Yarta refused to show himself the next time I arrived in the white room. I wasted hours singing to myself, weaving patterns with strands from my frock, stretching my limbs and trying to contort into ridiculous shapes that left me falling on my face.

Something about our intense connection at the last meeting spooked him. I wasn't as hesitant. I had a needful curiosity. What a puzzle we'd discovered; after our touch, I had awareness of the outside world, but he was present with me. He was stronger than me, actually; how else could he command my movement while I stood in the background like a spectator?

Was that even possible?

Either way, he was angry with me.

"I didn't do it on purpose, you know," I yelled against the walls. "Perhaps you could take some responsibility and admit your power isn't perfectly predictable." I lay flat on my back with my hands covering my eyes, not that it had any real effect against the bright white that still bothered me. "For the love of Valhalla, it's dull in here."

Nothing. Even without showing himself, I felt his energy. If the white prison couldn't exist without him, his choice to ignore me was an obvious rebuke.

"I wish I knew what to say to make you trust me." Still on the floor, I splayed my limbs in all directions like a star. "Do you even know what happened? At all? Anything?" I presumed, if he was listening, he kept his distance on purpose, so I yelled, "Yarta? Are you hoping I will simply go away?"

"Uh-huh," he said, so close to me I startled and sat up.

"Gods, don't do that." I put my hand where my heart would be, but it didn't pound as it would normally. It was so odd to feel my anxiety but not my pulse.

Yarta stood over me with folded arms. Unlike before, he didn't appear on the other side of a barrier; he was next to me in real space, merely an arms-length away. His black ensemble hadn't changed, though closer, I wondered if it was as soft as it appeared.

"It surprises me that you're daring to be this close," I said.

"Yeah, well…" He shrugged. "I can't get rid of you. You're not leaving. I can't banish you. Whatever you did—"

"We did."

"Well, whatever it was, everything's messed up. I used to be able to close my eyes and see nothing. Maybe even dream a little. Now, you're always around."

I tipped my head, trying to find his eyes behind the stiff black mask that still frightened me. "And?"

He didn't move. "And what?"

"Aren't you…curious?" I put my right hand up, miming how we'd touched.

"No. I can't risk being curious. Every risk I take hurts. You're no different."

"But did you actually get hurt with what happened before, or were you simply frightened?" I waggled the fingers on my open hand.

"You don't get it." Yarta turned to walk away.

Even without my body's usual signals, I knew my ears would be hot in real life. "What was the point of that, hmm?" I stood and chased him, barely keeping my distance. "You appear just to taunt me for a moment and let me know I'm not alone, but you won't even give me a chance to explore this? You don't even know what really happened, and neither do I. I gave you access to my body or something; that means we've found, I don't know…a bridge. Didn't you say you wanted someone else to walk in your shoes?"

That caught his attention enough to halt his feet. He spoke over his shoulder. "Yes."

"Then what's stopping you from trying it again? If you could see through my eyes, surely there's reason to think I could see through yours, too."

Yarta fully turned toward me. "You wanna try that?"

I folded my arms. "Yes, I'll try it. I'd try anything to escape this boring, pointless place."

"And you're not scared?"

I scoffed, trying as hard as I could not to think truthfully as he could've sensed my apprehension. "Of what? What even happened last time?"

"I opened my eyes, but they weren't mine. I wasn't in Einheim." He glanced at his hands.

"You didn't answer my question before. Were you hurt?"

Yarta slowly raised his eyes to me again. "No. I wasn't in pain. I didn't absorb your guilt. It was…like a window."

"A window. I like that." I said. "A window is harmless. I'll go mad if this is the last view I'll ever see. I need a window. Please."

"But, I—"

"Besides, if you get really worried, you know how to pull us out and wake up, correct?"

"Mm-hmm." He still didn't raise his face.

I hummed and walked in a circle to think. "You know, my family is accustomed to taking other forms. It's not one of my skills, but maybe it's related to this…like embodying another being, in a way. Have you ever done something like that before?"

