Chapter 8: The Chasm Between

The argument had been their worst yet.

Prince couldn't even remember how it started—some small disagreement that had escalated, fueled by fears neither of them had been willing to acknowledge. Words had been exchanged, sharp and cutting. Daksha's feathers had dimmed to an almost normal green, her voice losing its melodic quality as anger took hold.

And then she had flown away.

That had been three days ago. Three days of silence, of emptiness, of Prince moving through his life like a ghost. Going to school, coming home, staring at the window he always left open for her, waiting for a flash of emerald that never came.

On the fourth day, he couldn't stand it anymore. He skipped school—something he had never done before—and headed for the jungle. Their jungle. The place where they had first met, where they had shared so many conversations, where Daksha had taught him to see the world through new eyes.

The clearing with the fallen log was empty, as he had expected. But he sat there anyway, his journal open on his lap, pen poised over a blank page. The words wouldn't come. How could he write about the hollow feeling in his chest, the ache that seemed to grow with each passing hour?

"I'm sorry," he said aloud to the empty clearing. "I didn't mean what I said. Any of it."

Only the rustling of leaves answered him.

Prince closed his eyes, remembering the argument. He had been frustrated by the limitations of their friendship—by the fact that Daksha remained in her parrot form even though he knew she had some ability to transform, at least partially. By the secrets she still kept from him, the parts of herself she held back.

"Why won't you show me?" he had demanded. "Your true self. Or at least, more of who you really are. Don't you trust me?"

"It's not about trust," Daksha had replied, her voice tight. "It's about limitations. About the laws of this dimension, this reality. About the consequences of pushing boundaries that were never meant to be pushed."

"That's just an excuse," Prince had shot back. "You're afraid. Afraid to be vulnerable, to be fully known. You talk about emotions, about connection, but you're holding back just like your people did."

The moment the words left his mouth, he had known they were a mistake. Daksha's feathers had dimmed so dramatically it was as if a light had been switched off. Her amber eyes had widened, then narrowed.

"You know nothing of my people," she had said, her voice cold in a way he had never heard before. "Nothing of what I sacrificed, what I lost. You are a child, Prince. A human child with a human's limited understanding of the universe."

The words had stung like a physical blow. "If I'm so limited, why are you even here?" he had demanded. "Why waste your time with someone so beneath you?"

"I have asked myself the same question," Daksha had replied, and then she was gone, a flash of green through the open window, disappearing into the night.

Now, sitting alone in the jungle, Prince felt the full weight of his words, of his immaturity. Daksha had shared more of herself with him than with anyone on this planet. She had trusted him with her story, her pain, her exile. And he had thrown it back in her face because he wanted more—always more.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again to the empty air. "Please come back."

As the day wore on, Prince remained in the clearing, alternating between writing in his journal and simply sitting in silence, hoping. The sun climbed high, then began its descent. Shadows lengthened across the jungle floor. Still, Daksha did not appear.

Finally, as dusk approached, Prince gathered his things and stood to leave. His heart felt heavier than it had that morning, the hope that had brought him here fading with the daylight.

That was when he saw it—a flash of emerald among the trees, so brief he thought he might have imagined it. But then it came again, brighter this time, moving through the foliage with purpose.

"Daksha?" he called, his voice cracking with emotion.

The green light paused, hovering between two trees. Then, slowly, it emerged into the clearing—not as the parrot he knew, but as a small, glowing orb of pure emerald energy, pulsing with a rhythm that reminded Prince of a heartbeat.

He stared, transfixed. "Daksha?" he whispered again.

The orb floated closer, stopping about a foot from his face. It pulsed once, twice, and then a voice emanated from it—Daksha's voice, but different, more resonant, as if coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"I heard you calling," she said. "Not with your voice, but with your heart."

Prince reached out instinctively, then stopped, unsure if he should touch the glowing orb. "I'm so sorry," he said, the words tumbling out. "I was wrong. I was selfish and immature and—"

"Hush," Daksha interrupted, the orb pulsing more brightly. "I was wrong too. I have been... afraid. Not of you, but of myself. Of what might happen if I allowed myself to fully connect with you, with this world."

"What do you mean?" Prince asked.

