Chapter 10: Echoes in Absence

The dimensional disturbances Daksha had been sensing grew stronger, more frequent. What had begun as subtle ripples in the fabric of reality became waves, then surges that even Prince could sometimes feel—moments when the air seemed to thicken, when colors intensified briefly before returning to normal, when sounds echoed strangely as if coming from very far away.

"They're searching," Daksha explained one night as they lay in Prince's bed, her in parrot form perched on his chest, him staring at the ceiling with worried eyes. "Not specifically for me, not yet. But they're scanning dimensions, looking for... anomalies."

"Like you," Prince said, his voice tight with fear he tried to hide.

"Like me," Daksha confirmed. "A Velorian using abilities in a dimension where no Velorian should be."

Prince reached up to stroke her feathers, a gesture that had become automatic, comforting to them both. "What do we do?"

Daksha was quiet for a long moment, her amber eyes troubled. "I need to stop using my abilities," she finally said. "Completely. No transformations, no healing, nothing that might create a dimensional signature they could detect."

Prince nodded, understanding the necessity but feeling a pang of loss nonetheless. The brief periods when Daksha could take her humanoid form had become precious to them both—moments when they could touch, hold each other, share kisses that left them both breathless.

"For how long?" he asked.

"I don't know," Daksha admitted. "Until the scanning stops. Until it's safe."

"And if it never stops?" Prince asked, voicing the fear that had been growing in him. "If it's never safe?"

Daksha's feathers dimmed, a sign of her sadness. "Then we adapt," she said simply. "We find new ways to be close, to express our love. We remember that what matters is not the form but the connection."

Prince nodded again, trying to accept her words, to find comfort in them. But that night, as Daksha slept on her perch and he lay awake, a new fear took root in his heart—not just that they might be discovered, but that this limitation might eventually drive them apart. That Daksha, confined permanently to her parrot form, might come to resent him, to regret choosing a life that kept her from fully expressing herself.

The next day at school, Prince found it hard to concentrate. His mind kept returning to Daksha, to the dangers they faced, to the uncertain future ahead of them. He was so distracted that he didn't notice Amar approaching until it was too late to avoid him.

"Well, if it isn't the jungle boy," Amar said, blocking Prince's path in the hallway. "Heard you've been telling people you have a girlfriend. What's that about? Did you finally teach a monkey to kiss you?"

Prince felt a flare of anger, but kept his expression neutral. Once, Amar's taunts would have hurt him deeply. Now, they seemed petty, insignificant compared to the real challenges he faced.

"Leave me alone, Amar," he said, his voice calm. "I'm not in the mood for this today."

Something in his tone must have surprised Amar, because the other boy blinked, momentarily thrown off his game. But he recovered quickly, his sneer returning.

"Oh, you're not in the mood? Sorry, Your Highness, I didn't realize I needed your permission to talk to you." Amar stepped closer, invading Prince's space. "So who is she, this mysterious girlfriend? Or did you make her up to seem less pathetic?"

Prince met Amar's gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. "She's real," he said. "And she's none of your business."

He tried to step around Amar, but the other boy moved to block him again. "If she's real, why hasn't anyone seen her? Why don't you bring her to school, introduce her to everyone?"

"Because she doesn't go to school here," Prince replied, his patience wearing thin. "Now get out of my way."

"Or what?" Amar challenged, giving Prince a small shove. "What are you going to do about it, freak?"

Before Prince could respond, a new voice cut in. "He doesn't need to do anything. I will."

Both boys turned to see Meera standing there, her arms crossed, her expression fierce. "Back off, Amar," she said. "Don't you have anything better to do than harass people?"

Amar looked between Meera and Prince, clearly weighing his options. Meera wasn't just any student—she was the principal's daughter, popular and well-respected. Crossing her could have consequences.

"Whatever," he finally said, taking a step back. "I was just having a conversation with my friend Prince here."

"We're not friends," Prince said quietly but firmly. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone from now on."

Amar's face darkened, but he didn't respond. Instead, he turned and walked away, his posture stiff with suppressed anger.

"You okay?" Meera asked once he was gone.

Prince nodded, offering her a small smile. "Yeah. Thanks for stepping in."

"No problem," Meera said, falling into step beside him as they continued down the hallway. "Amar's a jerk. Always has been."

They walked in companionable silence for a moment before Meera spoke again. "So... is it true? You have a girlfriend?"