He didn't deny it right away, but I trusted when he shook his head. Surely, he'd remember something so personal.

"Alright, well, we can't expect to learn anything if we always assume the worst. No panicking this time." I shook out my arms and tried to ground myself and concentrate.

"Okay. I'll try."

He said the words, but his timidity was almost childlike. I didn't have patience for any hesitation and huffed one last time before putting my hand up. "Okay. Come meet me."

Yarta took a step forward. He brought his trembling hand toward mine. "Should we close our eyes?"

"Sure." I shut mine. "Ready."

"Ready. Don't hurt me, Hela."

"I won't. I promise."

Like before, once our palms touched, we moved out of control, whizzing so fast we couldn't stay upright if we tried. The white light surrounding us broke into millions of fractal shapes and colors I couldn't imagine or reproduce with all the paint in the universe. Even with my eyes closed, I saw every star I'd ever admired. I was enveloped in pressure all over, like a warm blanket, though I worried it would crush me soon if we didn't stop.

"Hela?" Yarta yelled over the loud static around us. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes," I returned, practically screaming to hear myself. "Where are you?"

"Hela?" he said again, his voice fading in and out. "I'm falling."

"Where?" I stretched in all directions and couldn't find him. "Yarta, you have to reach for me."

"…falling…"

In an instant, the universe went completely still and silent. Every star shone with perfect clarity. I recognized none of them. Now Yarta's cries made sense; I was falling, too. To nowhere, to nothing. No realm below or above me. The overwhelming vastness of space nearly suffocated me.

Then, darkness. Almost like when my episodes with Yarta would end, but this time, I didn't fade into unconsciousness. I floated into it instead.

{Hela?} I heard—not with my ears. With my mind. {Where are you?}

This was decidedly different than before. A musty odor seeped through the invisible cracks in whatever bubble protected me. I was heavy. Achey. Was I still moving?

{Hello?} Yarta called to me again, echoing in a closed chamber at the back of my psyche.

I answered him in thought the same way. {I am here.}

Suddenly, light all around, but only bright when compared to the void of before. Moonlight streaked through a small window on the left. The otherwise bluish room—real. Not a projection or some astral place of imagination.

Wherever I was…where we were…it wasn't home.

{Is this place yours?} I asked.

His movements felt like my own, yet I did not command them. He still had more power than me, and I could only observe. {Yes,} he affirmed while rubbing his forehead. {Where are you?}

{I'm within you. You're a window, like you said. Whatever you see, I see. I feel what you feel.} I felt an odd discomfort to be merely along for the ride; it was extraordinary and sickening at once. {What in the name of Valhalla is that smell?}

He sat up on the edge of his meager cot, which was affixed to the wall opposite the window. {I dunno. Just Einway.}

It occurred to me that his vision wasn't obstructed by a mask in any way. His ensemble in the white room was a farce. A way to keep me at a distance. Now I was practically part of him, far away from my home and in another Yggdrasil altogether. This was a magic even Father couldn't recreate. The weight of discovery…the lift of wonder…a reality where people could travel great distances and see one another's lives without lifting a finger…

He shook his head quickly. {You're muttering. Stop it.}

{Sorry.} His skills were too perfect to sidestep, even like this; I hadn't tried to let him in at all, but I was raw and all-too readable. To know more about Yarta, I'd have to be cunning. {Mind stretching your hands? Just to see if I can control them at all like you did mine?}

He let out a breath and held his hands up with the palms outward, splaying his fingers and contracting them again. I almost expected to see his hefty black vambraces, but he was bare. Even in the low light, a few freckles made themselves known off his pale complexion. His sparse hair captured every drop of light, appearing almost purple.

{Anything?} he asked.

