The knock came just after dawn—firm, rhythmic, and too awake for the hour.

  Tazien groaned from somewhere beneath the quilt. “If that’s Veska, I swear—”

  But Ilyari was already up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and stumbling to the window. She cracked it open just enough to peer down at the gate.

  “Brinna,” she called back. “And she brought people.”

  “Of course she did.”

  Within minutes, the front door was swinging open to the crisp morning air, and Brinna strode in with her usual authority—sunlight catching on her braid and sleeves dusted in flour.

  “Wake up, garden nobles. Meet your team.”

  Behind her stood three young adults, blinking uncertainly in the warm light of Willowgrove. Brinna gestured to each in turn.

  “This is Oliver Brightbees—fast learner, terrible handwriting. And Gorred Helejeon, big heart, better strength. Both apprenticed at the Zone’s old herb co-op before it closed last year.”

  The boys gave respectful nods, shuffling a little in their boots.

  “And this is Elen Perroris. She’s two years older than you, Ilyari. And no, don’t ask too many questions just yet.” Brinna’s voice dipped lower. “Her parents pulled her from an arrangement with a lecherous baron who intended to traffic her through the Black Market.”

  Ilyari’s chest tightened. Elen stood proud, shoulders square, but her eyes were wary, scanning everything with caution dressed as curiosity.

  Brinna clapped her hands. “So! Where are they sleeping?”

  Ilyari smiled. “Follow me.”

  They led the group down the outer path to the apothecary house—still moss-covered but glowing from its newly scrubbed windows and recently repaired door. Ilyari pushed it open with a soft creak, revealing shelves already lined with drying bundles and counters waiting for new projects.

  “The upstairs loft is still being cleared, but the lower rooms are clean and insulated,” she explained. “And the basement has a working well, sealed stone walls, and cool storage.”

  Brinna let out a sharp whistle. “This isn’t housing. This is a dream.”

  Oliver looked stunned. “We get to live here?”

  “Technically,” Tazien said, “you work here. The living part is a bonus.”

  Elen touched the wall gently, fingers tracing the grain. “It’s… beautiful.”

  Ilyari nodded. “We’ll be expanding soon—a full kitchen, indoor bath, better bunks. But for now, you’re welcome to use the main house when needed.”

  They took them through Willowgrove next, letting the new arrivals trail their fingers along polished stair rails and peek through the tea cabinets. The garden view from the tower nearly brought Gorred to tears.

  And then Brinna went to the tower and saw the academy rising not too far away.

  She gasped so hard she had to grab the wall. “Ma’Ryn, you old fox—Look at where your babies are now! Who are these nobles that employ me now?!”

  Ilyari flushed. “Brinna, please. We are still the same kids who grew up behind your cousin’s bakery.”

  “And yet,” Brinna said, beaming with both pride and playful mischief, “you’ve got stairs that don’t creak, a real roof, and more teacups than I’ve seen in my entire life. Don’t pretend you’re not nobles now. You are, you're just the best kind.”

  They spent the late morning making lunch—simple rice, roasted roots, and leftover biscuits from yesterday’s haul. Laughter filled the kitchen, warm and bright, as the new recruits shyly began to relax.

  Afterward, Brinna wiped her hands and nodded. “Let’s get to it. We’ve got dirt to turn.”

  Outside, as the group began clearing new rows and learning the rhythm of the garden paths, Tazien pulled Brinna aside.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  He led her to the workshop and gestured to the row of flower pods—glowing softly in their misted glass trays.

  “They have to be misted every day. Same time. Gently, with the fountain water. They’re mine, but I… I need someone to look after them.”

  Brinna stepped closer, taking in the faint pulse of light within the buds. “These are…?”

  “Special,” he said. “And unpredictable.”

  She looked back at him, eyes softer now. “You’re worried they’ll fade.”

  He nodded.

  Brinna placed a hand over her heart. “Then I swear, Tazien Aierenbane—I’ll treat them like kin. They’ll still be glowing when you get back.”

  He blinked, then looked away with a small smile. “Thanks. Really.”

  By early afternoon, with Brinna confidently barking garden orders and Oliver already elbow-deep in clover, Ilyari slipped into her cleanest shawl and made her way to Vaylen’s shop.

  The bell over the door jingled delicately as she stepped in—and found Avenel Talvane already perched on the edge of the chaise, a thick book balanced across her lap and ribbons trailing from her sleeves.

