[Ronette's side]
Ronette squinted suspiciously. "You lied to me."
Alderroot's beard twitched, amusement dancing at the corners of his mossy face. "That's why they say—never trust a stranger. Especially one whose name has 'root' in it."
For a moment, Ronette nearly collapsed where he stood, undone by the sheer absurdity.
Before he could voice another protest, Alderroot lifted a hand, finger pointing down the winding path. "Look."
Ronette's gaze followed. At the far end of the flower-woven archway, a blinding light shimmered—like dawn breaking through ancient canopy.
It pulsed faintly, calling to something buried deep in his chest.
"That path," Alderroot murmured, voice hushed as wind through hollow trunks, "leads you straight to the center of the garden."
The words struck Ronette like an incantation. 'The center… of the garden…'
They echoed through the fog of his thoughts until they landed, sharp and undeniable.
Eyes wide, breath catching, he turned sharply. "Wait—how did you know I was trying to get there?"
The sage merely raised a hand, serenity carved into every weathered line of his face. "I know everything."
Ronette's frown deepened, frustration sparking. "Then… why didn't you just tell me from the start instead of those ridiculous stories?"
Fingers dug into his scalp, scratching at the tangle of confusion and exasperation.
Alderroot chuckled softly, like old leaves stirred by breeze. "If a stranger walked up to you and said he'd take you to the place you most wanted to go, would you have followed him?"
"Of course!" Ronette shot back, the answer slipping out before sense could catch it.
Alderroot sighed, eyes glinting with quiet pity. "What an innocent child."
Ronette's gaze flickered back toward the flower-choked council, a tremor of worry crawling along his spine. "What about the council? Won't they blame you if I disappear?"
"Worry not, my child." The sage's hand settled heavy and reassuring on Ronette's shoulder. "I'll be just fine."
A hush fell.
Ronette nodded solemnly, then bowed low—a full ninety degrees. "Thank you for everything. I won't forget this debt."
Stroking his beard with a pleased hum, Alderroot chuckled. "Ho ho ho… what a good child."
Then, gently, the old sage turned Ronette toward the light, palm pressing lightly against his back. "Now then, go on. Go save your friend."
And without waiting to think, Ronette ran.
His steps pounded over moss and crushed petals, heart a drumbeat of fear and hope intertwined.
Behind him, Alderroot watched, framed beneath arching vines and drifting motes of light.
As Ronette's silhouette vanished into brilliance, a memory stirred in the sage—children with wide eyes, hanging on every foolish tale once spun for laughter more than truth.
A soft, wistful smile touched his lips.
"Let the begone… be gone," he whispered.
Then he turned, staff tapping lightly against root and stone, and began the slow, deliberate walk back toward the council.
[Louis's side]
The trees blurred past me as I darted through the winding garden paths, dodging vines and twisted roots that seemed determined to trip me up.
Behind me, the thunder of hooves rang out like war drums—relentless, deafening, closer with every breath.
"This is just plain ridiculous!" I shouted between gasps, leaping over a flower bed that hissed at me. "Why the hell does a garden need a horseman of death?!"
A flaming whip cracked past my shoulder, heat singing the ends of my hair. The Dullahan's steed surged closer, its eyes twin embers of rage; its headless rider sat rigid, skull cradled under one arm like a macabre lantern.
I ducked behind a marble fountain slick with moss, chest heaving so hard it hurt. "Okay, okay… think. Think!"
A pale-blue window materialized beside me, cold and uncaring:
[Tip: The Dullahan always knows your location.]
"Oh come on!" I yelled at the floating message. "What's next? Does it know my social security number too?!"
The ground trembled. The horse's iron-clad hooves clanged as it landed from thin air—teleported again, just inches away.
With a strangled yelp, I bolted, my legs on autopilot.
Branches whipped at my face. A bird with three eyes screamed profanity as I passed. The Dullahan loomed behind, its skeletal grin fixed and unchanging, whip raised again—
I stumbled into an open clearing, skidding to a halt.
A dead end.
"No, no, no!" I groaned, voice shaking. I spun to face my pursuer.
The Dullahan slowed its pace and dismounted, the horse disappearing in a flicker of shadow. The knight walked forward, steps deliberate, sword rattling faintly against dented armor.
"Okay," I rasped, forcing my fists up despite the tremor in my arms. "I get it. You're a creepy headless nightmare with maxed-out stats. But I still have one thing you don't."