{Not yet. Turn them over.}

Yarta complied with a huff. {Okay?}

His heart didn't pound, but mine would have if I were in my own skin. His forearms were a chronicle of macabre artwork: a collage of scars built one atop another, then another, then another. While they crisscrossed a bit in some places, they were undeniably larger on his right arm than his left, and each slash ended in a point away from his body. While none were scabbed over or red in the telltale sign of a recent dressing, their sheer abundance told a tale of lifelong pain.

{Hela?} He asked, standing and scratching his temple when I didn't respond. {Are you gone?}

I wished to close my eyes and forget, but I saw with Yarta's eyes, not mine. {Yes. Y-yes, I'm still here. I…I don't believe I'm able to control you the same way you did me. I'm sorry.}

His heart dropped. He sighed and made an unknown gesture with his hand—though by the way he flicked his wrist, I presumed it was akin to a curse.

{I know. I'm disappointed, too.}

{Right. Disappointed.} He seemed to ignore the fact I was present at all and started raking through his hair, pulling it back and away from his face as if tying it with twine. A faint glow radiated by the wall on his right side, but Yarta didn't bother turning toward it.

{What was that?} I whispered, feeling foolish for being quiet as if anyone else could hear.

{It's a mooned,} Yarta said. He finished tying his hair.

I waited for him to elaborate…turn…go outside…anything. He was a well of mysteries that tortured me by emptying drop by drop. {Did you say a mooned? What's that?}

{Not a what. A who. Amooned,} he repeated, though I didn't know the name, and so my brain refused to see it in my mind another way except phonetically.

In light of his grotesque injuries, I was grateful to know he wasn't alone. {A…partner?} I asked hopefully.

{Amooned takes care of me,} he said. The glow happened again, only this time, Yarta looked.

The man in the second cot—one far too small for his stature—lay on his side, facing the wall. His skin reflected the moonlight on his chin and was still as pale as a cloud in the shadow. A bare, strong jaw set his face beautifully. His exposed left ear came to a gentle point, standing out against a sea of hair bundled in a plait that tucked under the black blanket covering him.

A moment later and the man's hair lit the room like a spell, bright enough to make me want to wince. Though sleeping silently, he was the light. A peculiar magic I'd never seen.

Before I could express my awe, Yarta did it for me. His heart leapt high in his chest and the smallest smile twitched across his lips that he quickly tried to snuff. Yarta had many secrets—too true, too true—but he couldn't talk away the stir of wings in his belly as he admired the man on the cot. It was exciting. It was dangerous. It was…the same thing I once felt for Modi, only this was somehow pure. It wasn't borne of intimidation or adolescent rebellion. An air of consent between them filled the room that I was jealous of.

{Does he call you Yarta?} I asked gently.

{Yes. Well, no. He doesn't call me anything. He can't talk.} Yarta crossed the room in a single stride to a desk built under the window; the remaining wall was for the door alone.

There was already a bit of parchment on the desk, and he spread it flat and backed up so a bit of light would catch it. {If he's not signing, he does this. Sometimes he puts Yarta on the notes. Sometimes he doesn't.}

This particular message was only two simple glyphs and not a true language that I recognized. Yarta pointed at the first picture: a crude illustration of a man walking toward the left edge. {Will return at sunset,} he said, letting his finger drag across the second drawing of a horizontal line cut through an orb and an arrow pointing down. {I'll see if I can find one with the name,} he said while rummaging through a small wooden box filled with other notes.

{Fascinating,} I whispered.

{Here's one,} he said, holding up a new note and pointing at the top. {See it?}

{I see…it's, um, it's close to Yarta,} I said, treading lightly in case correcting him would lead to offense. Written in a large font, with no flourishes of personality in the penmanship, were two words in the old language that added more mystery to the man in the cot instead of answering my burning questions. {Perhaps it's a bit different from place to place, but where I'm from, we'd say this with a breath at the start. And there's an article here...it says Mitt Hjarta.}

{So?}

If he'd been Vali, I would've openly teased him for its meaning and all it implied. It felt wholly inappropriate to treat these surroundings with anything but the utmost respect, though, so I gave a neutral, honest answer. {Well, it's not really a name at all. It's a term of endearment.}

He paused a moment. {I dunno what that means.}

How can I explain this? Changing the subject was less uncomfortable. {Is this all? Your whole life fits inside this room?}

{Mostly.} Hjarta—the only label I knew him by, so it would remain, though corrected—gently opened the door. He obviously hoped his supposed caretaker would remain undisturbed.

