The silence after the heartroot's fall was worse than the battle.
Lin Moyan sat by the smoldering remains of the false Warden's creation, fingers tracing the hollow space where the Gardener's seed had once burned. His ribs ached with every breath—not the sharp pain of fresh wounds, but the deep, persistent throb of something vital being torn away.
Fen stirred in Haiyu's arms, his small fingers clutching at her vine-wrapped wrist. "Did we win?" he mumbled, still half-lost in whatever dreams the roots had left him.
Jian Luo kicked a chunk of blackened heartroot flesh. "Depends on your definition of winning." His amber eyes flicked to Moyan's scarred chest. "We lost something too."
Moyan said nothing. The absence of the seed was a yawning chasm inside him, worse than any physical pain. For months, its whispers had guided him—now there was only silence.
---
Green Hollow's survivors found them at midday.
Yuna took one look at the scorched clearing and began unraveling her prayer knots again, the mourning ritual becoming habit. "The Wardens?"
"Gone," Jian Luo said. "Mostly."
Haiyu's hands moved carefully as she transferred Fen to his mother's arms. *"The corruption is purged. The children are clean."*
Moyan barely heard the villagers' relieved murmurs. His attention was fixed eastward, where the land dipped into a shallow valley. The golden roots might be gone, but something still pulled at him—a memory of warmth, of connection.
The Gardener's chamber lay that way.
And it was calling.
---
They left at dusk.
No grand farewells, no promises to return. Just three figures slipping past the village palisade as the bloodvine's leaves rustled in warning.
Jian Luo broke the silence first. "You know this is probably a trap."
Haiyu flicked a pebble at his head. *"You say that every time."*
Moyan kept walking. The scars on his chest itched, the flesh knitting itself back together in strange, root-like patterns. Without the seed's presence, his body was... changing. Not the violent transformations of Jian Luo or Haiyu's gradual vine-growth, but something subtler.
His shadow stretched too long in the moonlight.
His breath fogged the air even on warm nights.
And sometimes—
Sometimes he thought he heard singing.
---
The fissure had reopened.
Where before there had been only a scar in the earth, now a yawning tunnel descended into darkness, its walls lined with pulsing silver roots. They throbbed in unison, casting ghostly light on the spiral steps carved into the stone.
Jian Luo's claws slid out. "Yeah. Definitely a trap."
Haiyu crouched, her vines probing the tunnel's edge. *"Not a trap. An invitation."*
Moyan stepped forward—
—and the roots *sang*.
Not the heartroot's twisted melody, not the Wardens' corrupted chants, but the first true note of the song that had started it all. It vibrated through his bones, through the empty space where the seed had been, filling him with aching familiarity.
*Come home.*
Jian Luo grabbed his arm. "You're glowing."
Moyan looked down. The scars on his chest were shining—not gold anymore, but silver, the same luminous hue as the roots lining the tunnel.
Haiyu signed a single word: *"Answer."*
---
The descent was longer than Moyan remembered.
The silver roots guided their way, their pulsing light intensifying as they went deeper. The air grew thick with the scent of wet stone and something else—something alive and ancient, like the breath of a great beast stirring from long sleep.
Then—
The cavern.
The Gardener's throne stood empty as before, its living wood gone dormant. The pool of black water had cleared to mirror-brightness, reflecting their tired faces back at them.
But something was different.
The roots covering the walls and ceiling had changed. Where before they'd woven themselves into protective patterns, now they hung limp, their ends frayed and brittle.
Jian Luo sniffed. "Smells like dying flowers."
Haiyu touched a dangling root. It crumbled at her touch, disintegrating into silver dust. *"It's fading."*
Moyan understood suddenly.
The Gardener wasn't calling him back to give answers.
It was dying.
And it had called him to say goodbye.
---
The voice came from everywhere at once.
*"You broke the cycle."*
Not words—vibrations in the stone, in the water, in the very air they breathed. The Gardener's presence filled the cavern, weaker than before but no less immense.
Moyan's scars burned. "I destroyed the heartroot."
*"You returned what was stolen."* The pool's surface rippled, though no wind stirred it. *"The first song is free now. The last will follow."*
Jian Luo shifted uncomfortably. "What's that mean for the rest of us?"
The roots above them shivered. *"The land remembers its true shape. The false Wardens are gone. The trees will grow as they were meant to."*
Haiyu's hands moved slowly. *"And you?"*
A long silence.
Then—
The pool's waters parted.
The Gardener rose slowly, its massive form diminished since their last meeting. The silver flowers along its limbs had wilted, their petals curling inward. Where before its presence had been overwhelming, now it seemed... tired.
*"I am the last,"* it said simply. *"And my purpose is fulfilled."*
Moyan stepped forward without thinking, his hand outstretched. "There has to be another way."
The Gardener's massive hand—once terrifying, now almost gentle—cupped his palm. *"There is always another way. But not for me."*
Its touch sent visions cascading through Moyan's mind:
A world before Gardeners, when the great trees touched the sky.
The first incision—not Nyxara's dagger, but a silver seed offered in trust.
Generations of Wardens kneeling, always kneeling, as the cycle turned and turned again.
And now—
An ending.
---
They emerged at dawn.
Behind them, the fissure sealed itself with a final, shuddering groan, the earth knitting together as if it had never been broken.
Jian Luo flexed his claws, watching the sunrise paint the treetops gold. "So. That's it?"
Haiyu crouched to press her palm against the soil. Tiny green shoots sprouted where her vines touched earth—not the twisted growth of the Verdant Abyss, but something wild and new.
Moyan touched the silver scars on his chest. The emptiness remained, but the ache had lessened. The Gardener's final gift hummed beneath his skin—not a seed this time, but an echo.
A memory of roots.
A promise of growth.
Somewhere east, a bird sang—the first true note of a song they'd all but forgotten.
Jian Luo grinned, all sharp teeth and barely-contained energy. "Guess we're out of a job."
Haiyu flicked another pebble at him.
Moyan smiled.
And together, they walked into the light.