Before us, the plains of the Garden stretched out, covered in glowing fissures and warm grass that pulsed beneath our steps. Every breath of wind carried a scent of sap and ash.

Behind us, the mist still hid the traces of yesterday's battle — the golden bursts, the scorched earth, the shadows of our wounds. Silence had swallowed everything, even our fear.

Sylvara walked beside me, slightly hunched, her wings half-folded. The silver membranes, torn in places, shimmered with faint blue light. Her armor held together by sheer luck — and still, she kept going. I was limping, but I refused to slow down.

Each step burned, but turning back wasn't an option anymore. The Garden offered no rest — only trials disguised as beauty. We had to keep moving, again and again, because stopping here meant disappearing.

Our breathing set the only rhythm of that march: slow, deep, sometimes trembling. Morning light slid across our faces, soft and almost too pure. The air vibrated with a deceptive calm — the kind that comes before nightmares.

Then, without a sound, a butterfly appeared.

Just one.

It landed on a broken root a few meters away. Its wings, thin as glass, gave off a golden shimmer with every beat. I stopped. Sylvara did too. The silence turned almost sacred. It felt as if the world itself was holding its breath not to disturb its dance.

Then, others followed. First one, then three, then a dozen — forming a thin ribbon of light rising into the sky. Their wings traced iridescent arcs, as if the Garden itself was drawing a path in the air.

Sylvara placed a hand on my arm, eyes wide.

— Looks like it's showing us the way, she whispered.

I let out a faint smile, too tired for irony.

— Or leading us straight into the monster's mouth.

She gave a short laugh — more a sigh than anything else. That small sound, lost in the mist, did me more good than I wanted to admit. It reminded me that we were still alive — for now.

The butterfly fluttered its wings, rose a meter, then stopped again, as if waiting for us. Sylvara turned toward me, her amber eyes catching the soft light.

— Should we follow it? she asked quietly.

I shrugged.

— I don't think we have much of a choice.

I tightened my grip on Aurelia. The metal pulsed faintly, reacting to the ambient mana.— And if it's a trap… then we'll walk right into it.

Our eyes met. No more words were needed. She nodded, and without hesitation, started walking again. The butterfly floated ahead, hovering at our height, tracing a golden trail in the wind.

I followed her, my heart still heavy — yet strangely calm. Maybe it was an illusion. Maybe it was leading us to our deaths.

After several hours of walking, the Garden changed its face.

The suspended isles had faded behind us, replaced by a forest of almost unreal beauty. The trunks, translucent as blown glass, diffused the surrounding light in shades of rose and turquoise. With each step, the ground rippled faintly beneath our boots, releasing thin waves of mana that faded gently into the air. Clear streams wound between the roots, whispering softly, as if the water itself were praying.

The flowers… they opened as we passed, their vibrant petals turning toward us like curious eyes. It felt like the forest was watching us — silent, attentive, almost kind. Almost.

Sylvara lifted her head, lips parted, her gaze caught by the light filtering through the canopy.

— It's beautiful… she breathed.

I nodded slowly.— Yeah.

I looked up at the fractured sky above the trees. Golden filaments intertwined like giant nerves, running through the clouds without ever breaking.

— It would be even more beautiful if everything lovely here didn't want me dead, I added, tightening my grip on Aurelia.

She let out a nervous laugh — a fragile sound, almost out of place in this perfect scenery. Still, it helped. Hearing her voice, even strained, reminded me that we were still two, not yet swallowed by this world that devoured everything.

We kept walking, our steps muffled on the glowing ground. The air smelled of warm rain and sweet sap. At times, I could swear the forest was breathing with us, its rhythm matching our own heartbeats.

Then the trees began to thin out. The light grew brighter — almost harsh. Before us, the vegetation parted all at once, revealing a vast plain ringed with ancient stones. Ruins — perhaps remnants of a forgotten temple — rested there, covered in golden moss and mana crystals.

Their outlines seemed to float in the air, distorted by the heat of the mana leaking from them. From afar, they looked like a field of bones beneath a giant's skin.

Sweat rolled down my temple. The atmosphere had shifted, subtly but undeniably. The air, heavier now, vibrated with a low, muffled tension.

I froze.

Something, out there — at the center of the ruins — was watching me.Or rather, existing by watching me.

The air quivered strangely, almost painfully. I could swear the mana itself was holding its breath.

There, standing among broken columns and melted stones, rose a humanoid figure. Three meters tall, maybe more. Its skin was neither flesh nor metal — it looked woven from light and shadow, like a living stained glass, every fragment shifting slowly, breathing with its own will. Its chest throbbed with golden runes, and with every pulse, an invisible wave spread through the ground.

I swallowed hard. Its face wasn't really a face — an outgrowth of petals, or mineral corollas, covered what should have been its features. Beneath those translucent layers, a vertical maw could be glimpsed, lined with crystal teeth.

And its eyes… two concentric rings of shifting color, spiraling slowly, as if trying to draw in the gaze of anyone daring to look back.

Above it, enormous butterflies floated in a perfect swarm. Their wings beat in unison, producing a steady, almost musical hum. The whole thing formed a vortex of light — mesmerizing, magnificent… and deeply terrifying.

My throat tightened.

— …Shit, I breathed without thinking.

Sylvara froze beside me. Her fingers, gripping her sleeve, trembled slightly.

— That's not just a monster, she murmured.

Her voice barely quivered, but each word sliced through the air.

— It's an abomination.

I didn't answer. I couldn't tear my eyes away. Every fiber of my body screamed to run, yet my mind was entranced. It was like watching a prayer turned into a monster — a divine sculpture grafted with hunger.

The giant's breath made the light shudder. It wasn't wind, but a low vibration, an inverted sound — almost like a note played backward. The ground itself seemed to resonate under its weight.

Sylvara caught my sleeve and tugged gently.

— We need to leave. Now.

I nodded without arguing.

— Yeah… okay.

We stepped back, one slow pace at a time, our hearts pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I barely breathed. Every movement felt like blasphemy in that cathedral of silence.

The swarm above rippled like a sea of glass. The reflection of wings slid across the stones, our faces, my trembling hands. The creature tilted its head slightly — or what passed for one — and I thought its eyes lingered on us.

But no.

Or maybe it only pretended not to see.

That doubt alone was enough to freeze my blood.

We slipped behind a trunk covered in crystalline moss, our muscles tight, our breaths shallow. Even the rustle of wind felt like a threat.

I didn't dare move. Not even to swallow.

The beast remained still, sovereign at the heart of the ruins, the halo of butterflies circling it slowly like a choir praying to a sleeping god.

Sylvara leaned toward me, voice barely a whisper.

— We're leaving. Now.

I nodded again, my fingers clenched around the shaft of my spear.

And without another word, we stepped back into the trembling light of the forest, one step after another, breath held, fear clinging to our skin.

The abomination didn't move. It stayed there, frozen in the light, like a forgotten idol that still breathed. But even as the forest closed behind us and its shadow vanished, I could still feel it. That gaze — slow, methodical, patient.

It turned somewhere inside my head, searching through my thoughts, engraving itself into my nerves.

Deep down, I knew it had never really let us go. No — it had simply allowed us to leave. Because it already knew we'd come back. And it would be waiting.

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