The creek wasn't supposed to look this big.At least, that's what Noah thought as he stared at the water ahead — a wide silver ribbon that churned and glittered under the afternoon sun. To a human, it might have been just a trickle running between stones. But to the gardenlings, and to him now at their size, it was a roaring river — deep, restless, alive.
Fern crouched by the edge, dipping a hand into the water. "Fresh," she said, letting droplets roll off her fingers. "Good sign. It means the Blight hasn't reached this far yet."
Sprint stood beside her, arms crossed. "Good sign? We still have to cross it."
Noah scanned the opposite bank. It wasn't far, but the current was fast, swirling around smooth pebbles that looked as large as boulders. "We'll never swim through that," he said, frowning. "But look—"
A little further downstream, a fallen branch spanned the creek like a narrow bridge, its bark stripped smooth from weather. It looked barely wide enough to stand on, but it connected both banks.
"That might do it," Noah said.
Fern nodded slowly. "It's risky, but it'll save us hours. If we go around, we'll lose daylight."
"Hours we don't have," Sprint added.
They made their way toward the fallen branch. Noah tested it with a careful step. It bowed slightly under his weight but didn't crack. "It'll hold," he said, more to convince himself than the others.
One by one, they stepped onto the log. The sound of rushing water filled their ears. Below them, the creek hissed and frothed, carrying twigs and leaves like tiny rafts racing downstream.
Halfway across, the air changed.A low rumble rolled over the horizon — thunder.
Fern's head snapped up. "That's not good."
Dark clouds were gathering fast, heavy and grey. The first fat raindrops splashed onto their faces.
"We need to move!" Sprint shouted.
They quickened their pace. The bark slickened under their feet as the drizzle turned into a downpour. Fern's boots slipped — she cried out, arms flailing — but Sprint lunged, grabbing her wrist.
"I've got you!" he yelled over the roar of the storm.
Noah pressed forward, sword strapped to his back, water streaming down his face. Lightning flashed overhead, followed by a crack of thunder so loud it made the ground tremble.
Then came the wind.
It rushed through the grass blades like a living thing, bending them low, shaking loose droplets that fell like tiny bombs. The log swayed beneath them.
"Hold on!" Noah shouted.
The wind roared again — and with a loud, splintering CRACK, the branch snapped in half.
The world flipped upside down.
They hit the water hard, swallowed instantly by the churning current. Cold shot through Noah's body like knives. He surfaced with a gasp, coughing, eyes burning from the rain. The others bobbed nearby, fighting the pull of the water.
"Swim for the shore!" Fern shouted, voice nearly drowned by the storm.
But the creek wasn't gentle anymore. It tossed them like twigs, waves breaking over their heads. Noah kicked hard, desperate to stay afloat. The rain hammered down, turning the world into a blur of grey and white.
Something brushed against his leg — smooth, fast, and strong.
His heart lurched. He looked down.
A dark shape slid through the water below him, long and sinuous, with the gleam of silver scales. Then another. And another.
Fish.
Huge, sleek, and curious.
"Sprint!" Noah yelled. "Don't splash—!"
But it was too late. A fish lunged upward, mouth gaping, and caught Sprint by the leg.Sprint's scream was cut short as he was dragged beneath the surface.
"No!" Noah dove after him without hesitation.
The cold hit like a wall, forcing the air from his lungs. Down here, everything was motion and shadow — twisting currents, bubbles, flashes of silver.He caught sight of Sprint struggling in the fish's jaws, kicking wildly.
Noah reached him, grabbed the fish's slick body, and kicked with all his might.The Sword of Roots at his back glowed faintly — a pulse of silver through the murky water.Power surged through his limbs. He twisted, braced a foot against a submerged rock, and drove his heel into the fish's side.
The creature convulsed, its jaws snapping open in shock. Sprint tore free, bubbles bursting from his mouth as he flailed.Noah lunged, catching him by the arm and pulling him close.
His lungs burned; his vision darkened at the edges. He kicked upward, fighting the drag of the current, muscles screaming.A heartbeat later, they broke through the surface in an explosion of spray and air.
Sprint gasped violently, coughing and choking, but alive.
