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Chapter 13 - The Garden

The patch of paradise wasn't large, no bigger than a modest backyard, but it overflowed with impossible abundance. Trees heavy with ripe, gleaming fruit stretched skyward in defiance of the barren wasteland around them. A crystal-clear stream threaded through the lush grass, its surface shimmering like glass in the sun. In this scorched, godless desert, it looked like salvation carved from a dream.

To the parched, blistered trio, it was agony made beautiful.

Damien narrowed his eyes, suspicion gnawing at the edges of his hunger.

A voice in his skull whispered, urgent and seductive. Hurry. You won't get another chance like this. It's fate handing you life.

But another voice, colder, crueler, cut through the temptation. It's bait. This is Hell—a trial. Evalyn said no one survives it alone. And I'm supposed to believe there's a garden in the middle of damnation?

He clenched his jaw and unscrewed the bottle's cap with stiff fingers. This time, he drank more than a tease, just enough to dull the edges of the thirst screaming through his veins.

Then Jenna bolted past him.

If it could even be called a bolt. She staggered forward, half-running, half-collapsing, her steps more desperation than movement. Her sunburned limbs trembled beneath her, and she looked moments from face-planting.

"Jenna—" Damien's arm shot out, but his body lagged behind his thoughts. He missed her arm by inches.

"It's a trap," he croaked, but the words came out dry and broken, carried off by the wind. She didn't turn. 

He turned toward the monk.

The grey-robed man had reached for her, too, but his hand had also come up empty. A flicker of tension passed across his otherwise unreadable face. Damien didn't need him to speak to understand.

He wasn't the only one thinking clearly.

Not the only one who saw the bait hiding behind the beauty.

When Jenna's foot crossed into the lush greenery, Damien braced for a trap. He half-expected the illusion to explode in fire, expected her to vanish, bones crumbling to ash mid-step, maybe even being swallowed whole by the earth.

But nothing happened.

No explosion. No screaming. No divine retribution.

Instead, Jenna darted to the nearest tree and greedily plucked fruit, stuffing one into her mouth before the last was even swallowed. Juice dribbled down her chin. She didn't stop—another fruit, and another. 

'Damn it,' Damien thought.

He glanced at the monk, and a silent nod passed between them. Then they moved slowly, cautiously, each step on the hot sand deliberate, watching Jenna like a trap might still spring from beneath her feet.

But she didn't collapse. Didn't convulse or start foaming at the mouth.

She just stood there, shaded beneath thick branches, tearing into a bright yellow fruit the size of her head.

That was when Damien noticed something strange.

Her skin, which had been blotched red from sunburn, was… healing. Splotches of pink were retreating into pale, smooth flesh. Her lips looked less cracked, and her eyes were no longer dull and glassy. There was the color of life in her again.

Jealousy punched through Damien's chest like a knife of ice.

'Why is this idiot being rewarded for recklessness?' he thought bitterly. 'Why wasn't she struck down the second she touched the garden? Why does she get to be saved for being stupid?'

The question burned hotter than the sun.

His pace quickened, and so did the monk's.

By the time they reached the edge of the oasis, Jenna was waving them over with both arms, a wide grin stretched across her face. Her voice rang out, loud and alive.

"Guys! Try this! I feel like my body's being completely nourished. It's amazing!"

'How I missed the silence,' Damien thought bitterly.

His entire body ached, bones heavy, skin scorched, mind dulled by days without sleep and the cruel weight of dehydration. The fruit Jenna devoured looked divine. Each bite sent juice dripping down her chin, her eyes lit with a hunger that seemed to vanish when she tasted it. It looked like salvation.

And Damien was ready to abandon caution and step into the oasis.

Jenna was fine. There were no explosions, curses, or divine punishments, just shade, fruit, and relief.

He lifted his foot, preparing to cross.

And then it hit him.

A warning, not a thought or a scream, but something primal surged through his body, pulsing up his spine, twisting deep in his gut.

Every nerve screamed at once: Don't.

It wasn't fear. It was instinct, honed through years of surviving ambushes, raids, and betrayal. A sixth sense he'd developed working underground jobs for the Organization since he was twelve.

And it was screaming at him now, "Set foot in that garden and die."

His foot hovered just above the grass. The monk and Jenna stared at him, heads tilted.

"What are you doing?" Jenna asked between gulps of fruit. "Didn't I tell you these things are miracle food?" Another fruit vanished into her mouth with shocking speed.

Her voice grated against him, but her words were tempting. So tempting.

His body trembled, muscles locked with exhaustion, skin burned red, his thoughts scattered like ash, but his foot stayed suspended in the air, refusing to fall.

He knew If he stepped forward, he wouldn't be coming back.

Beside him, the monk paused. After a moment of stillness, the man took a single step back away from the oasis, a silent affirmation of Damien's instincts.

Then, with quiet resolve, the monk locked eyes with Jenna and raised a hand, gesturing for her to toss a fruit instead.

Jenna rolled her eyes, sighed like it was a chore, and plucked another fat yellow fruit from a low-hanging branch.

But the moment she stepped forward—

Her foot didn't come with her.

A sharp yelp burst from her throat. "Guys... I'm stuck!"

She tugged harder, but the earth clung to her leg like tar.

And then it struck her. The pain. Not just in her leg, but everywhere. Like iron needles pushing from the inside out, twisting beneath her skin. Her eyes widened in shock as her hands flew to her ribs, her stomach, her throat.

"Nnngh—shit—my Shackle!" she gasped, voice high and strangled. "It's—it's burning—!"

The monk moved like he might rush in, then froze. His feet hovered just outside the oasis line, unwilling to share her fate.

Damien lowered his foot, backing away from the garden.

'Serpent devouring its own tail, what a greedy peasant.'

Then Crunch.

A sound.

The same sound he heard when he first arrived here, when the desert had erupted into violence and monsters poured in.

He turned west, slowly.

The horizon writhed. Dozens of creatures with gnarled limbs, twisted bodies, and too many eyes stormed across the sand toward them, their claws slicing through dunes, their mouths open in silent, hungry screams.

Damien's expression flattened.

Emotionless, and already resigned.

'Of course, it's now.'

His thoughts didn't race. 

Just one clear sentence cut through the haze:

'Fuck you, Jenna.'

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