When the last of them stepped off the bridge of motes, the silver lights unraveled behind them like a river folding back into its source... drifting down into the abyss until the darkness consumed the final spark.
The path of breath vanished.
Ahead, the ruin finally revealed its true garden.
They had passed through an entrance before. An imitation garden sculpted from sand, memories, and breath-constructs.
This was different.
This was alive.
The chamber was no longer a circle but a vast basin, like a hidden valley carved beneath the world. Terraced slopes curved downward, layer after layer. Each was ringed with pale stone and rooted in shimmering silver soil that pulsed gently like the earth itself inhaling and exhaling.
And everywhere—
Flora. Real flora.
Not the kind birthed by sunlight or seasons, but things that could only exist in a place where an Eternal's will seeped into the roots.
