Chapter 24: The Garden of Forgotten Sins
They left the Dust Prophet's tower behind them, the once-barren dunes now stirring with fragile signs of life—sprouts pushing through soil that had not tasted water in a hundred years. The wind was no longer filled with whispers of old regrets, but with the breath of something reborn.
Still, Wale was quiet.
He had reclaimed one truth. But the path ahead still wound through pain, and the next destination loomed large in his memory—the Garden of Forgotten Sins. A place where memory itself bloomed, thorns fed by guilt and petals made from shame. A place he once helped create.
Chris walked beside him, her armor gleaming faintly under the risen sun. "You look like a man about to walk back into hell."
"I am," Wale said.
Grey, ever practical, rolled his shoulders and glanced ahead. "What's waiting in this garden? Another ghost? A prophecy? Some twisted dream?"
Wale's jaw clenched. "An old friend. One I betrayed worse than any other."
By midday, the terrain had begun to change. Cracked clay gave way to roots, creeping vines, and trees with bark like ink. The very air shimmered with memory, and the deeper they walked into the foliage, the more it seemed time unraveled around them.
Voices echoed from no visible source—laughter, tears, arguments spoken long ago. Chris paused, eyes wide.
"Did you hear that? It sounded like my father."
Grey frowned. "I saw myself—just now—in a reflection on that tree. But I was... older. And dying."
"This is the garden," Wale said. "It doesn't hide what you fear. It shows you what you forgot to fear."
The heart of the garden was a clearing, encircled by flowers that bled ink from their petals. In its center stood a tree made entirely of bones—twisting up like a hand clawing at the sky. Its roots drank from a pool of stagnant memories, its branches heavy with glowing fruit.
Beneath that tree sat a figure in white robes. His skin was smooth, unmarred by age, and his smile was both serene and cold.
Elion.
Chris whispered, "He doesn't look dangerous."
"He doesn't need to," Wale said. "Elion is the Keeper of Regret. And I made him that way."
Elion opened his eyes.
"Wale," he said softly. "You finally remembered me."
"I never forgot," Wale replied, stepping forward.
Elion stood, movements fluid. "Oh, you did. You buried me in the root of this tree, hoping time would erase what you did. But I grew."
He gestured around them. "I blossomed into every unspoken sin. Every wound you left behind."
Chris and Grey stayed at the edge of the clearing, wary.
"What did he do to you?" Chris asked.
Elion's smile widened. "He rewrote my loyalty into betrayal. He used my trust as a seal to bury forbidden knowledge—and when I resisted, he left me here, trapped in a garden of his own making."
Wale said nothing.
Because it was true.
"I've come to free you," Wale said.
Elion tilted his head. "How noble. How convenient. And why now?"
"Because the monster in the mirror wins," Wale said quietly. "Unless I finish this. Unless I set things right. All of it."
Elion's face twitched. "And who decides what right is? You?"
He stepped closer, a pale hand rising.
"The sins you buried grew into flowers. Do you think simply plucking them makes them harmless?"
"No," Wale said. "Which is why I'll burn the whole garden if I have to."
At that, Elion laughed—a deep, hollow sound.
"You haven't changed at all, Wale. You still think control is atonement."
He raised his hand—and the bone tree screamed.
From the black pool at its base, figures emerged: twisted shades of past victims, each one bearing Wale's face with minor variations—eyes missing, mouths stitched shut, bones protruding from skin.
Chris shouted, drawing her blade. "What are those?!"
Grey stepped forward beside her. "Reflections."
Wale drew the Memory Blade.
"No," he said. "They're edits. Ghosts of the lives I rewrote and left behind."
The shades charged, and battle broke out.
Chris danced through them, blades flashing as she sliced through their shadows. Grey fought methodically, striking only when he saw truth behind illusion. But more kept coming—memories feeding off fear, illusions drawing power from guilt.
Wale fought toward Elion.
Their blades clashed, and Elion's staff was quick—crafted of thornwood and bone, humming with psionic rage.
"You made me a guardian of this pain," Elion hissed. "You could have freed me. Instead, you used me to keep your secrets buried."
Wale blocked a strike, parried, and shoved Elion back.
"I was afraid!" he shouted. "Afraid of what the truth would do!"
"Then you should never have touched it," Elion spat, lashing out with psychic force.
Wale stumbled, bleeding from the temple. Memories clawed at him—visions of Kaelen's death, the Prophet's tears, a child laughing before the timeline rewrote her into dust.
He screamed.
And the garden trembled.
Chris saw it. "The tree! It's cracking!"
Grey nodded. "It's tied to him. His guilt is keeping it alive!"
Wale fell to his knees, shades closing in.
Then Chris threw her sword—straight into the bone tree's trunk.
A thunderous crack.
Light burst from within, and the illusions screamed.
Elion roared, staggering as the tree began to burn.
"You fool!" he cried. "Do you think destroying the tree absolves you?! It will only unleash what you tried to forget!"
Wale stood, eyes glowing with memory.
"I'm not here to forget," he said. "I'm here to remember everything."
He plunged the Memory Blade into the tree's core.
The garden exploded in light.
When it cleared, the clearing was ash.
The tree was gone.
Elion knelt in the center, no longer radiant—just a man. Tired. Hollow.
He looked up at Wale.
"Was it worth it?"
"No," Wale said. "But it was right."
Elion gave a small, broken smile.
"Then go. Finish what you started."
Wale helped him to his feet.
They left the garden behind, black petals falling from their boots.
Later, as the trio rested beneath quiet stars, Chris asked, "How many more ghosts?"
Wale stared into the fire. "Two. Maybe three. But the worst is still ahead."
Grey nodded. "The monster in the mirror."
Wale didn't answer.
Because part of him wondered...
If it wasn't still ahead.
But beside him.
Watching.
Waiting.