The light from the circle swelled until it filled the garden with silver fire.Noah shielded his eyes, heart hammering in his chest. The soil around him vibrated, and the air seemed to hum like a living thing.
The gnome, still glowing, began to move.Its stone eyes, bright as twin moons, turned slowly—and looked straight at him.
Noah froze. For a long heartbeat, they simply stared at one another—boy and guardian, flesh and stone.Then the gnome blinked.
He stumbled back, startled."Did you just—?" he whispered, but the words never finished.
The gnome's feet lifted gently from the ground.Dust and blades of grass swirled beneath it as it hovered, rotating with impossible grace. The glowing runes encircling it flared brighter, like molten silver carved into the earth.
The moonlight itself seemed to bow toward the figure.It glowed not like a lamp but like something sacred, older than speech.
Noah's heart pounded. The air tasted of metal and rain.The sound in his ears grew—no longer a hum but a deep, thrumming pulse, as though the garden had a heartbeat of its own.
Then the gnome stopped rising.The ground beneath it began to sink, grains of soil falling away until a perfect circular hole formed where its base had been—clean-edged, dark, and impossibly deep.It wasn't large—no wider than a golf ball—but it radiated energy like a small sun turned inside out.
The gnome tilted its head and, with slow precision, lifted one stone arm.Its hand extended, finger pointing directly at the hole.
Noah swallowed hard."It's… showing me something," he murmured.
He knelt, placing the journal carefully on the grass beside him, and leaned over the opening.Cold air drifted up from below. It smelled faintly of moss and something older—like rain-soaked roots and distant thunder.
He couldn't see the bottom.No flicker of light, no shape or sound—just a tunnel that devoured everything that entered it.
The gnome's gaze brightened suddenly, the glow in its eyes burning pure white.Before Noah could move, a beam of moonlight shot forth, striking him squarely in the chest.
He gasped.It didn't hurt—no, it felt warm, soft, almost weightless.The light wrapped around him, humming through his ribs and fingertips. For a second, he thought nothing more would happen. Then the air shifted.
The world began to grow.
At first, it was subtle—the grass seemed taller, the gnome larger.But then it accelerated. The fenceposts shot up like trees, and the pebbles beneath his feet swelled into boulders. The soil's grains turned to ridged cliffs of brown and gold.
His heart thundered.He looked at his hands—they were shrinking before his eyes, his fingers growing thinner and smaller. His clothes clung tightly, then perfectly resized, shimmering faintly as if touched by the same magic.
He tried to shout, but his voice came out as a high, startled squeak, instantly lost to the wind.He was floating now—lifted by the beam—suspended like dust in a sunray.
The light pulsed once more, and Noah felt his stomach lurch as he grew smaller and smaller.In seconds, the entire world towered over him—grass like green pillars, a single dew droplet glowing larger than his head.
And then—silence.
The beam cut off.For an instant, everything was still, frozen between one heartbeat and the next.
Then gravity reclaimed him.
Noah dropped.
He barely had time to yell—a tiny, squeaky cry that no human ear could have heard—before he plunged straight into the glowing hole.
The air around him shimmered as he fell.Silver and green light spiraled upward, twisting like ribbons of mist. Strange shapes flashed by—roots, rocks, and veins of crystal that pulsed like beating hearts.
The tunnel seemed endless, yet alive, its walls undulating like a throat swallowing him deeper into the earth.He reached out to grab hold of something, but the air itself felt slippery, thick with magic.
He was falling… falling…
Until the light below him flared—and the world went black.
Far below the garden, where no sunlight ever reached, two guards stood watch before a great stone gate woven with living vines.
The cavern glowed faintly green, lit by clusters of mushrooms and patches of shimmering moss clinging to the walls. Water dripped somewhere in the distance, a rhythm so slow it made time feel stretched thin.
The guards were Gardenlings—no taller than a matchstick, yet proud and sturdy.Their spears were carved from thornwood, their armor layered with pressed petals hardened like bark.
They had been standing there a very long time.
Flint, a round-cheeked Gardenling whose helmet sat slightly askew, let out a long sigh and leaned on his spear.
Flint (yawning): "You know, I think this moss has grown taller since last night."