  “You’re late,” Avenel said, without looking up.

  “You’re early,” Ilyari replied with a soft grin.

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  Avenel snapped the book shut and held it out eagerly. “Look! This is the one I want!”

  Ilyari took the volume and examined the illustration—a fairy princess, dancing on dewdrops, wearing a layered petal dress that shimmered from peach to cream to frost-blue.

  “Mm,” Ilyari hummed. “Floaty. High waist. Feather hems.” She glanced out the shop window. “Still a bit chilly though, and the wet season hasn’t ended. If we go longer at the sleeves and line the bottom skirt with weathered lace—”

  “Only a little longer,” Avenel cut in quickly.

  “Not too long,” Ilyari promised. “Just enough to keep your knees from freezing when you twirl.”

  Satisfied, Avenel beamed, and Ilyari pulled a sketch pad from her satchel, beginning a rough draft of the design with fluid confidence. Avenel watched every pencil stroke like it was a spell being cast.

  When the design was done and the colors noted, Lady Talvane swept in from her errand with the grace of a hawk in a silk storm. She eyed the sketch, approved it with a faint tilt of her chin, and—after murmuring a few private words to Vaylen—handed off a slim envelope and promptly swept her daughter back out the door.

  As the bell jingled in their wake, Vaylen opened the envelope, pulled out a stack of coins, and chuckled.

  “Lady Talvane just tipped me to tip you,” he said, shaking his head. “She won’t say it out loud, but she trusts you. That’s rare. Hold onto it.”

  Ilyari raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

  “Only if her daughter starts asking you to make wedding dresses.”

  They shared a laugh, and then Vaylen turned behind the counter, rummaging through a stack of drawers.

  “Here,” he said, setting something gently on the table between them. “Your own sewing box.”

  It was carved darkwood, polished to a soft shine, with brass hinges and a small crescent clasp. Inside: high-quality thread spools, bone buttons, embroidery floss, a small snipping wand, and a pair of delicate shears with a filigree sun pattern on the handles.

  Ilyari gasped softly. “Vaylen… this is—”

  “Earned,” he said simply. “And consider it a small bribe. If you send me a letter from that Academy of yours, I’ll send bolts of fabric that haven’t sold here for half their worth. Now that I know you can afford it.”

  She grinned. “And you’ll still call me a miracle worker when I turn them into something useful?”

  “I’ll call you dangerous,” he said, eyes twinkling. “But in the best way.”

  After packing the sewing box carefully in oilcloth and placing it in her satchel, Ilyari met up with Tazien, and together they made their way through the winding mid-ring streets toward Indrale’s shop.

  The herbal cart was parked outside, the wheels freshly scrubbed and a crate of wrapped tea leaves stacked beside the door. Inside, the air was as fragrant as always—lemongrass, dried apple peel, and something stronger, like cinnamon bark.

  Indrale glanced up from her counting trays as the bell above the door jingled.

  “Well, if it isn’t the founders of Willowgrove & Co.”

  “We’re still working on the name,” Ilyari said with a grin.

  “We wanted to let you know,” Tazien added, “we’ll be away for a while.”

  “Ah yes,” Indrale said, folding her arms. “The Academy. I heard.”

  “We’ve arranged everything,” Ilyari said quickly. “We’ve hired help. Three employees, led by Brinna, and they’re living on the estate. Gardens, deliveries, bookkeeping—it’s all covered.”

  Indrale raised an eyebrow. “All that’s covered, is it? And how exactly do you plan to get to the Academy? No Academy I know picks up first-years on foot.”

  There was an awkward pause.

  “We were just going to walk,” Ilyari said with a shrug.

  From the back room, Eiggin poked his head around the corner, a crate in his arms. He blinked. “Wait—you’re walking?”

  “Not far,” Tazien said casually.

  Eiggin set the crate down hard enough to rattle the bottles. Then he stood a little straighter, cleared his throat, and looked directly at Ilyari. “That’s not right. A princess shouldn’t have to walk to the Academy.”

  Tazien raised an eyebrow. “Just a princess, huh?”

  Eiggin flushed instantly. “And a prince, too! Obviously!”

  Ilyari covered a laugh with her hand. “Eiggin… would it be too much trouble to ask?”

  His voice caught for half a second, then he shook his head vigorously. “No trouble at all. I can take you both. Every morning if needed.”

  She smiled, warm and grateful, and stepped forward to hug him.

  Eiggin froze.

