The garden opened wide between the pale wall and the house. Short grass covered almost everything, trimmed too close to hide the dirt beneath. A stone path cut straight through the space—cold, regular—splitting grass from hard ground like a line drawn across the afternoon.
The children filled the center, running in crooked arcs, swerving past one another, kicking a cloth ball that never followed the same direction twice. Laughter bounced between wall and house, coming back smaller.
Elara was among them. Seven years old.
She ran.
Bare foot struck the short grass and lifted again, quick. The body moved without waiting. The ball passed over her head and someone laughed loud. The sound spread, then returned, caught.
"Here!"
Elara turned too late. The ball dropped behind her, bounced wrong, and rolled toward the stone path. Two children sprinted. Elara went with them.
The grass ended abruptly under her feet. Cold stone touched her sole and the step stalled—just one beat. Enough.
She tried to correct.
Her body pitched forward. Her knee went down too fast. The stone edge scraped skin and split it open.
Elara fell.
The impact landed flat. Air left her chest. Her hand slapped the stone to brace and slid. A thin scrape opened across her palm.
She stayed on the ground, knee bent wrong, hand spread flat, fingers stretched too far.
Blood appeared.
Warm first. Then visible. A thin line ran from her knee down her shin. On her hand, red split open and a drop swelled before falling.
The drop touched the stone.
And shone.
It didn't light the ground. Didn't cast shadow. It was a short, uneven gleam, running along the red surface like something that didn't know how to stop.
The children froze.
One stepped back without noticing. Another stared at the stain. The ball rolled a little farther and stopped on its own, forgotten.
The shine pulsed once. Weak. Too alive.
Elara tried to stand.
Her knee failed. She dropped back with a small sound. The body shook and locked.
More blood slipped free.
And shone again.
A throat cleared on the porch.
"Back."
The word fell hard. The children obeyed before understanding. The circle opened too fast, leaving empty grass around Elara.
A tutor crossed the garden with firm steps. She didn't run. She stopped near the blood and looked straight at the knee.
The glow was still there, faint, sliding through the drops.
She pulled out a white cloth.
"Don't move."
Elara tried. Her body was already stiff.
The cloth pressed against the knee. Pain rose in a straight line. Elara bit her tongue. Metal filled her mouth.
The cloth drank red.
And for a moment, it shone too.
The tutor pulled the cloth back fast, folded it, pressed higher.
"Breathe low."
Elara drew air. Stopped halfway. Let it out short.
Behind them, the children stood far now, lined near the bench. No one spoke. One whimpered without sound.
Another tutor appeared on the porch. She didn't come down. She watched.
The shine dimmed as more skin disappeared under cloth, but it didn't vanish. A thin thread slipped past the fabric's edge and ran down her leg.
It shone.
The second tutor came down.
"Water."
Metal sounded inside the house. A fit. A close.
The first tutor gripped Elara's arm and pulled her up. The knee protested loud inside her body. Elara tipped sideways. The grip tightened.
"Stay."
She stayed.
The children took a single step forward together.
"No."
They froze mid-motion. The ball remained abandoned in the grass, seam turned toward the sky.
The water arrived in a bowl. It trembled slightly. Clean cloth touched Elara's hand. Burning. Her wrist tried to pull away. The tutor held it.
The blood thinned.
Still shone.
The two tutors exchanged a look without words.
A third adult appeared in the doorway, half his body in the light. His gaze went straight to the stained cloth, then to the marked stone.
The glow there still pulsed, faint.
He said nothing.
He pointed inside.
The tutors moved at once. Elara's arm was pulled. One step. Another. The knee faltered. The grip tightened.
The garden fell behind.
The door closed with a metallic click.
The glow stopped when the cloth was finally set, hiding the blood.
All at once.
No answer.
Elara stood in the corridor, knee throbbing, hand damp, the taste of iron still in her mouth.
On the other side of the door, the garden did not return to normal.
Neither did she.