The bothersome odor intensified in the hot, humid air of Einheim, but Hjarta remained unaffected. He looked up to the night sky through the only unobstructed view in all directions. Trees more massive than any I could imagine blotted everything else. They weren't like any trees I'd seen with my two eyes, with almost turquoise shelves of pointed branches and wide black trunks, but they were identifiable enough as trees.

I listened for any tell-tale sounds of more people, but the world was oddly quiet in all directions. The faint wind and far-off thunder would've been ominous threats at home—how could this be the normal state of things?

{How far does this forest reach?} I asked.

{Forever. Most of Einheim looks like this.} Once again, he acted as if he was unaccompanied and carried on without narration. He pried open a wooden barrel as tall as his shoulder, then used a wooden ladle to scoop water from inside. As he brought it to his lips, I was put off by the sulfuric quality that permeated everything, not to mention the stale temperature. He poured the rest over his head and let out a relieved sigh.

When he looked into the barrel again, the water inside was still. The great mystery of his countenance was answered in that second, and I didn't have enough control to keep my shock at bay.

{What happened to you?} I wanted to cradle him, mend him, cry for him...none of which were possible here. {Who did this?}

"Who did this?" he asked, growing agitated. "You wanna know who did this?" Hjarta yanked the barrel away from the wall of the house, showing strength that didn't match his waifish form. With the moonlight illuminating more of his face, he looked at the water again. As the waves inside settled, his mutilated face became more real. "Like this?" he asked, tracing the first diagonal slash under his left eye to his chin on the opposite side. "And this?" Another scratch matched the first in a mirror image, making an X over his mouth. Several small vertical scars pulled what remained of his lips in an unnatural, restricting way. "I did. I did it so they'd leave me alone," he cried.

{But why?}

Without even realizing it, Hjarta's real outburst woke the man inside, who burst through the door without appearing the least bit inconvenienced for being disturbed. He met Hjarta's side by the barrel under the moonlight and lightly brushed his shoulder.

"They wouldn't leave me alone, Amooned," Hjarta said, sobbing into his hands. "Why wouldn't they leave me alone?"

{Gods, why have you sent me to him? What can I do?}

"Nobody can do anything!" Hjarta screamed, nearly shaking with rage.

Locked in his mind, I was terribly frightened. His instant outburst made him unpredictable and dangerous. Wasn't Modi just as volatile—wasn't that what got me in this mess?

But unlike Modi, Hjarta had someone. A kind soul who did nothing but aid in his comfort. The translucent-blond man raised Hjarta's chin and leaned down to meet their eyes. Amooned—if that really was his name—was filled with unnatural inner light, like an extension of the stars. He raised his right hand up and down, keeping it flat, clearly modulating Hjarta's breathing.

"N-nobody can...n-n-nobody can..." Hjarta muttered, slowing down and grounding by the second.

Amooned took his right hand and flipped it palm-forward, covering Hjarta's scratched mouth. Then, much the same way Mum would have if I ever came home in pain, he kissed Hjarta's forehead, remaining in place for several seconds until the poor man's shaking stopped.

The two of them breathed together in silence. I didn't dare interrupt this practiced ritual, no matter how badly I burned with new questions.

Amooned pulled away and gestured with his hands, ending with an obvious pantomime for sleep. Hjarta wiped his eyes and nodded, following him back to the hut without argument.

I'd certainly seen enough for one night. {Awake, awake, awake.}