The Love of Arso

As planned, the entire family began visiting the stranger who had made his home near the edge of the garden. Kein had proven himself harmless—curious, yes, but not threatening. His vast knowledge of the world beyond and his tales of a distant garden, once his home, reassured Malacaz that Kein, too, must be one of Vathala’s creations.

“When the serpent was cast out from our garden,” Kein said, twisting truth into story, “Vathala allowed us to wander the earth.”

“A time may come when we, too, will walk the world beyond these trees,” Malacaz responded firmly. “But for now, we obey Vathala’s command not to leave the garden.”

Kein had asked if they would ever cross the boundary. He knew where that boundary lay—where the garden’s vibrant greens, thick with life, gave way to duller shades and coarse textures that marked the world outside.

“That’s very good of you to always obey, Abba...” Kein said, the word heavy with memory. He thought of his own disobedience long ago—of Eden, of Eve, of what was lost.

***<><><>***

As he stepped beyond the garden, naked but inwardly satisfied, Velial’s voice slithered into his ear.

“What are you planning, my son?” the serpent hissed.

Kein smiled. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just enjoying myself.”

Strangely, when among the magical family, Kein felt no hunger. He nibbled only occasionally from the basket of fruit he had harvested himself. Still, a curiosity stirred within him—Mahganda was a gifted cook, and the scent of her meals drew him in. He began to wonder what meat would taste like.

Yet, he had not dined with the family—not yet. Though they no longer feared him, neither did they fully embrace him. He had not been cast out, but he was not quite welcome either.

***<><><>***

Niro, among all the children, remained the most wary of Kein’s presence. Keen-eyed and contemplative, he kept his distance, and Kein didn’t mind. He knew Malacaz listened to Niro’s counsel—good for him, Kein mused. They would not be Vathala’s creation if they weren’t wise enough to question a stranger’s intent.

And so, Niro rarely approached, and Kein preferred it that way.

The rest of the family, particularly the younger children and toddlers, wandered near his hut from time to time, curious but harmless. Kein had little interest in their games or laughter. Eventually, the family grew accustomed to the quiet figure who lived at the garden’s edge, and over time, only Febo and Arso still visited him with any regularity.

Arso, in particular, intrigued Kein.

She was young, radiant, and unguarded—a blossoming spirit, ripe with wonder and innocence. Kein found amusement in the way her eyes lingered, how she blushed under his gaze. He was careful—too careful—never crossing a line, but always dancing near it: an innocent touch here, a fleeting glance there, a word heavy with meaning.

Each encounter left Arso visibly shaken, confused by feelings she didn’t yet understand. Kein would laugh—not cruelly, but knowingly—at the way her cheeks flushed or how she shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his presence.

Once, during one of her visits, Arso winced and looked down—she had begun to bleed, her cycle marking the turn of seasons within her. It startled her.

“Arso! Come here!” Niro's voice rang out, stern and protective. He appeared suddenly, his eyes sharp with disapproval. He had noticed how often Arso sought out the stranger. And he didn’t like it—not one bit.

***<><><>***

It was clear to Kein that Malacaz and Mahganda had also been given the ancient command from Vathala: be fruitful and multiply. The call to continue the lineage was inscribed not just in spirit, but in the body itself—a longing that pulsed in every living thing shaped by the divine.

Arso was no exception. Her body was awakening, stirred by urges she did not fully understand, driven by something older than words. Kein often wondered to whom Malacaz would give his daughter as a bride. Both Niro and Febo were strong and capable, their bloodlines pure, their bonds untainted. Even union between siblings would be seen not as corruption, but continuity—sacred, not scandalous.

Kein smiled to himself, darkly amused. The seeds of rivalry were already sown. Would it be Niro or Febo who claimed Arso’s hand—and at what cost? He imagined blood on the soil, brother against brother. A tragedy, yes—but a captivating one.

Would one of them share my fate? he wondered. Cursed to wander, cast out by Abba, touched by immortality but severed from belonging?

No. Kein would not leave this family alone. They were far too fascinating to abandon.

***<><><>***

But then—there was Arso.

In the quiet of night, curled beside her younger sisters, Arso often lay awake. Her thoughts wandered to things she had seen but did not yet name. She had once witnessed her parents together, entwined in the sacred act of creation. As the eldest daughter, she had helped her mother through childbirth, seen life begin with pain and end in joy. The memory stirred fear… and wonder.

Could I do that? With Kein? she asked herself silently, recalling the moment his hand had brushed her waist while helping her down a steep hill. A brief touch, but one that left a trail of fire beneath her skin.

Tomorrow, she resolved. Tomorrow, I will try to be near him again.

Plans were beginning to form—quiet and uncertain, like the first roots of a seed newly fallen to earth.