Prince hesitated, remembering his promise to Daksha to be more careful about what he shared. But Meera had just helped him, had stood up for him when she didn't have to.

"Yes," he finally said. "But it's... complicated."

Meera raised an eyebrow. "Complicated how?"

"She's... not from around here," Prince said, choosing his words carefully. "And she's very private. That's why no one's met her."

Meera studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "You really care about her, don't you? I can see it in your face when you talk about her."

Prince felt his cheeks warm. "Is it that obvious?"

"Kind of," Meera said with a small laugh. "It's nice, though. You seem... happier these days. More confident."

"I am," Prince admitted. "She makes me see myself differently. Like I'm... worth something."

"You've always been worth something," Meera said, her voice suddenly serious. "It just took someone special to make you realize it."

Before Prince could respond, the bell rang, signaling the start of the next class. Meera gave him a quick smile and hurried off, leaving Prince standing in the hallway, her words echoing in his mind.

That evening, as Prince walked home from school, he found himself thinking about Meera's observation—that he seemed happier, more confident. It was true. Loving Daksha, being loved by her, had changed him in fundamental ways. He walked taller, spoke more freely, met people's eyes instead of looking away.

But as he approached his house, a strange feeling came over him—a prickling at the back of his neck, a sense that something was wrong. He quickened his pace, almost running by the time he reached his front door.

His uncle wasn't home—working the day shift this week—so the house was quiet as Prince entered. Too quiet. Usually, Daksha called out a greeting the moment she heard his key in the lock.

"Daksha?" he called, dropping his backpack and hurrying to his room. "I'm home."

No answer.

His room was empty—no emerald parrot on the windowsill, no books open on his desk where she had been reading. Just silence and the fading afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

"Daksha?" he called again, trying to keep the panic from his voice. "Are you here?"

He searched the entire house, though he knew it was futile. Daksha rarely left his room when he wasn't home, and never without telling him first.

As the reality of her absence sank in, Prince felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. Had she been discovered? Taken back to Veloria? Or had she simply... left? Decided that the risk of staying with him was too great?

No. He refused to believe that. Daksha wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. Something had happened—something beyond her control.

Prince grabbed his backpack and headed back out, his destination clear in his mind. The jungle. Their clearing. If Daksha had left of her own accord, if she had a message for him, that's where she would leave it.

The journey to the clearing seemed to take forever, though Prince moved quickly, almost running through the familiar paths. The sun was setting by the time he arrived, casting long shadows across the ground, turning the clearing into a patchwork of light and darkness.

"Daksha?" he called, his voice echoing slightly in the open space. "Are you here?"

No answer, but as Prince moved further into the clearing, he noticed something on the fallen log where they often sat—a small object that caught the fading light, glinting green.

He approached cautiously, his heart pounding. It was a feather—one of Daksha's, its emerald hue unmistakable. And beside it, scratched into the wood of the log, a symbol he recognized from the time Daksha had healed him—the same kind of mark that had appeared on his bedroom floor, glowing with green light.

Prince picked up the feather, holding it carefully as if it might dissolve at his touch. It was warm, pulsing faintly with that inner light that characterized everything about Daksha.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he whispered, studying the symbol carved into the log. It wasn't one he recognized from the healing spell—this was different, more complex.

As he traced the lines with his finger, the feather in his other hand grew warmer, its glow intensifying. And suddenly, Prince heard Daksha's voice—not aloud, but in his mind, as clear as if she were standing beside him.

Prince, her voice said, filled with urgency. If you're hearing this, I've had to leave. The scanning intensified—they were getting too close. I couldn't risk them finding you.

Prince felt his heart constrict at her words. "Where are you?" he asked aloud, though he knew she couldn't hear him. "How do I find you?"

As if in answer, the voice in his mind continued: I've gone deeper into the jungle, to a place where the dimensional barriers are naturally thicker. It should mask my presence, make it harder for them to detect me. I'll stay there until the scanning stops, until it's safe to return.

Prince looked around, as if expecting to see directions carved into the trees. "Where?" he asked again. "How will I find you?"

You can't come to me, Daksha's voice said, a note of sadness entering it. It's too dangerous. If they're scanning for me, they might detect you too, if we're together. The connection between us... it creates its own kind of dimensional signature.

Prince felt tears sting his eyes at the implication. "So we just... stay apart? For how long?"

