The sun above the outer lands was a lie. It shone, warm and golden, over crumbling fields and cracked mountains—but beneath it, rot crept like ink beneath the skin of a corpse.
From the edge of a dying cliffside, a young man stood, his white cloak fluttering in the sour wind.
Lucen Thorne. First Sword of the Summoned. He had been called "Chosen" by the Church, "Blessed" by the people, and "Prophet" by the fools.
And yet, standing at the border of the Forgotten Garden, he felt nothing but nausea.
—"This place… reeks of death."
His blade vibrated faintly. A warning.
Behind him, two fellow warriors stood in silence. A priestess, pale and shaking. A beast-kin scout, ears low, hand resting on her dagger.
None of them wanted to enter.
But Lucen took a step forward. Then another. Each one heavier than the last.
Then came the voice.
—"You reek of fear, not death."
Lucen froze.
From the thick mist before him, a figure emerged—calm, unarmored, half-wrapped in shadow. Eyes like fading moons. Hair stained with dried blood.
Kael.
—"You're the one they call the Bloom."
—"No one calls me anything. They forget me before the last petal falls."
Lucen frowned.
—"You're the anomaly. The one the spell dragged by mistake."
Kael tilted his head, curious.
—"Is that what they told you?"
—"You shouldn't exist."
Kael's steps were slow, precise. The mist parted for him, like the Garden itself moved with his will.
—"And yet here I am, breathing. Watching. Remembering things none of you dare speak aloud."
Lucen's sword flared with light.
—"I was summoned to purify this land."
—"You were summoned to bury it."
The ground beneath Lucen cracked. A thorn emerged—dark, gleaming, pulsing. It wrapped around his leg before he could blink.
Kael raised a single finger.
—"The Garden remembers me. What does it say of you, Hero?"
Lucen sliced the vine clean. The ground bled black.
Kael didn't move.
—"You're brave. But you walk with borrowed strength. This world never chose you."
Lucen charged.
Kael's eyes flashed.
One breath later, Lucen stood frozen mid-swing—his blade millimeters from Kael's throat. But the sword was rusted. Crumbling.
Kael's voice dropped.
—"You brought a blade of faith to a place that believes in nothing."
Lucen fell to one knee, gasping.
Kael stepped past him.
—"Leave. Before the Garden decides to remember your bones."
Behind Kael, the roses began to hum again—softly. The Garden had tasted the light of a false hero.
And it hungered for more.