  Then grinned ear to ear as she pulled away.

  Tazien smirked and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Guess we’ll see you at sunrise.”

  From there, they made their way to the familiar wooden storefront of Herbologist Esha Tinvaire. She was mid-way through sorting bundled stalks when they arrived.

  “Don’t even tell me,” she said as they stepped inside. “You’re about to vanish again.”

  “Not vanish,” Tazien said. “We’re leaving for the Academy tomorrow. But we’ve hired a full team to run the estate and continue deliveries. We’ll send you a copy of the schedule.”

  Ilyari added, “Brinna is in charge. Orders will come through just like before.”

  Esha nodded, thoughtful. “Good. I was worried I’d have to start watering grass and pretending it was mint.”

  She stepped into the back room and returned a moment later with a small wooden chest, polished and tightly latched.

  “This is for you.”

  Ilyari raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

  “Tonics,” Esha said. “Herbal concentrates. Immunity boosters. Digestive balancers. Sleep aids. You’re going into a nest of strangers, crowded spaces, and cafeteria food. People always get sick when they gather.”

  She gave a small smile. “But with the herbs you’ve been sending me… these should keep you strong through just about anything short of an alchemical plague.”

  Tazien whistled as he opened the lid—rows of glass vials lined up in foam, each labeled in her meticulous script.

  “Esha, thank you,” Ilyari said, voice soft.

  “You’ve already paid for it,” she replied. “With your work. Just promise to send word if you discover anything unusual up there. Magical or otherwise.”

  They nodded, tucked the chest between their satchels, and stepped back into the golden haze of the late afternoon sun.

  One last visit down.

  One day left.

  That night, Willowgrove slept in silence.

  The shatter came first. A high, piercing crack that echoed through the hallways, followed by sharp pops and the sound of something splintering, fast.

  Ilyari sat bolt upright. “The workshop.”

  Tazien was already moving, bare feet slapping against the wood floor as Brinna flung open her door at the same moment, lantern in hand.

  Down the hall. Down the stairs. Across the garden path.

  They burst through the workshop door—and froze.

  A hooded figure stood in the middle of the room, the lantern light catching on the curved shimmer of a glass dagger at his side. All around him were shards—of trays, of vials, of flowerbuds. The sacred glow was gone. Crushed petals wilted beneath his boots.

  Tazien screamed.

  “You—WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

  The man didn’t speak.

  He lifted his gloved hand—and whistled.

  From the rafters, a falcon swooped down, its feathers marked with coded rings.

  He meant to flee.

  But Tazien’s rage pulsed—wild, unchecked. Glyphs flickered in his vision, too fast to think, too hot to control.

  “No,” he snapped. “You don’t get to leave.”

  He reached out—not with hands, but with the forbidden thread beneath everything.

  The falcon’s code twisted mid-air.

  Its body convulsed, bones warping with a sickening snap. The feathers turned black, its eyes glowing with fractured glyphlight. A soundless scream rippled through the room as the creature turned not into a message, but a curse.

  The corrupted falcon shrieked and dove—not at Tazien, but at the man.

  It tore through his cloak with talons that shimmered with broken runes. He shouted and tried to shield himself, stumbling into the herb racks as the bird tore a path through the workshop, knocking books, splinters, and glass flying in a storm of ruin.

  Ilyari threw herself in front of Brinna, shielding her from a blast of shards. Gorred rushed in and pulled Elen back just as the falcon, now glowing with red and black, smashed through the window and vanished into the night.

  Silence followed. The man was gone. So were the buds.

  Tazien fell to his knees, hands trembling as he tried to gather the broken remnants—petals that no longer pulsed, crystal shards with no light inside them.

  “No… no, Laileeih…” he choked out. “Not again. Please…”

  He pulled the pieces into his lap, sobbing now, voice cracking. “Please… I did everything right this time…”

  Brinna stood frozen, her mouth parted, her eyes wide.

  No one moved.

  Outside, the wind stirred the garden—but the magic inside Willowgrove had gone quiet.

  Dead quiet.

  "Just one more day," they said. But the world had other plans..."

  was the storm.

  again wasn’t just an attack on the garden—it was a personal blow. One that hits especially hard after everything they’ve built to protect their new life. ????

  What consequences await after unleashing corrupted code on another living creature?

  And who was the man that shattered everything they were about to leave behind?

  Your support keeps this world alive (unlike... well... the flowerpods ??).