Mort listens as she speaks, the words washing over him like a tide. He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t flinch at her anger or her grief. His expression stays soft—open, kind—as though every syllable she utters is something sacred. When she finally threatens to take Enzo back herself, his brows lift, and for a heartbeat there’s silence. Then he laughs, warm and delighted, the sound like sunlight glancing off still water.
"Oh, I do believe you would," he says, boyish grin returning with gentle mischief. "If I barred the gates, I’ve no doubt you’d find your own way through. You have your mother’s daring and your father’s tenacity both. A rather dangerous combination, where I am concerned." He lets the amusement linger for a moment before softening again, eyes bright with a deeper affection. "But fortunately, that won’t be necessary."
He turns then, and as he does, the air behind him begins to shimmer. Light bends, gathers, and forms the shape of a doorway; not built, but becoming. Its edges are molten gold, its heart a vast forest of towering oaks that rise into an endless sky. The light that filters through their leaves is warm and honeyed, alive with quiet motion. "Enzo has already been told to pack his bags, as it were," Mort says, looking over his shoulder with a smile that borders on conspiratorial. "I saw this day coming long before you called me, just as I saw the other, six years ago, on that corner where you both stood." Fate, worked in both directions.
Folding his hands loosely before him, he steps aside, light brushing over his shoulder as the doorway widens.
Enzo has been brought back to life!
"Oh, I do believe you would," he says, boyish grin returning with gentle mischief. "If I barred the gates, I’ve no doubt you’d find your own way through. You have your mother’s daring and your father’s tenacity both. A rather dangerous combination, where I am concerned." He lets the amusement linger for a moment before softening again, eyes bright with a deeper affection. "But fortunately, that won’t be necessary."
He turns then, and as he does, the air behind him begins to shimmer. Light bends, gathers, and forms the shape of a doorway; not built, but becoming. Its edges are molten gold, its heart a vast forest of towering oaks that rise into an endless sky. The light that filters through their leaves is warm and honeyed, alive with quiet motion. "Enzo has already been told to pack his bags, as it were," Mort says, looking over his shoulder with a smile that borders on conspiratorial. "I saw this day coming long before you called me, just as I saw the other, six years ago, on that corner where you both stood." Fate, worked in both directions.
Folding his hands loosely before him, he steps aside, light brushing over his shoulder as the doorway widens.
Enzo has been brought back to life!
mort