I don't know, came the honest reply. Days, perhaps. Weeks. Until I can no longer sense their scanning. Until I'm sure it's safe.

The feather pulsed more brightly, and Daksha's voice grew stronger, more determined. But Prince, listen to me. This separation is physical only. Our hearts, our souls, remain connected across any distance. Remember what I told you—love doesn't grow in the presence of each other. It grows in the absence.

"I remember," Prince whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek.

Keep this feather with you, Daksha's voice instructed. It contains a small part of my essence, enough to maintain this connection. Through it, I can send you messages, and you can send your thoughts to me. Not constantly—that would be too detectable—but once a day, when the sun sets. That's when the dimensional barriers naturally thin slightly.

Prince clutched the feather tighter, taking comfort in its warmth, in the faint pulse that felt like a heartbeat against his palm. "I'll be waiting," he promised. "Every sunset."

I love you, Prince, Daksha's voice said, growing fainter now. Across dimensions, across time, across any separation. Never doubt that.

"I love you too," Prince replied, his voice breaking. "Always."

The feather's glow dimmed, returning to its normal brightness, and Prince knew the message was complete. Daksha was gone—physically gone—but not lost to him. Not completely.

He carefully tucked the feather into his shirt pocket, close to his heart, and began the walk home. The jungle seemed darker now, emptier without Daksha's presence, but Prince refused to give in to despair. This separation was temporary. A precaution, not an ending.

And perhaps, as Daksha had suggested, their love would grow stronger in the absence, deepening in ways it couldn't when they were together.

The days that followed were the hardest Prince had ever experienced. Going to school, coming home to an empty room, moving through his life with a Daksha-shaped hole in it—it was like learning to breathe underwater, to walk with a limb missing.

But each sunset brought a brief connection, a moment when the feather would glow more brightly and Prince could send his thoughts to Daksha, could hear her voice in his mind. They couldn't maintain the connection for long—a few minutes at most—but those moments became the anchors of Prince's days, the fixed points around which everything else revolved.

I miss the sound of your voice, he told her on the third day. The real one, not just in my head.

And I miss your touch, she replied. The way you stroke my feathers when you're thinking, not even realizing you're doing it.

On the fifth day: I had a dream about you last night, Prince shared. We were in the clearing, but it was different—the trees were taller, older. And you were in your human form, but more... radiant. Like you were made of light.

That doesn't sound like a dream, Daksha's voice replied, thoughtful. It sounds like a glimpse. Sometimes, when we sleep, our consciousness can slip between dimensions, see possibilities.

You mean... the future? Prince asked, hope flaring in him.

Perhaps, Daksha said. Or a potential future. One of many.

On the seventh day, Prince sensed a change in Daksha's voice—a tension, a worry she was trying to hide. What's wrong? he asked immediately. Has something happened?

The scanning, she replied after a pause. It's changed pattern. Become more... targeted. As if they've detected something and are trying to pinpoint it.

Fear gripped Prince at her words. They've found you?

Not yet, Daksha assured him. But they're getting closer. I may need to move deeper into the jungle, find somewhere even more shielded.

And if that doesn't work? Prince couldn't help asking. If they keep getting closer?

There was a long silence before Daksha replied, her voice heavy with an emotion Prince couldn't quite name. Then I'll have to leave this area completely. Go somewhere far away, where my presence won't put you in danger.

The thought was like a physical blow. No, Prince protested. There has to be another way. We'll face them together, fight them if we have to.

You don't understand what you're saying, Daksha replied, her voice gentle but firm. These are Velorians, Prince. Beings who can manipulate reality itself. You wouldn't stand a chance against them.

Neither would you, alone, Prince argued. But together, maybe we could—

No, Daksha interrupted, her voice suddenly fierce. I won't risk your life, Prince. Not for anything. If it comes to that, I'll go. And you'll let me.

Before Prince could respond, the connection faded, the feather's glow dimming as the last light of sunset disappeared below the horizon. He was left alone in his room, the echo of Daksha's words hanging in the air around him.

That night, Prince couldn't sleep. He lay awake, the feather clutched in his hand, thinking about what Daksha had said. About the possibility of her leaving, of them being separated not just temporarily but perhaps permanently.

The thought was unbearable. In the months since they had met, Daksha had become not just his friend, his love, but a part of him—as essential as his heart, his lungs, his very soul. The idea of living without her, of returning to the lonely existence he had known before, made him physically ill.

