The dawn after the attack was slow and aching.
Elliot leaned against the Heartroot Tree, the soft hum of life pulsing gently under his hand. The garden, though battered, was healing itself. Vines reknit their torn bodies. Glowshrooms replanted themselves deeper into the soil. Even the thornlashes, though many had been broken, sprouted tiny green buds at their wounds.
It was a strange kind of miracle.
Elliot closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the rising sun wash over him. He should have felt exhausted. Defeated. But instead, something stirred inside his chest—something stubborn and alive.
You protected us.
The thought slid into his mind as lightly as a falling leaf.
His eyes snapped open. He turned his head, searching, but there was no one there. Only the faint morning breeze and the slow, steady breathing of the earth.
Thank you.
The voice wasn't human. It wasn't even words, exactly. It was feelings—gratitude, pride, a touch of sorrow—woven into something his heart understood more than his mind.
It was the Heartroot.
It was speaking to him.
He pressed his palm against the bark again, and this time the connection was clearer. Images flickered behind his eyes: the garden, alive and breathing; the Thornlash vines swaying with laughter; the glowshrooms humming in soft harmony.
Elliot pulled back, heart racing.
He wasn't imagining it. The Heartroot had truly awakened.
Behind him, Lyra approached carrying a small bundle of herbs and berries. Her silver hair caught the light like fine threads of silk, and her golden eyes looked softer this morning, less guarded.
"You felt it too, didn't you?" she said, kneeling beside him.
He nodded slowly. "The Heartroot… it's awake."
"It has been for some time," she said, her voice low, almost reverent. "But it only speaks to those it trusts. And last night, you earned that trust."
Elliot blinked. "You knew?"
Lyra gave a small, mysterious smile. "I hoped. It's rare... for gardens like this to truly live again."
She set the herbs down between them and began grinding them into a paste. As she worked, small motes of golden light floated from her fingertips, soaking into the mixture. The air grew warmer, lighter.
"What are you doing?" Elliot asked.
Lyra glanced up shyly. "Helping you heal."
When she finished, she dabbed the glowing salve onto the scratches along his arms and shoulders. The effect was immediate—pain eased, swelling faded, and a comforting warmth spread through him, like sinking into a soft bed after a hard day.
"You have magic," Elliot said, wonder creeping into his voice.
"Not magic," Lyra corrected gently. "It's... something older. A bond. Between life and life."
She held out her hands, palms up. Tiny tendrils of light twisted lazily around her fingers—living energy, gentle and bright.
"I can strengthen what grows," she said. "I can soothe pain. Encourage healing. Sometimes, if the bond is strong enough... even protect."
Elliot stared at her, struggling for words.
This was more than he could have ever dreamed of.
A living garden. A companion who could breathe life into it. A chance—not just to survive—but to build something beautiful, even in a broken world.
"You're incredible," he said finally, voice thick with emotion.
Lyra flushed, looking down. "I'm just... doing what I can."
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the garden breathe around them.
The soil beneath them was no longer just dirt—it was a heartbeat, steady and sure. The vines were not just plants—they were protectors. The Heartroot wasn't just a tree—it was a promise.
And Elliot knew, with a fierce certainty, that he wasn't alone anymore.
This garden was theirs.
Their sanctuary.
Their beginning.
He looked out over the battered rows of crops and ruined fences, and he smiled.
There was so much work to do.
And for the first time in a long time, he couldn't wait to begin.