The leaves rain around me like a rosy cloud falling from the canopy. I watch them dance, collide, and resume their indolent waltz before settling on the mossy ground. I pick one up and observe the whitish veins running across its surface.

Above my head, the Spindle spreads its immense branches, obscuring part of the sky. The giant tree filters the sun's rays, causing patches of light to ripple on the ground, swayed by the movement of its foliage. I hear its distant, languorous whisper, like the murmur of waves carried by the wind—a plaintive, haunting melody. I sigh as I look again at the crumpled leaf. They say these veins are the first symptoms of its disease, which is inexorably spreading to all its branches and trunk... Sitting cross-legged in front of me, Bokang grabs my chin with his hand, forcing me to look him in the eye while raising his eyebrows.

‘Stay in the here and now. Right now, there's nothing you can do,’ he advises.

I refocus on my mentor. It’s been three years since he took me under his wing, three years since he awakened me to the Skein, making me a Muna. I watch him dip his brush into a mixture of linseed oil, flour, and chalk, drain it on the edge of the ceremonial bowl, and then narrow his eyes as he paints my cheek, tracing lines and patterns on my face. I let him, feeling the cold touch of the wash on my skin. Staying as still as possible, I watch the laughing wrinkles that bud at the corners of his eyes. But today, he doesn't seem inclined to the usual playful humor. His mood is solemn, formal.

I tug slightly at my tunic, which is a bit too tight for my taste. I specifically chose a white fabric with orange borders and a few blue patterns, and the weavers of the Refuge made me a custom costume. But I'm really not comfortable in this kind of ceremonial outfit. I miss my travel clothes. I miss traveling.

‘Stop moving.’

I stop myself at the last second from pouting and instead look up to observe the ballet of the priestesses. They bustle among the gnarled roots of the Spindle, placing lanterns and oil lamps on the dense, thick moss of the forest. Their movements are precise and unadorned, with no wasted energy. With long candles, they light them one by one, as the scent of camphor and aromatic herbs wafts through the air: jasmine and sage, magnolia and lavender... Other priestesses emerge from the Bark Refuge, the sanctuary built in the heart of the Spindle, carrying baskets of fruits and flowers. They move in a leisurely procession, their steps silently sinking into the thick carpet of leaves, petals and waterlogged mosses. It’s like a slow-motion waltz, a meticulous choreography inherited from many years of practice. I look up at the sky, resisting the urge to scratch my nose or turn my head. I hope Nauraa isn’t too impatient on his end.

‘Bokang?’

‘Hmm?’ my mentor asks without taking his eyes off his task.

‘What will you do when the ceremony is over?’

‘I plan to raise my glass in your honor and eat to my heart's content.’

I frown. ‘I mean afterward, you big oaf. And you know it.’

With a turn of his hand, he shifts my face left, then right. He carefully examines his work and sets his brush down, apparently satisfied.

‘I'll hit the road again.’

‘To find others like me?’

He smiles wryly. ‘Come on, you know there’s no one else like you.’ But he continues before I can scold him again. ‘But yes, my goal will be to find new Exalts. Other companions who can lend you a hand within the Tumult.’

I suddenly look down, feeling a wave of sadness. During these three years, we traveled together across the Peninsula. We slept under the stars, shared the warmth of a fire, leaning against Nauraa's fur, lived off the land’s generosity... He taught me a thousand things: to meditate effortlessly, to extend my perception beyond myself, to understand how all forms of life are connected... I saw him defuse conflicts between peasants and wild animals with ease and good humor, teach humans the secret traditions of nature. I saw him laugh heartily, his gruff voice booming, while sharing bread with passing travelers. Over the weeks and months, he became my friend, my confidant, in addition to being my guide.

Bokang seems to sense my melancholy. He grabs my shoulders.

‘Whatever the distance, we’ll always be connected by the Skein.’ He takes my hand and scrutinizes the Namkha knot I nervously manipulate between my fingers. I wove it yesterday, intertwining vines and roots of the Spindle after boiling and dyeing them orange and azure... It hadn’t been easy to climb the Spindle to gather what I needed, especially due to vertigo and fatigue.

This climb had been the last initiation rite I had to accomplish to earn the right to make my own jewel... but I now understood its meaning. While ascending, I saw a thousand species living in concord within the world tree. I saw squirrels alongside martens, eagles coexisting peacefully with nightingales... The ascent had been a final lesson, giving meaning to what it meant to be a Muna.

Harmony.

‘With this symbol, you have officially become a sentinel of the Skein. We are now family, you and I.’

‘Like the cheeky kid and the unbearable uncle?’

A broad smile lights up his face. ‘Exactly.’

Finally, a priestess of the Spindle approaches us. The others are already returning to the Bark Refuge. She beckons us, and we stand up.

‘It’s time, it seems.’

I look at Bokang, my heart pounding. He gives me a discreet nod of encouragement. I nod back, then follow the young druidess. It’s time to join Nauraa and bind my spirit to his. As I walk on the velvety carpet, the bells on my headdress tinkle delicately. My hands are sweaty, my breath short. My hakama glides over the pink leaf paving. My obi squeezes my belly, or maybe it’s just that my stomach is in knots... I struggle not to step on my long sleeves, barely held up by tangerine-colored cords. I hope I don’t look too ridiculous...