But what could he do? Daksha was right—he was just a human boy, with no powers, no abilities that could help against beings who could warp reality itself. If the Velorians found her, found them, he would be worse than useless—a liability, a weakness they could exploit to hurt Daksha.

As dawn broke, Prince made a decision. He couldn't fight the Velorians, couldn't protect Daksha from beings so far beyond his comprehension. But he could protect her from having to make an impossible choice—between her safety and his.

He would go to her. Not to stay, not to put himself in danger, but to say goodbye properly. To hold her one last time, if possible. To tell her face to face that he understood, that he would let her go if that was what was needed to keep her safe.

The feather would guide him—it had been growing warmer, its pulse stronger, whenever he faced in a certain direction. Following it would lead him to Daksha, he was sure of it.

Packing a small bag with water, food, and a flashlight, Prince set out for the jungle as soon as it was fully light. He left a note for his uncle claiming a school camping trip—not that Ravi was likely to notice his absence anyway.

The journey was harder than Prince had anticipated. The feather led him deep into parts of the jungle he had never explored, where the paths disappeared and he had to push through dense undergrowth, climb over fallen trees, wade through shallow streams.

By midday, he was exhausted, scratched, and beginning to doubt his decision. But the feather continued to pulse, to grow warmer whenever he moved in the right direction, and Prince pressed on, determined to find Daksha no matter what.

As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, Prince realized he wouldn't make it back before dark. He would have to spend the night in the jungle—something he had never done before, something that would have terrified him once. But his fear of the jungle's dangers paled in comparison to his fear of losing Daksha forever.

Just as he was considering where to make camp for the night, the feather gave a sudden, strong pulse, its glow intensifying dramatically. Prince looked up, his heart racing, and saw a faint green light in the distance, shimmering between the trees.

"Daksha," he whispered, all fatigue forgotten as he broke into a run, following the light.

He emerged into a small clearing unlike any he had seen before. The trees surrounding it were ancient, their massive trunks twisted into strange, almost architectural shapes. The ground was covered not with the usual jungle undergrowth but with a carpet of moss that seemed to glow faintly from within. And in the center of the clearing stood a structure that defied explanation—a kind of shelter made not of wood or stone but of what appeared to be solidified light, its walls translucent, shifting with patterns that reminded Prince of the aurora borealis he had seen in books.

And there, standing in the entrance to this impossible structure, was Daksha—not in her parrot form, but in her humanoid form, her emerald gown flowing around her like liquid light, her amber eyes wide with shock.

"Prince?" she said, her voice barely audible. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

Prince held up the feather, still glowing brightly in his palm. "It led me to you," he said simply. "I had to come. I had to see you, to tell you..."

He trailed off, suddenly unsure of what to say, of how to express the tumult of emotions inside him. Daksha took a step toward him, then stopped, conflict evident in her expression.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. "It's not safe."

"I know," Prince acknowledged. "I'm not staying. I just... I needed to see you. To tell you that I understand. That if you have to leave, to go far away to stay safe, I won't try to stop you."

Daksha's expression softened, a sadness entering her eyes that made Prince's heart ache. "You came all this way to tell me you'll let me go?" she asked.

Prince nodded, tears threatening to spill over. "Because I love you," he said, his voice breaking. "Enough to put your safety above my happiness. Above my need to be with you."

Daksha closed the distance between them then, her own eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Oh, Prince," she said softly. "My brave, selfless Prince."

She reached out, her hand cupping his cheek with infinite tenderness. The touch sent a shiver through him—it had been so long since he had felt her skin against his, since he had seen her in this form that made his heart race and his breath catch.

"I love you too," she whispered. "More than I ever thought possible. More than I sometimes think this form can contain."

Prince leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly at the comfort of it. "Then let me stay," he pleaded. "Just for tonight. We can be careful, can't we? One night couldn't make that much difference."

Daksha hesitated, clearly torn. "The scanning has been less intense today," she finally said. "Perhaps... perhaps one night would be acceptable. But you must leave at first light, return to the safety of the town."

Prince nodded eagerly, willing to agree to anything that would give him more time with her. "I promise," he said. "First light."

Daksha smiled then, a smile that lit up her entire being, that made the glow of her skin intensify until she was almost too bright to look at directly. "Then come," she said, taking his hand and leading him toward the strange shelter. "Let me show you what I've created here."

