The greenhouse looked the same as it always had—rusted frames, cracked panes, vines draped like cobwebs. But after Lyra's words, Eren couldn't unsee it. Every leaf, every flower, every twitch of the air seemed alive in a way it hadn't before. The place wasn't just a garden. It was watching.
Talia hugged herself and muttered, "You've officially lost it. We're supposed to be at the library right now, not in some—some botanical horror show. My mom's gonna kill me if she finds out I was here."
"You don't have to stay," Eren said softly.
Her head snapped toward him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean… if you're scared, you can leave. No one's making you follow me."
Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, right. Just leave my best friend alone in a death jungle with glowing fruit and mysterious mirror girls. Perfect plan."
Eren smirked despite the weight in his chest. "So you are scared."
"Of course I'm scared!" she snapped. "Normal people are supposed to be scared when plants whisper and reflections talk back. That's how survival works, Eren."
He didn't answer. Instead, he knelt by the pot where the first bloom had sprouted. The silver-veined flower swayed gently, though no breeze stirred the air. Its glow had dimmed, but not gone.
When he touched its stem, the petals quivered, and the faint hum that filled the greenhouse deepened. The air vibrated with it, like a drumbeat beneath the floor.
Talia stiffened. "What was that?"
Eren's eyes widened. "The garden's heartbeat."
The hum grew louder, resonating in his bones. Across the floor, vines stirred, sliding against the stone like snakes waking from sleep. One of them stretched across the broken tiles, curling into a spiral. Another slithered toward the far wall and pressed against the glass until it cracked.
Talia grabbed Eren's sleeve. "Nope. No way. We're leaving. Right now."
But Eren was transfixed. The vines weren't lashing wildly. They were forming a path.
The spiral on the ground unfurled into a twisting trail, lined with glowing moss that hadn't been there moments ago. The light pulsed faintly, in rhythm with the hum.
He whispered, "It's showing us the way."
Talia groaned. "Or it's luring us into a trap. You ever think of that?"
He looked at her, determination sparking in his eyes. "Lyra said the second bloom is in the garden's heart. What if this is the path to it?"
Talia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Great. Following mysterious glowing trails made by sentient vines. Brilliant idea. Ten out of ten survival rating."
Still, she didn't let go of his sleeve.
Eren took a steadying breath. "Come on. Just trust me."
She muttered, "Every time you say that, I regret it," but followed anyway.
---
The path wound through parts of the greenhouse Eren had never noticed before. The walls seemed taller here, the glass darker, streaked with condensation that dripped like slow tears. Strange flowers bloomed along the trail—some with translucent petals that revealed veins pulsing like veins beneath skin, others with blossoms shaped like open mouths.
Talia wrinkled her nose. "This place is disgusting. If one of these plants tries to bite me, I swear I'll scream."
Eren crouched near one of the glowing moss patches. When he touched it, the hum deepened again, and the path ahead brightened.
"It's guiding us," he said.
"Uh-huh," Talia replied flatly. "And when it guides us straight into a Venus flytrap the size of a house, I'll remind you I told you so."
They walked on, the silence broken only by the hum and the occasional drip of condensation. Eren couldn't stop thinking about Lyra's eyes—the sadness in them, the way they lit when she saw him. He clenched his fists. She's real. She's waiting. I have to help her.
The path narrowed, vines crowding in like walls. The air grew thicker, heavy with the scent of earth and something sweet, almost cloying.
"Smells like rotten candy," Talia muttered, covering her nose. "I hate it."
Then, ahead, the vines parted into a circular clearing. At its center rose a strange structure—a cluster of roots twisted together into something like an altar.
And on it grew a single flower.
It was larger than the first bloom, its petals unfurling in slow motion, glowing faintly with a deeper silver light. The air around it shimmered.
Eren's chest tightened. "The second bloom."
Talia grabbed his arm. "Eren. Wait. Don't just—"
But he was already stepping forward.
The hum swelled into a low roar. The roots around the altar twitched, curling tighter, as though guarding the flower.
Eren reached out—
And the roots lashed forward.
He stumbled back, nearly falling as one thick vine slammed into the ground where he'd been standing. Another whipped past his shoulder, slicing the air.
Talia shrieked. "I told you this was a trap!"
The vines coiled higher, weaving into towering shapes—like guardians rising from the earth. Their "faces" were hollow knots of wood, their "arms" twisting whips.
One of them slammed its root-fist against the ground, and the greenhouse shook.
Eren's heart pounded. "They're testing us."
"Testing us?!" Talia shouted. "They're trying to kill us!"
The closest guardian lashed out again. Eren ducked, rolling across the damp tiles. He scrambled to his feet, panting.
Think. The first bloom had reacted to his voice, to his intention. The garden remembered promises. Words had roots.
He shouted, "I'm not here to destroy! I want to protect her!"
The vines hesitated for a breath—but then struck again, harder.
Talia yanked him backward. "Great speech, hero, but it's not working!"
Another whip cracked against the ground, sending shards of stone flying. One clipped Eren's arm, burning like acid. He hissed in pain.
Talia dragged him behind a cluster of roots, her eyes wide with fear. "We're gonna die in here. Eren, we're actually gonna die."
"No." He gritted his teeth. "There has to be a way. Lyra said the second bloom would guide us."
He looked at the glowing flower, still swaying gently atop the altar, untouched by the chaos. Its petals pulsed faintly, almost in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Maybe it was waiting for him to act.
Eren stood slowly, ignoring Talia's protests. He raised his voice again, pouring every ounce of resolve into the words.
"I promise—I'll find a way to free her. I won't turn back. I won't give up."
The guardians froze. The hum deepened, vibrating so hard the ground shook beneath his feet. Then, slowly, the vines lowered.
One by one, the towering figures unraveled, collapsing back into the earth. The clearing stilled.
Talia gaped. "Did you just… talk them down?"
Eren's knees felt weak, but he nodded. "Words have roots. She told me."
He stepped forward again. This time, the roots didn't strike. They curled back, opening the way to the altar.
The second bloom swayed, glowing brighter as he approached. He reached out, hesitating only a moment before brushing its petals.
The flower unfurled fully, releasing a cloud of silver light. It swirled around him, warm and weightless. And in the shimmer, he heard a voice.
Lyra's.
"You're closer."
His breath caught. "Lyra?"
Her voice was faint but steady, carried on the glow. "The bridge is opening. But the garden's heart holds more than paths. It remembers pain, too. Be careful, Eren."
The light sank into his chest, leaving the bloom dim and still.
Eren staggered back, gasping.
Talia rushed to his side. "What happened? Are you okay?"
He nodded shakily. "She spoke to me again. The bloom… it connected us."
Talia looked at the dimmed flower, then back at him. "This is insane. Totally insane. But you're really not stopping, are you?"
"No." His voice was quiet, but certain. "Not until she's free."
Talia groaned. "Unbelievable. If we get eaten by plants, I'm haunting you forever."
But she didn't let go of his arm.