Sealed Garden of Gods

Chapter 5- Dust of Ages

The deeper I went, the more I realized that Aldenora wasn't just ruined. It was rotting.

Every step I took on the white marble plaza sent a web of cracks shivering through the stone. This place looked like it was made of solid mountain, but it felt like it was made of dried ash. I reached out a hand to steady myself against a grand archway—the kind of thing that should’ve lasted ten thousand years—and my fingers just... sank into it. The stone turned to gray powder the moment I touched it, sliding through my grip like sand in an hourglass.

"Gods," I whispered, and even the vibration of my voice made a nearby decorative urn shatter into a million tiny pieces.

I stood still, barely breathing. The silence was so thin here that I felt like if I sneezed, the whole street would come down on my head. This wasn't a kingdom anymore. It was a ghost of a kingdom, held together by nothing but habit and the lack of wind.

I needed supplies. I needed a better blade than this rusted piece of scrap in my boot, and I needed water. My throat felt like I’d been swallowing glass.

I spotted a building that looked like it might’ve been a barracks or a smithy. It was a low, squat structure made of darker stone than the rest, tucked between two crumbling towers. I approached the door—a massive slab of oak reinforced with iron. Or at least, it used to be. The wood had turned into a soft, black pulp, and the iron was nothing but a red crust of rust that flaked off in the air.

I pushed the door. It didn't swing open; it just disintegrated, falling inward with a soft thud that sent a cloud of choking dust into my lungs.

"Cough... damn it..." I covered my mouth with my sleeve, squinting through the haze.

Inside was a graveyard of utility. I walked toward a weapon rack, my heart hopeful for a split second. I saw the shapes of swords, spears, and shields. But as the dust settled, I saw the truth. The swords were rusted through, their blades eaten away until they looked like jagged combs. I reached for a spear, thinking maybe the tip was still good, but the moment my hand closed around the shaft, the wood turned to splinters and the metal head snapped off, hitting the floor and turning into a pile of red flakes.

I moved to the back, where the forge stood. There were scrolls on a desk, maybe maps or history or some kind of guide to this hellhole. I leaned over them, my eyes straining in the dim light. I could see ink—faint, elegant lines of a language I couldn't read. I reached out, desperate for even a scrap of knowledge, but the heat from my hand alone seemed to be too much. The parchment curled, turned black, and vanished into smoke before I could even touch the surface.

Everything was gone. The history, the weapons, the pride of the Gods—it had all stayed in this sealed garden for too long, and now it was just waiting for a reason to stop existing.

Creeeeeak.

The sound came from above. I froze. The ceiling of the smithy was a mess of heavy stone beams, and one of them was tilting. A single pebble fell, hitting my shoulder.

I didn't think. I dove toward the doorway, my boots skidding on the rotten floor. Behind me, the entire building decided it was tired of standing. The roof came down in a slow, heavy groan of stone and dust. I scrambled out into the street just as a cloud of gray debris erupted from the entrance.

I lay on the cracked marble, gasping, my lungs burning. I looked back at the pile of rubble. That was it. My best chance at finding gear, and it was buried under ten tons of trash.

"Is this the joke?" I yelled, my voice raw. "You lead me here just to show me a pile of dust?"

No one answered. But as I sat there, wiping the gray grit from my eyes, that feeling came back.

Someone was watching me.

It wasn't the cold, hungry stare of the spiders. This was different. It felt heavy, like a physical weight pressing against the back of my neck. It was a gaze that felt like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. I spun around, my rusted dagger out, scanning the empty windows of the crumbling towers.

Nothing moved. Only the slow, rhythmic falling of dust from a nearby balcony.

"I know you're there!" I shouted.

I started walking again, faster now. I didn't care about the crumbling stone. I headed toward the center of the city, where the buildings were taller and the shadows were deeper. Every time I turned a corner, I thought I saw a flicker of something—a hem of a robe, a shadow that didn't match the pillars, a pair of eyes reflecting the dim silver light. But when I looked, there was only the ruin.

The weight of the three of them—Borg, Vax, Elian—felt like lead in my boots. I couldn't help but wonder what they would say if they saw me now. Vax would be laughing at my luck. Elian would be crying over the lost books. And Borg... Borg would tell me to keep my eyes up and my blade ready.

I reached a bridge that crossed over a dry canal. The bridge was a delicate thing, carved to look like a row of jumping fish. It looked like it would break if a bird landed on it. I walked across it on my tiptoes, my heart in my throat. Below, in the canal, I saw the bones of people. Thousands of them. They weren't in piles; they were just lying there, turned to white dust, looking like they had just laid down and waited for the end.

This wasn't a war. It was an extinction.

As I reached the other side, I stopped. There, on a pedestal at the end of the bridge, was a small bowl. It was the only thing I’d seen so far that wasn't broken or rusted. It was made of dark glass, and inside was a single, fresh piece of fruit. A plum, deep purple and misted with water.

In a city of dust and rot, it looked like a diamond in a coal mine.

I stared at it. My stomach roared, a painful reminder that I hadn't eaten since the wagon. But I didn't reach for it. My hand went to the silver scar on my arm instead. The mark was pulsing, a cold, rhythmic throb that matched my heartbeat.

The feeling of being watched intensified. It was close now. Just behind the next pillar.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

The shadow of the pillar lengthened, stretching across the white stone toward my boots. It didn't look like a person. It looked like a jagged, broken thing with too many limbs.

"Are you the one who's been watching me die?" I asked, my grip tightening on the dagger.

The shadow stopped. For a second, I thought I heard a sound. Not a voice, but a sigh—the sound of a thousand years of breath being let out at once.

Then, a voice did come. It wasn't in my head this time. It was a dry, rasping sound, like two stones being rubbed together.

"The Garden... does not like... intruders."

I stepped back, my heel catching on a crack in the bridge. "I'm not an intruder. I was sent here to die."

The shadow shifted. "Many are sent. None... remain. Why are you... marked?"

I looked at the silver scar. "I touched the pool in the temple. I didn't have a choice."

The shadow grew taller, darker. "Choice is for the living. You are... a ghost carrying ghosts."

Before I could ask what that meant, a section of the building next to us gave way. A massive gargoyle snapped off the roof and tumbled down, heading straight for the pedestal with the fruit. I lunged forward, not even knowing why—maybe I just didn't want to see the only beautiful thing in this city get crushed.

I grabbed the bowl and rolled away just as the stone demon smashed into the pedestal, turning it into powder.

When I looked up, the shadow was gone.

I was alone again, clutching a glass bowl and a piece of fruit that shouldn't exist. I looked at the purple plum. It felt real. It felt heavy.

I took a bite. The sweetness was so intense it made my eyes water. It tasted like life. It tasted like the world I had left behind, the world that had thrown me away.

I finished the fruit, seeds and all, and stood up. The feeling of being watched was gone for now, but the weight on my shoulders remained.

I looked toward the tallest tower in the distance, the one that touched the gray clouds. That’s where the shadow had come from. That’s where the answers were.

"I'm coming," I said to the ghosts.

I started walking, my boots crunching on the dust of the first kingdom, the silver mark on my hand glowing like a cold, lonely star.