The orb hovered silently for a moment, as if Daksha was considering her words carefully. "When I was exiled," she finally said, "my people did more than just transform me into a parrot. They placed constraints on my consciousness, on my ability to access my true nature. These constraints were meant to be permanent, unbreakable."

"But they're not?" Prince guessed.

"They're weakening," Daksha confirmed. "Because of you. Because of the connection between us. Every time I use what remains of my abilities—like when I healed you with my tears—the constraints fracture a little more."

"And that's... bad?"

The orb pulsed, its light dimming slightly. "It's dangerous," Daksha said. "For both of us. My true form is not meant for this dimension. It could tear the fabric of your reality. It could harm you."

Prince felt a chill run through him at her words, but also a strange exhilaration. "Is that why you left? Because you were afraid of hurting me?"

"Partly," Daksha admitted. "But also because your words... they struck a truth I wasn't ready to face. I have been holding back. Not just my form, but my feelings. My... attachment to you."

The orb pulsed more rapidly, its light shifting through shades of green—from emerald to jade to a deep forest hue, then back again. It was the most emotion Prince had ever seen Daksha express, even in her parrot form.

"I've missed you," he said simply, his own emotions too complex to articulate fully. "These past few days... it's been like a part of me was missing."

"I felt it too," Daksha said, her voice softer now. "The absence. The emptiness. I tried to stay away, to give us both space to think, to process. But the pull was too strong."

"The pull?"

"To you," Daksha explained. "It's growing stronger every day. The connection between us. It's... reshaping me, Prince. In ways I don't fully understand."

Prince thought about what she was saying—about constraints weakening, about danger, about connection. About feelings neither of them had been ready to name.

"What happens now?" he asked.

The orb hovered silently for a long moment. Then, slowly, it began to change—elongating, taking on a more defined shape. Not the parrot he knew, but not quite human either. A form of pure energy, vaguely humanoid, still glowing with that same emerald light.

"Now," Daksha said, her voice coming from the center of the glowing figure, "we make a choice. I can return to my parrot form, maintain the constraints as best I can, continue as we have been. Or..."

"Or?" Prince prompted when she didn't continue.

"Or we can see where this leads," Daksha said. "This connection between us. But Prince, you must understand—it's uncharted territory. My people never allowed themselves to form emotional bonds like this. I don't know what will happen."

Prince looked at the glowing figure before him—at Daksha, in this in-between form that was neither her true self nor the disguise imposed on her. He thought about the past few days, about the hollow feeling in his chest that no amount of distraction could fill.

"I know what happens if we try to stay apart," he said quietly. "And I don't want that."

The glowing figure seemed to pulse more brightly at his words. "Nor do I," Daksha admitted. "But we must be careful. We must go slowly. And there will be times when I must distance myself—not because I want to, but because the constraints are weakening too quickly."

"I understand," Prince said, though he wasn't sure he fully did. "Just... don't disappear again without telling me. These past few days have been..."

"I know," Daksha said, the glow dimming slightly. "I felt it too. The separation was... painful."

"They say," Prince began hesitantly, "that love doesn't grow in the presence of each other. It grows in the absence."

The glowing figure went very still. "Love," Daksha repeated, as if testing the word. "Is that what this is?"

Prince felt his face warm. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I've never... I mean, I've read about it in books, but I've never felt it. Not like this."

"Nor have I," Daksha said. "Love was one of the first emotions my people purged. One of the most dangerous, they believed. The most destabilizing to their perfect order."

"Maybe they were right," Prince said with a small smile. "It feels pretty destabilizing from where I'm standing."

The glowing figure seemed to shimmer, and Prince realized Daksha was laughing—a sound he had never heard from her before, rich and melodic and somehow both alien and deeply familiar.

"Yes," she agreed. "Destabilizing is an apt description."

They fell silent, the only sound the ambient noises of the jungle around them—birds calling, insects buzzing, leaves rustling in the gentle evening breeze. The glowing figure that was Daksha hovered before Prince, neither advancing nor retreating, as if waiting for him to make the next move.

"Can I..." Prince began, then hesitated. "Can I touch you? Like this, I mean."

The figure pulsed once, twice. "I don't know," Daksha admitted. "No one has ever tried."

Slowly, giving her time to withdraw if she wanted to, Prince reached out his hand. The glowing energy that made up Daksha's current form seemed to reach back, extending toward his fingertips.

