The morning broke soft and golden, dew clinging to every leaf in the garden.
Elliot moved carefully among the plants, checking the new growth that had appeared after last night's dream. The Heartroot Tree stood at the center of the garden now, tall enough to be seen even from the cabin window. It pulsed with a faint greenish glow, a quiet heartbeat linking all the life around it.
Lyra joined him not long after sunrise, carrying two cups of hot berry tea in her hands.
Her silver hair shimmered under the early light, and her smile was easy and warm.
"Morning, sleepy farmer," she teased, handing him a cup.
Elliot chuckled softly. "Morning, mystery seed."
Lyra blinked at him, confused for a moment, then laughed—a sound so bright it seemed to make the flowers sway toward her.
She didn't ask what he meant. Somehow, she seemed to understand.
They spent the morning planting a new row of sunleaf sprouts, reinforcing the glowshroom fences, and trimming back the Thornlash vines before they became too unruly.
It was the kind of slow, satisfying work that made Elliot feel whole again.
But by noon, the air had shifted.
He noticed it first when the sky darkened—not from clouds, but from a strange, purplish mist that crept along the edges of the horizon.
Lyra set down her basket of herbs, frowning. "That's not a storm cloud."
"No," Elliot agreed, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's something worse."
A low hum, almost like a vibration in the bones, began to pulse through the earth.
The garden around them rustled uneasily. The Heartroot's branches trembled.
From somewhere deep in Elliot's memory—the part touched by the dream—he knew what this was.
"Blight Rain," he whispered.
Lyra's eyes widened. "The old sickness?"
He nodded grimly. "It poisons everything it touches. Plants, animals... even people if they're exposed too long."
Already, he could see tiny flecks falling from the purple sky, like ash mixed with raindrops.
They had minutes, maybe less.
"Inside! Now!" Elliot barked, grabbing Lyra's hand and pulling her toward the cabin.
But halfway there, Lyra yanked free.
"The garden—!" she cried, glancing desperately back.
He hesitated only a second before cursing under his breath and turning around.
They couldn't leave the garden exposed. Not after everything.
Thinking fast, Elliot ran to the Heartroot.
He pressed both hands against its bark and closed his eyes, willing the connection awake.
"Protect them," he pleaded silently.
The Heartroot answered—not with words, but with action.
All across the garden, vines whipped to life, weaving themselves into rough canopies above the crops. Glowshrooms grew brighter, releasing a soft barrier of light that pushed the worst of the Blight mist back. Thornlash vines coiled tighter, becoming shields rather than weapons.
It wasn't perfect protection, but it would be enough to hold for a little while.
Elliot stumbled back, dizzy from the effort.
Lyra caught him, steadying his shoulders with her hands.
"You did it," she said, voice fierce and proud.
"No," he rasped, smiling weakly. "We did."
They sprinted for the cabin just as the first heavy drops of Blight Rain fell, hissing where they touched the ground.
Inside, they slammed the door shut, bolted the windows, and huddled close to the fire.
The sound of the rain was wrong.
Not soft like normal rain, but sharp—like acid eating into the earth.
For a long time, they sat there in silence, listening, waiting, hoping.
Outside, the garden fought for its life.
And so did they.