The knight paused.
A smirk cracked across my sweat-streaked face. "A really, really loud scream."
I drew in a breath deeper than the pit in my stomach—and shrieked.
Birds erupted skyward. Flowers curled in horror. Somewhere, a cat fainted.
The Dullahan flinched—just slightly.
"…It worked?" The words slipped out, half hope, half disbelief.
Then the knight raised its sword.
"Oh, right…" I muttered, voice catching. "Since it doesn't have a head… it has no ears…"
A bitter laugh nearly became a sob. "Great deduction, Louis. Maybe I'll put that on my tombstone."
Steel whistled through air, the blade plunging down toward me faster than thought. Muscles too drained to move. Breath locked in my chest.
Eyes squeezed shut.
Nothing.
Silence.
I cracked one eye open, then the other. The blade hung just above my chest—so close I could see my reflection in it, which, for the record, was not my best angle.
I glanced to the side.
The Dullahan had frozen, mid-swing, like someone had hit pause.
'Huh…?'
A booming voice echoed from nowhere.
[Congratulations. You are the first to trigger the mechanism as well as pass it!]
My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. 'How?' I thought, stunned.
Then—footsteps.
"Louis!"
My head snapped around. Ronette barreled into view, hair wild, face alight with worry.
He skidded to his knees, grabbing my shoulders like they might vanish. "Louis! Are you okay? Are you hurt? You're not dead yet, right?"
I grabbed his arm to stop the panicked shaking. "I'm not dead. But someone might be," I growled, glaring.
He blinked and slowly let go.
Behind us, the Dullahan and its monstrous garden crew began to retreat, fading into mist and soil.
In less than a minute, the cursed garden returned to its pristine, painfully beautiful state, as if nothing had happened. Birds chirped. Flowers swayed innocently in the breeze.
I wiped a smear of dirt from my cheek. "I don't know about you, but I really hate this place."
Ronette nodded, solemn and sincere.
I nudged his ribs lightly. "Good job finding the center, by the way."
"Oh! I wasn't alone," he blurted, eyes bright like lanterns catching first light. "The garden helped me!"
My hand froze mid-scratch in my tangled hair. 'Helped? As in… aiding attempted murder?'
"You mean," I started, words tasting of disbelief, "the garden killed you?"
Ronette blinked, bafflement written in every line, and shook his head so hard his hair nearly took flight. "No. No. No!" He beamed, absurdly pure. "I made friends with them."
I stared, expression flat as old parchment.
"...What?"
"They were angry at first and wanted to prosecute me," he explained, as if describing a picnic that got mildly out of hand. "But then an old root came and rescued me. He even told me some ridiculous stories while guiding me to the center of the garden."
His voice was bright, childlike—untouched by the horrors I'd just lived.
I watched him, silent.
"So," I began, letting every word drip with weary sarcasm, "while your dear friend was rolling in the mud, slapped by demonic daisies, chased by an eldritch horseman, and nearly turned into garden mulch..."
A pause, heavy as moss-draped stone.
"You were out here making friends?"
Ronette tilted his head, eyes unfocused like he was searching memory's corners—then, with that same blindingly guileless grin, "Yup!"
My chest tightened—anger, relief, something sour and sweet tangled together.
Then a breath escaped me. Laughter, rough but real.
"Oui. I can't even get mad at you."
Before I could add more, footsteps rushed over stone and moss. The Madam, flanked by a small entourage of flustered maids, came rushing toward us.
"Oh, my darling!" she cried, voice cracking with fear. "Are you hurt? Speak to me!"
Flustered maids closed in, fussing over our torn clothes and bruised limbs, steady hands guiding us upright.
I drew myself up, brushing dirt from my chest. Then, voice grand as a bard at the tavern's last call, one hand over heart, the other raised skyward,
"We yet draw breath, noble Madam—and in this cursed garden, that is triumph enough!"
Beside me, Ronette's face lit up, childish pride undimmed. "The flowers were very lively."
A shiver chased down my spine, memory of snapping petals still too close.
"Too lively," I intoned, words weighed down by exhausted truth.
The Madam's relief softened into a gentle smile. "I'm glad nothing serious happened. Now off with you both—get cleaned up. Lunch is already waiting in the dining hall. Quickly now, before it gets cold."
Our eyes met—mine haunted, his still dancing with wonder.
Without another word, we made a beeline for our room, the promise of food a beacon we both desperately needed.