If any had been there to see the expression of the man known only as Raven, they would have known shock, for his cool calm had melted away in place of anticipation of that which may only come once a year, as he hurries to a hillside, carrying a picnic basket.
For but once a year they may meet, at the border, he who watches over and guards the crimson shinigami, and the other, keeping the balance. One is made of light now, if light were made flesh, but also there is darkness and terrible power. The watcher would do much to have taken on the darkness himself, and kept it with the terrible dark winged power that slept within him, but the other said no. There must be balance, and so they endure, only meeting for a short time once a year, able to see each other but never touch, never cross the borders.
And so the world remains, and they guard it. Their meetings are a thing of wonder, as the world grows thin and another place, one bright and beautiful, can be seen over the boundary, but though there is wonder in that, it pales before the meeting.
For the meetings are so precious to both that at the joy on the dark man's face as the other condenses from the light, hardened bitter folk would weep and turn away, the rawness of the feelings such that none could look upon them and not be overcome.
The other is in every way an opposite to his worldly counterpart, golden where the man is dark, green-flashing with red where the man's eyes are as golden as the light the other formed from, and perched on the cusp of adulthood where the man is grown. They gaze upon each other, drinking in the sight, and at first neither will speak. Then at once they exclaim the others name, and fall to talking of little things, aware the time is precious. The dark man will speak of the world and its changes, the boy-man will listen, and they fall to reminiscing. Perhaps the man will reach into a basket he has brought, and place on the border a fragrant pastry, which the other will then take and eat with immense enjoyment, or else a book will be proffered and gleefully accepted, but all too soon their hour will come to an end, and the border and the boy begin to fade.
But as he vanishes they keep their eyes locked on one another, unwilling to miss a single moment, and once again they speak each others names, "Oz!" the dark man cries out, and faint and far off the reply comes back "Gil!"
The man will weep then, and in the golden realm it is sure the boy does as well, for the love and devotion between them is not something so easily forgotten, and then the dark man will return to his long watch, legend among even the immortals, and the two will wait for the next year, when the brothers of the heart may once again see, but never touch each other.
It has been this way for a thousand years.
So Oz is a chain unbound by contract, and the Will of the Abyss as well. But with no contract there is nothing to restrain his power and he is unable to enter the world, as his power would undo what he worked so hard to mend, the chains of the world. But someone had to keep the other side stable, and counterbalance all the power of the abyss. So Gil does, and once a year the abyss overlaps with the world enough for the two to meet, as long as neither tries to cross the border, which would undo everything.