His partner, Stone—a lanky, sharp-faced fellow with the permanent frown of someone who took rules too seriously—didn't even glance over.
Stone: "That's because you keep staring at it. Everything looks taller when you're bored."Flint: "That's rich coming from the one who talks to walls when I nap."Stone: "At least the wall doesn't snore."
Flint grumbled something under his breath. The moss did not reply.
A stretch of silence followed, filled only by the distant drip of water and Flint's restless shifting.
Flint: "Nothing ever happens here. Just damp air and cranky mushrooms. What's the point of guarding a gate no one even uses?"Stone: "Because it's the King's order."Flint: "The King's not here."Stone: "His orders are."Flint (groaning): "You're impossible."
Stone's reply was interrupted by a sound—a faint crack from above, followed by a small rush of air.Then came a thud, soft but solid, right in front of the gate.
Both froze.
Something small had landed in the mossy floor, sending up a puff of glowing spores.
Flint: "Please tell me that was your stomach."Stone (lowering his spear): "No. Look!"
They approached cautiously. A small figure lay sprawled among the moss—limbs awkwardly bent, clothes strange and foreign, hair dark and matted with dirt.
Flint squinted.
Flint: "What in the roots is that? Some kind of beetle larva?"Stone: "Beetles don't wear clothes."Flint: "Maybe fancy ones do."Stone (irritated): "Don't poke it—"Flint (already poking): "Just checking if it's alive."
The tip of Flint's spear nudged Noah's shoulder. The boy groaned faintly, stirring but not waking.
Stone (eyes widening): "It's breathing."Flint (alarmed): "That's worse! What if it wakes up and eats us?"Stone (dryly): "It's smaller than your lunch, Flint."Flint: "You've never seen my lunch."Stone: "Unfortunately, I have."
Flint scowled, then leaned closer despite himself. "Strange little thing, isn't it? Clothes like silk bark… smooth skin… not a sprout of moss on him."
Stone crouched beside him, examining Noah carefully. "Definitely not from the outer roots. Look at the stitching—too precise. And that smell… faint, like surface air."
Flint: "Could be a trick. Maybe one of the Blightkin's experiments."Stone: "Doesn't look corrupted."Flint: "Everything looks innocent before it bites you."
They both fell silent again. The creature—Noah—lay motionless, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
Finally, Stone stood, adjusting the strap on his armor.
Stone: "Captain Thistle said to report anything unusual."Flint (grumbling): "Unusual? This is downright bizarre."Stone: "Exactly. Which means we bring it in."Flint: "You just want to be the one who gets credit for finding it."Stone: "No. I want to be the one who doesn't get blamed if it explodes later."
That seemed fair enough. Flint sighed, sheathed his spear, and pulled out a length of vinecloth from his pack. Together, they wrapped Noah carefully—he was light as a seed pod—and lifted him between them.
When they reached the gate, Stone tapped it twice with the base of his spear.The vines stirred, twisting and sliding apart. The great stone door exhaled a deep, ancient breath and opened.
A warm, golden light poured out, illuminating their faces and the sleeping boy in their arms.
Flint blinked, momentarily awed.
Flint (softly): "Haven't seen the inner roots glow like that in seasons."Stone (half-smiling): "Don't get sentimental. Let's just bring it to the Captain before something else drops from the ceiling."
Flint nodded, and the two disappeared through the gate, their armor glinting faintly in the light.Behind them, the vines slid closed again, sealing the chamber in its eternal hush.
Above, the garden was still bathed in silver.The glowing runes faded one by one until only the gnome remained suspended in the air, light flickering from within its stone form.
Then, as gently as a leaf drifting down, it floated back to the earth.Its round body settled onto the soil where it had once stood. The cracks of light along its surface dimmed, then disappeared entirely.
The circle in the dirt faded too, leaving no trace of the hole that had swallowed Noah. Only the soft scent of moonlight and honey lingered.
The gnome's eyes flickered once—just once—then went dark.It was still again, nothing more than painted stone in the quiet garden.
Overhead, the moon began its slow descent, brushing clouds like a hand over a closing book.The wind shifted through the rows of vegetables, and the house in the distance slept peacefully, unaware that its young guest was now miles below, beginning an adventure that would change both worlds.