When they made contact, Prince gasped. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't like touching anything he had ever experienced before. It was like plunging his hand into warm water that was somehow also light, also sound, also emotion. He felt a rush of sensations—wonder, fear, longing, joy—and knew instinctively that they were Daksha's feelings, flowing into him through the connection.

"I can feel you," he whispered, awed. "Your emotions."

"And I yours," Daksha replied, her voice seeming to come from both the glowing figure and inside Prince's own mind. "This is... unexpected."

Prince wanted to maintain the connection forever, to explore this new way of communicating that went beyond words, beyond even touch. But after only a few moments, he felt a sharp pain—like a static shock but stronger—and pulled his hand back instinctively.

The glowing figure that was Daksha recoiled as well, pulsing rapidly in what Prince now recognized as distress.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

"The constraints," Daksha explained, her voice strained. "They're reasserting themselves. I can't... maintain this form much longer."

Even as she spoke, the glowing figure was already beginning to contract, to lose its humanoid shape and return to the orb form.

"It's okay," Prince assured her. "Go back to the parrot form if you need to. We have time."

The orb pulsed once more, gratefully, then began to change again—shrinking, solidifying, taking on the familiar shape of the emerald parrot he knew. Within moments, Daksha was perched on the fallen log, her feathers glowing brightly despite the obvious exhaustion in her posture.

"That was... intense," she said, her voice back to the one Prince was accustomed to.

"Yeah," he agreed, sitting beside her on the log. "But amazing."

Daksha's amber eyes studied him. "You're not afraid? After what just happened?"

Prince considered the question seriously. "I'm a little afraid," he admitted. "But not of you. Never of you."

Daksha's feathers brightened at his words. "These past few days," she said softly, "being away from you... it was harder than I expected. I tried to convince myself it was for the best, that distance would weaken the connection, make it safer for both of us."

"But it didn't," Prince guessed.

"No," Daksha agreed. "If anything, it grew stronger. As if the very absence was feeding it, giving it room to expand."

Prince thought about the saying again—that love grows in absence, not presence. He had always thought it was just a poetic way of saying that you appreciate someone more when they're gone. But now he wondered if there was a deeper truth to it—if separation created a kind of tension, a pull between two souls that actually strengthened their bond.

"Maybe that's how it works," he said, sharing his thoughts. "Maybe love needs both—presence to create the connection, and absence to test it, to prove it's real."

Daksha tilted her head, considering. "An interesting theory," she said. "In Veloria, we would have conducted experiments to test such a hypothesis."

Prince laughed. "Well, we kind of just did, didn't we? And the results seem pretty clear."

Daksha's feathers ruffled in what Prince now recognized as her version of a smile. "Indeed. Though the sample size is rather small for definitive conclusions."

"I don't need a bigger sample size," Prince said, suddenly serious. "I know what I felt when you were gone. And I know what I feel now that you're back."

Daksha hopped closer to him on the log. "And what is that?" she asked, her voice soft.

Prince took a deep breath. "Complete," he said simply. "Like a part of me that was missing has returned."

Daksha's feathers glowed so brightly they almost hurt to look at. "I feel it too," she admitted. "This connection between us... it defies the logic of my people. It defies the constraints of my exile. It defies everything I thought I knew about the universe."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Prince asked.

"I don't know," Daksha replied honestly. "But I find that, increasingly, I don't care. Whatever dangers lie ahead, whatever consequences come from this bond between us... they seem worth the risk."

Prince smiled, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with the jungle's humid air. "So we'll be careful," he said. "We'll go slowly. We'll figure it out together."

"Together," Daksha agreed, the word carrying a weight, a promise that made Prince's heart skip a beat.

As the last light of day faded from the jungle, boy and bird sat side by side on the fallen log, their silence comfortable now, the chasm that had separated them bridged by understanding, by honesty, by the recognition of a connection that transcended words, transcended forms, transcended even the constraints of different dimensions.

A connection that, despite the dangers Daksha had warned of, felt more right, more true than anything either of them had ever known.

And in the gathering darkness, as stars began to appear in the patches of sky visible through the jungle canopy, Prince made a silent promise to himself—to cherish this impossible friendship, this growing love, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

Because some connections, once formed, cannot be broken. Not by distance. Not by time. Not even by the laws of different universes.

Some connections are written in the stars themselves.