending the caress down the curve of my neck. Then, he indulged in slipping his fingers through my hair before dropping his hand.

“You do not have to ask permission when you want to do this kind of display of affection with me, since we’re soulmates,” I said in a soft tone. “It is with people you do not share a close relationship with that it is frowned upon. If I have a problem with anything you do, I will let you know. But I don’t want you to try to change yourself to accommodate me. We can meet halfway.”

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with me,” he said hesitantly.

“You saying that makes me feel very safe. And that gentle caress was very pleasant. So don’t worry. There was zero discomfort here,” I said reassuringly.

“Remember you said that, my mate,” he said, half serious and half teasing.

“I will,” I replied in a similar fashion.

As if to test my assertion, he grabbed my hand. I closed mine around his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He smiled.

“Now, let me give you a tour,” he said as he led me through the rest of the village.

I marveled at its beauty. They had built it around a river. Taelen led me down the stone path that crossed over the shallow part of the water. It connected the two shores the village was spread across. A mountain closed the left side, with multiple houses carved inside it. Their terraces gave directly onto the river. On both valleys that flanked it, freestanding houses reminiscent of Aztec architecture were scattered at a relatively short distance from each other.

“My family and I live in the mountain, alongside around fifty families who also chose a dwelling there,” Taelen explained, pointing at it. “Those with younglings tend to choose a dwelling on the land so that they have more space to run around and play.”

“Yeah, I noticed the houses are all rather small,” I said pensively.

He nodded. “We do not hoard items in our houses as the Settlers seemed to do. What is the point of collecting things that serve no purpose? We spend very little time indoors. Life is out here, not trapped behind walls.”

“But what about art? You mentioned your brother was a sculptor. What happens to his pieces and to his pottery?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

“He makes them in materials with a limited lifespan. The minute they start to decay, they are recycled,” he said factually.

“Whoa! He’s not saddened to see his hard work and masterpieces vanish?” I asked, taken aback.

“Why would he? It is the cycle of life. You’re created, contribute to your community to the extent of your capacity, and then you return to dust. His creations bring joy or convenience until they’ve run their course. Art should never be stale. It should constantly evolve and be renewed.”

“What if you really like a piece?!” I exclaimed.

He chuckled. “If you really liked something, then you can have it recreated.”

“But it won’t be the same,” I countered.

“Nothing is ever the same. The differences, however subtle, will be a sign of evolution, or will reveal a different side that had not been considered or shared the first time around. What’s the point of hanging on to the past when the endless possibilities of the future lie ahead? If your house is already cluttered, you will not want to discover new treasures because you have no more room to fit them in. Letting go of the past allows you to dare, to venture, to do…”

“That’s an interesting philosophy,” I said pensively.

He smiled and continued giving me the tour.

“Older juveniles and young adults who seek a bit more independence usually settle here, on the water.”