The garden darkened, its vibrant glow dimming as if the Abyss itself inhaled.
Vines tensed, coiled like springs, their crimson leaves quivering with intent.
The air grew thick with the scent of sap and heat, petals curling inward along the mossy ground, trees moaning softly, their branches bending like an audience leaning into a whispered secret.
Sylvara stood at the glade's heart, her glowing skin framed by blooming crimson, a goddess sculpted from hunger and sorrow, her amber eyes fixed on Azareel with a longing that bordered on pain.
"Give him to me," she said again, her voice silked with sorrow and want, each word heavy with the weight of centuries alone.
Nyxsha's claws unsheathed with a sound like stone splitting, her massive feline-lupine form shifting to shield Azareel.
Her black fur bristled, her golden eyes blazing with fury, her tail lashing like a whip.
"Try taking him," she growled, her voice a low, vibrating snarl that shook the moss beneath her paws, "and I'll fertilize your roots with your own petals."
Sylvara's smile faltered, her amber eyes flickering with something unspoken.
She didn't move, but her vines did—uncoiling like striking serpents, slow and deliberate.
One looped behind Nyxsha, its tip curling with predatory grace.
Another grazed Azareel's ankle, soft but possessive.
A third slithered up a nearby tree, blooming into a mouth of petals lined with thorns that gleamed like tiny blades.
Sylvara's voice trembled, soft and aching.
"You don't understand what it's like… to be touched and not feared. To give without needing to devour. He changed my garden just by existing in it."
Nyxsha's eyes glowed hotter, her claws digging into the earth. "You don't want him—you want the way he made you feel. That's not the same."
"He makes the cold stop," Sylvara whispered, her flowering hair quivering, petals blooming brighter. "That's enough."
"No." Nyxsha stepped forward, her paw sinking deep into the pulsing moss.
"He's not a blanket for your broken bark. He's not yours to wrap around when the dark gets loud."
Azareel rose slowly behind them, his torn robe swaying, a half-eaten berry still clutched in his hand.
His silve eyes, were calm, his pale face bathed in the crimson glow.
"Sylvara," he said softly, his voice cutting through Nyxsha's snarl. "If you touch him again—" Nyxsha began, but the vines lunged.
Nyxsha roared, her claws flashing upward in a blur.
A vine coiled toward her throat, but she ducked low, ripping through it with a spray of glowing, golden sap that misted the air like blood.
The ground cracked beneath her as she launched forward, tackling another tendril before it could wrap around Azareel's leg, her snarls echoing through the glade.
Sap dripped from her claws, her massive form a whirlwind of fury as she drove the vines back, one by one, her breath heaving, her golden eyes blazing.
Sylvara's expression twisted—not with rage, but with grief, her amber eyes shimmering as more vines surged like a wave, their thorns glinting.
Nyxsha leapt again, hacking and snarling, her claws a storm of precision and rage, severing tendrils with each swipe.
She stood panting, her fur slick with sap, her chest heaving as the garden trembled around her.
Azareel stepped forward, right into the heart of the chaos.
"Stop," he said, his voice quiet but firm, like a stone dropped into still water.
Everything froze.
The vines halted mid-coil, their tips quivering.
Sylvara's breath caught, her flowering hair stilling.
Nyxsha's tail flicked hard, her golden eyes wide with startled confusion.
Azareel stood between monster and dryad, barefoot on the pulsing moss, his frail frame bathed in the eerie glow of crimson leaves.
He was calm, soft, unmoving, his silver hair catching the light like a halo.