It was all there, rooted in this tree.
And when the others touched it too, their memories joined his.
They shared each other completely, intimately, without fear or shame. It wasn't just sex. It was every kind of nakedness. And in that complete vulnerability, something new bloomed.
The tree shimmered.
And petals fell.
Golden.
They drifted through the hall like blessings.
And the second island hummed.
Hours passed. Maybe more. Time was irrelevant here. They explored the sanctuary together - rooms forming as they imagined them, shaped by whim and longing. A bathing chamber where the water sang. A sleeping hall with a bed large enough for all of them, its sheets spun from moss-light and warmth. A garden with fruits that glowed and whispered secrets when plucked. It was magic, but not foreign. It was theirs.
And when night finally came - not with darkness, but with a deepening indigo hue across the sky - they gathered in the central hall beneath the tree.
Naked.
Tired.