Fern's voice reached him faintly through the rain. "Over here!"
He turned — she was clinging to a floating leaf, waving frantically.
Noah swam toward her, hauling Sprint along. Each kick felt heavier, the current fighting to pull them back. But finally — finally — his foot hit mud.
He pushed forward until they collapsed onto the riverbank, coughing and gasping, water streaming off them in rivulets.
For a long time, none of them spoke.Only the rain did — pattering against the ground, hissing against the leaves.
Fern rolled onto her back, eyes closed. "That... was awful."
Sprint spat out a mouthful of water. "Next time, let's use a proper bridge."
Noah let out a shaky laugh, half in relief, half disbelief. "Agreed."
The sky above had gone nearly black. The storm clouds churned, flashing with distant lightning. The air smelled of wet soil and moss. Fern sat up, wringing water from her hair.
"We need shelter," she said. "We can't travel like this."
Noah nodded, scanning the area. Nearby, a giant mushroom stood leaning over a rock, its wide cap offering partial cover from the rain. "There," he said, pointing.
They scrambled under it, the gills above them dripping steadily. Fern pulled a small pouch from her satchel, revealing a spark stone. She struck it twice — click, click — and a tiny flame flickered to life. Using bits of dry moss from beneath the rock, she built a small fire.
Warmth slowly crept back into their limbs. Steam rose from their clothes.
Sprint passed around a small packet. "Last of the rations. Dried mulberries."
Noah bit into one. The sweetness cut through the taste of river water still clinging to his mouth, grounding him back in the moment.
Fern watched the rain beyond their shelter. "The creek marks the last safe line," she said softly. "Beyond this, the Blight's influence begins. The air, the soil… even the creatures. We'll need to be careful."
Noah stared at the firelight dancing on their faces. "We'll make it," he said quietly. "We have to."
For a while, none of them spoke again. The rain's rhythm softened. The fire crackled, throwing soft orange light onto the resin still coating Noah's boots — a faint reminder of Queen Nela's gift.
Somewhere beyond the storm, thunder rolled like distant drums.
Back in the human world, Rose stood by the window, hands trembling around a mug of tea gone cold. The storm outside howled, wind rattling the old shutters. The smell of rain seeped in through the cracks.
On the table behind her sat two plates — one with eggs gone hard and toast untouched. Lunch, she'd made hours ago.
She looked toward the hallway again, half expecting to hear Noah's footsteps. Nothing.
Her eyes drifted toward the portrait hanging above the mantel — Oak, smiling, his eyes bright with mischief. "You'd know what to do," she murmured. "You always did."
She tried to smile back at him but couldn't. The worry pressed too hard on her chest.
Finally, she grabbed her lantern and stepped out into the rain. The wind whipped at her coat as she called into the garden, her voice raw.
"Noah! Noah, answer me!"
Only the storm answered.
She circled the fence line, checked the shed, the compost bin, even the old gnome statue — its cracked face gleaming with water. "Where are you, sweetheart?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
By the time she returned to the porch, she was soaked through. Her hands shook as she set down the lantern. She looked once more toward the forest, its dark outline blurred by rain.
Tomorrow, she would drive to town. She'd call for help, talk to everyone she could. Jimmy Reed's threat — the lease, the money — none of it mattered now.
Only Noah mattered.
Far below, under the same stormy sky, Noah and his companions huddled close to the fire. The rain had thinned to a mist, and the creek now murmured softly in the distance. Sprint was already half asleep, his head resting on a folded cloak. Fern sat with her knees pulled close, staring into the flames.
Noah looked up at the canopy above. Somewhere beyond those towering stems and the heavy rainclouds, his grandmother was searching for him. He could almost hear her voice carried on the wind — faint but familiar, calling his name.
"I'll come back," he whispered to the night. "I promise."
Fern glanced at him. "What did you say?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking."
She smiled faintly. "Don't think too hard. You'll need your strength for tomorrow."
Noah nodded, lying back against the damp earth. The firelight flickered across the Sword of Roots beside him. Its faint silver glow pulsed once — almost like a heartbeat — before settling again.
Outside their little shelter, the rain finally stopped.