In front of me, the entrance to the Refuge opens like a gaping, dark maw. But as gigantic as it is, the cavity seems tiny compared to the trunk of the world tree. They say its circumference exceeds five thousand feet and its peak pierces five thousand meters high... We ascend the slope leading to the entrance, passing between the lit lanterns and the gnarled interlacing roots, so immense they are several times my height in places. Kodamas watch us, some half-asleep, others running on their bark promontories. There are also mushs and spindle harvesters zigzagging between the patches of light piercing from the distant canopy.

Bokang places his hands reassuringly on my shoulders. Everything will be fine, he seems to say with a simple look. I leave the daylight behind to enter the sanctuary’s darkness. Inside the trunk, thousands of natural niches and alcoves buzz with life. There are birds, rodents, bears, and wolves, but also hundreds of sentient plants and insects fluttering about. Some nestle within mossy coverings, others dash through the vegetation maze, passing by steles and stone effigies. I see stylized statues of Inari, Cernunnos, Freyja, Yong-Su, Tlaloc... Offerings of flower garlands or trinkets have been placed around them.

From above, water trickles down the ancient wood, forming small waterfalls here and there, shaping sheets and pools on the ground. Streams run between mounds and hills, clear and bright despite the dimness…

But it's Nauraa I mostly gaze at. He sits patiently in the inner clearing’s center, tongue hanging out. Despite his colossal size, he seems tiny in the Spindle’s vastness. His orange fur contrasts with the cave’s shimmering green, haloed by dancing multicolored butterflies. The priestesses have carefully combed his fur and painted ceremonial markings on his muzzle, ears, and flanks. I smile. That couldn’t have been easy. When he sees me, he can’t help but yip, and though his tail wags, he makes no move to get up.

I remember him as a simple fox cub I could carry in my arms, though he was already much larger than an adult fox. I remember our games in the dense forest where we grew up or in the Katkera’s winding streams, searching for shrimp or silver fish. All those wonderful moments we shared near the Earth Refuge... Nauraa was already my best friend. He already held a part of my soul. And soon, we will become one, he and I. Forever. Beside him, the Ollam rests his hand on Nauraa’s carrot-colored fur, probably to prevent him from leaping toward me. The venerable Muna has a long white beard and a kind expression, his arms covered with bracelets, torques, and fabric bands. So, he will be the one to officiate our union...

I try to calm my breathing. There’s no need to be nervous. Steadily, I position myself in the center of the circle of moss-covered standing stones and bow respectfully. Bokang sits a bit farther back, while the priestesses around us extinguish the braziers and lanterns one by one. Thin columns of smoke rise towards the vegetative vault. I kneel in turn.

The Ollam bends toward me and, with his thumb, places a drop of sap on my forehead. He does the same for Nauraa, who lowers his head to his level to be anointed in turn. I close my eyes to awaken to the Skein. I shut down my senses, focusing on the darkness, muting the sounds of the nature around me. The chatter of magpies, the rustling of leaves... I feel them disappear, gradually fading away. The heady scents dissolve, the caress of the wind against my skin diminishes... I feel them fall asleep, like evening primroses closing into buds at dusk.

And at the same time, I feel the dendrites of the Skein unfurl within me. Like mycelium, I let them radiate around me. Like stems or roots uncoiling, the filaments of my being begin to probe the surroundings, connecting to everything around: the blades of grass growing at my feet, the fern stretching at the base of a standing stone, the heron shaking off after dipping its head into a crystalline stream, the shrew scampering between mounds of earth.

I become one with nature... but it is Nauraa whom I perceive most vividly, whom I touch with my soul. I feel the Ollam at work. I sense him grasping my filaments, entwining them with those of my Chimera. He is weaving our essences into a fabric, a tapestry.

Suddenly, I feel a presence right next to me. No... within me. I feel the moss under my pads, the breeze in my fur. I feel the hunger grumbling in my stomach, an itch behind my neck that I try to ignore. Other senses awaken within me as the Ollam sews, stitches, mends, and overlocks... My heart pounds against my chest, powerful and fast. No, it’s Nauraa’s.

I open my eyes and gaze into those of my now Alter Ego. Around us, the threads of the Skein intertwine into a glorious tapestry, a web vibrating with energy and light. I feel his emotions, his excitement, and his anxiety. The thrill of finally being able to speak to me in a way that transcends language or thoughts. I look at him, and at the same time, I see myself through his eyes: a young woman with a painted face, adorned with antlers, bells, strings, and linen. For a fraction of a second, I wonder who that could be before recognizing myself beneath the costume and makeup. I am no longer entirely myself, yet it feels as if I am finally complete. As if I have finally become whole.

I am in communion with him, just as he is with me. We are one, and two at the same time. Then a voice thunders in my head. It is my voice, yet it is a voice that is not mine.

"Teija," he says, calling me by my name for the first time.

"Nauraa," I reply, as white tears stream down my cheeks.