The hum faded. The vines that had once towered like guardians slumped back into the soil, their movement so slow it was as if they'd never risen at all. The clearing was quiet again, save for the faint dripping of water and the faint hiss of Eren's shallow breaths.
His arm still stung where the vine had grazed him, the skin red and raw. But the sting was nothing compared to the lingering warmth in his chest—the echo of the silver bloom's light. Lyra's voice, faint but real, still rang in his ears.
Talia crouched in front of him, her face pale. "You're bleeding. Eren, you're actually bleeding!"
"It's just a scratch," he said, brushing her off. His hand trembled when he tried to wipe the dirt from his shirt. "I've had worse."
"That's not the point!" she snapped. "We could've been crushed in there! Or strangled, or—" She broke off, pressing her hands into her hair. "What are we even doing? This is insane."
Eren leaned back against a root, his chest heaving. He wanted to tell her she was right, that they should go, that no sane person would keep walking deeper into a place that actively fought back. But the memory of Lyra's voice stopped him.
He whispered, "She's real, Talia."
Talia's head jerked up. "Don't start with that again."
"I heard her. Not just once, not like a trick of my mind—she spoke. The bloom let me hear her. She's trapped here, somehow, and the garden's testing me because…" He trailed off, words faltering.
"Because what?" Talia demanded.
"Because it wants to know if I'm strong enough to reach her."
Silence stretched between them. Talia's hands slowly fell from her hair. Her voice, when she spoke, was quieter. "And what if you're not?"
Eren didn't answer right away. He let his gaze drift to the flower, dimmed now, its silver glow faint like the last ember of a fire. He thought of the sadness in Lyra's eyes when they first met through the glass. He thought of the promise he had made.
"I have to be," he said finally.
Talia groaned and plopped down beside him, knees drawn to her chest. "I swear, you're going to drag me into the most ridiculous death ever recorded. They'll find my skeleton clutching a flashlight, surrounded by killer plants."
Despite the sting in his arm, Eren smiled faintly. "I'll make sure they carve that on your tombstone."
She smacked his shoulder, but the blow was light.
---
They sat in uneasy silence for a while, listening to the garden breathe. Eren closed his eyes and let the memory of Lyra's voice wash over him again. Closer, she had said. Be careful.
When he opened his eyes, he realized the glow from the moss had shifted. The path behind them, the one they had followed into the clearing, was brighter now, almost urging them to leave.
Eren frowned. "It wants us to go back."
"Good," Talia said immediately, jumping to her feet. "Finally, the one sane thing this nightmare forest has done all day."
He hesitated. Part of him wanted to press forward, to see what lay beyond the clearing. But his body ached, his arm throbbed, and Lyra's warning echoed in his ears. The garden wasn't done testing them—but for now, it was letting them retreat.
"Fine," he muttered, pushing himself upright.
They followed the glowing moss back through the twisting vines, retracing their steps past the strange flowers and dripping glass. The hum stayed low, steady, like the garden was watching them leave but no longer hostile.
When they reached the greenhouse's entrance, the rusty door screeched as Eren pushed it open. The night air rushed in—cool, sharp, blessedly normal.
Talia stumbled out first, gulping lungfuls. "Oh, thank God. Actual air. I don't care if it smells like manure; it's not garden-breath."
Eren followed, but he paused at the threshold. Behind him, the vines swayed gently, as though waving farewell. The faint glow of the moss dimmed, disappearing into the darkness.
He whispered, "I'll come back."
The door creaked shut behind him.
---
They walked in silence down the overgrown path toward town, their flashlights bobbing. The weight of what had happened pressed on Eren's shoulders, heavier than the night.
Talia finally broke the quiet. "So, let me get this straight. You think this… Lyra person is real. You think she's stuck in that greenhouse. And you think the plants want you to—what? Play knight-in-shining-armor until you earn the right to free her?"
Eren hesitated. "Something like that."
"And what happens if you can't? Or if it's all just—" She waved her hand wildly. "Some weird hallucination? What if you're throwing yourself into danger for nothing?"
He stopped walking. She nearly bumped into him.
"It's not nothing," he said firmly. "Even if no one else believes me. Even if I can't explain it. When I heard her voice… it wasn't just words. It was—" He struggled to find the right language. "Like the garden itself trusted me with her secret. I can't just walk away from that."
Talia stared at him for a long time. Then she sighed, throwing up her hands. "Fine. Fine! I'll stick around. But only because someone has to keep you from turning into plant food."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me," she grumbled. "I'm starting to regret all my life choices that led me here."
---
That night, sleep did not come easily. Eren lay in bed, staring at the faint glow of the moon through his curtains. His body was exhausted, but his mind buzzed. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the guardians rising from the roots. Every time he let himself drift, he heard Lyra's whisper.
Closer. Be careful.
He turned over, pressing his face into the pillow. "I'll find you," he murmured into the dark.
And for a fleeting second, he thought he felt warmth brush against his cheek—like a petal drifting past.