Inside, the structure was even more remarkable than it had appeared from outside. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of the same solidified light, but here Prince could see that they were covered in intricate patterns—symbols similar to the ones that had appeared when Daksha healed him, but more complex, more numerous.

"Protection spells," Daksha explained, following his gaze. "They help mask my presence, make it harder for the scanning to detect me."

In the center of the single room was what appeared to be a bed, though like everything else, it was made of that strange, solidified light. Beside it was a small table with objects Prince recognized from his own room—books Daksha had been reading, a small carved wooden bird he had given her as a gift.

"You brought these with you?" he asked, touched by the gesture.

"They remind me of you," Daksha said simply. "Of home."

The word hung in the air between them, charged with meaning. Home. Not Veloria, not the jungle, but wherever they were together. Prince felt a lump form in his throat at the realization.

"I've missed you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "So much."

"And I you," Daksha replied, stepping closer to him. "Every moment. Every breath."

She reached up, her fingers tracing the contours of his face as if memorizing them. "The connection through the feather helped," she said softly. "But it's not the same as this. As being able to see you, touch you."

Prince caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "No," he agreed. "It's not the same at all."

They stood like that for a long moment, drinking in the sight of each other, the physical presence they had been denied for so long. Then, slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to, Daksha leaned down and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was gentle at first, a reacquainting, a remembering. But it quickly deepened, fueled by the days of separation, the fear of future partings, the love that had only grown stronger in absence. Prince felt that familiar rush of shared emotions—joy, longing, desire, love—flowing between them like a current, binding them together in ways that transcended the physical.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Daksha rested her forehead against his, her amber eyes looking directly into his. "Stay with me tonight," she whispered. "Let me hold you while you sleep. Let me pretend, just for a few hours, that we're not being hunted, that we're just two beings who love each other, who have all the time in the world."

Prince nodded, unable to speak past the emotion clogging his throat. He would give her this—this one night of normalcy, of peace—before returning to the separation that might stretch on indefinitely.

They lay together on the strange bed, which was surprisingly comfortable despite its unusual composition. Daksha's arms around him, her warmth enveloping him, Prince felt a sense of rightness, of homecoming, that he had never experienced anywhere else.

"Tell me about your days," Daksha murmured, her fingers playing with his hair. "What I've missed while we've been apart."

Prince told her about school, about his confrontation with Amar, about Meera's unexpected defense. About the sunsets spent clutching the feather, sending his thoughts to her across the distance. About the dreams he'd had—vivid, detailed dreams of them together in various forms, various places.

Daksha listened, asking questions, laughing at his descriptions of Amar's face when Meera stood up to him. It was so normal, so domestic—just two people sharing the details of their days—that Prince could almost forget the danger that had forced them apart, that would separate them again come morning.

As night deepened around them, the walls of the shelter began to glow more brightly, providing a soft, ambient light that made Daksha's skin shimmer like moonlight on water. Outside, Prince could hear the sounds of the jungle—birds calling, insects buzzing, the occasional rustle of something moving through the undergrowth.

"It's beautiful here," he said, looking around at the glowing shelter, at the ancient trees visible through the translucent walls. "Peaceful."

"Yes," Daksha agreed, her voice soft with contentment. "I've come to love this world—its wild beauty, its untamed vitality. So different from the sterile perfection of Veloria."

She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with an expression that made his heart skip a beat. "But mostly," she continued, "I've come to love you. Your kindness, your courage, your capacity for wonder. Your ability to see beauty in the ordinary, to find meaning in the mundane."

Prince felt his face warm at her words. "I'm not special," he protested weakly.

"You are to me," Daksha said firmly. "The most special being in all the dimensions I've known."

She leaned down to kiss him again, a kiss that conveyed all the emotions words couldn't express—the depth of her love, the pain of their separation, the joy of their reunion, however brief.

As they lay together in the glowing shelter, surrounded by the sounds of the jungle night, Prince felt a peace settle over him despite the uncertainty of their future. Whatever came tomorrow, whatever separations they might endure, this moment—this perfect, precious moment—would sustain him.

Because love, true love, doesn't diminish with distance. It doesn't fade with time. It grows in the absence, deepens in the separation, until it becomes not just an emotion but a state of being—as essential as breathing, as constant as the stars.

And in that knowledge, Prince found a comfort that transcended all fear, all doubt, all uncertainty about what the future might hold.