Night fell over Stillfall once again, but it no longer carried the same heavy fear.
Instead, the garden pulsed softly with a new kind of light.
Elliot watched from the cabin steps, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. Dotted across the fields and along the rough perimeter fence, clusters of glowshrooms bloomed—each one giving off a gentle, bluish-green glow, like fallen stars taking root in the soil.
The night air was cool, carrying the fresh scent of turned earth and wild herbs. Somewhere among the crops, Thornlash vines stretched lazily, twining up new supports. The garden was alive, but it was also alert—ready, now, to defend itself.
Lyra came up beside him, brushing her hands on her patched cloak. "Not bad for a day's work," she said lightly, tilting her head to admire the shimmering fence-line.
Elliot chuckled. "I don't think I'd have managed it without you."
"You give me too much credit." She bumped his shoulder gently with hers. "You were the one who noticed the glowshrooms responding to movement. I just... encouraged them a little."
Their plan had been simple but clever: plant the glowshrooms along the garden's edge, encourage them to link roots underground, and teach them—through patience and Lyra's gentle gift—to react to disturbances. When something large crossed their hidden lines, the mushrooms would flare brighter, signaling an intruder.
It wasn't a wall of stone or steel. But here, in a world that had forgotten the old ways, it was stronger in its own quiet, stubborn way.
Elliot stepped down from the porch, moving carefully among the mushroom sentinels. As he passed by, a few brightened in greeting, the earth humming softly beneath his feet. It was like walking through a living dream.
He knelt to inspect one particularly lively cluster. "They really are aware, aren't they?" he murmured.
Lyra crouched beside him, her hair catching the soft light like silver fire. "They are... in their own way. Not like we think. More like... feelings. Hunger, curiosity, caution. Simple but strong."
Elliot touched the cap of a mushroom lightly. It vibrated faintly under his fingers, as if acknowledging him.
"It's enough," he whispered.
They worked into the evening, strengthening the root-networks, weaving glowshrooms closer together where the natural barriers were weakest. Thornlash vines were trained to coil near the brightest clusters, ready to strike anything foolish enough to press inward.
By the time the moons rose—twin pale lights hanging low over the ruined horizon—the garden gleamed like an oasis in the dark wasteland.
They stood side by side, breathing in the moment.
No walls.
No towers.
No guns or blades.
Just life. Rooted, breathing, guarding itself.
It was the kind of defense no ruin or rot could easily break.
Lyra glanced sideways at him, her expression softer than usual. "You've built something beautiful, Elliot."
He shook his head slowly. "No. We did."
She smiled—a real smile this time, not the guarded little flickers she usually gave him—and it lit her face more brightly than any glowshroom.
For a few precious moments, neither spoke. There was no need for words.
The garden whispered around them: the faint rustle of leaves, the low hum of connected roots, the distant flicker of Thornlash tendrils testing the air.
It was alive. It was growing.
And for the first time since the world had fallen into dust and silence, Elliot believed something stronger than ruin was possible.
Hope.
Tiny and fragile, maybe.
But alive.
Just like the seeds they had planted together.
As the night deepened, they returned to the cabin, leaving the garden to stand watch.
Tomorrow, there would be more work. Stronger defenses. Smarter crops. Maybe even preparing for another Blight Rain.
But tonight?
Tonight was for breathing, and dreaming, and knowing they were no longer fighting the darkness alone.