The city of Rootvale was still mending itself.
Vines whispered softly as they knitted together cracks in the walls, their tips glowing faintly with green light. Shimmering moss spread across the cobblestones like living paint, reclaiming ground that had been scorched black by the Blight Kin. The air smelled of sap and ash — a strange mix of life and ruin.
Noah walked through the streets beside Princess Fern, stepping carefully around Gardenling healers as they murmured to the plants. Where their hands touched, new shoots unfurled, curling tenderly toward the light. Even the fallen petals were collected and laid in woven baskets, as if nothing here was ever considered waste.
He had seen the chaos of the battle only hours ago — now it was hard to believe the same streets could feel so calm. The hum of repair work filled the air, a music of its own: the scrape of bark, the rustle of roots, the low chanting of Gardenlings who tended their wounded city.
A bell chimed in the distance. Deep and resonant, it rolled through the cavern like thunder softened by moss.
Fern turned toward him. "That's the call to the King's Council. Father will want to see you."
The throne room of Rootvale glowed with the light of regrowth. Fresh vines wound up the pillars, their new leaves still damp with dew. King Amaranthus sat on his living throne, the roots beneath him pulsing faintly with golden light. His face, though lined with age, held the same calm strength as the great tree that crowned his city.
Thistle stood near the base of the dais, his armor battered but polished clean. His arms were crossed, his expression grim.
Thistle: "Your Majesty, I must protest. Sending the heirs on such a mission is folly. The Blight lands are no place for the royal line."Amaranthus: "They are not only my heirs, Captain — they are defenders of this realm. If danger threatens the roots of our world, they must stand among those who guard it."
Thistle frowned but bowed, his jaw tight. "As you command."
The King's gaze shifted to Noah. "You have proven courage beyond measure, young Noah Little. But time is against us. Training you in the ways of our people would take seasons we do not have."
Noah swallowed, feeling small under the King's steady eyes. "Then what can I do?"
Amaranthus leaned forward slightly, the vines around his throne rustling with the motion. "You will go — you and my children — to seek the rubies your grandfather entrusted to us. But first, you must visit Queen Nela of the Stingless Hive. Her resin and honey are blessed by nature itself; they can shield flesh and soil from the touch of corruption."
Fern nodded in understanding. "We'll need enough to coat our gear — and maybe our skin."
Sprint added, "If we're lucky, she'll even give us flight syrup." He grinned at Noah's puzzled look. "It's not real flight. Just makes your legs feel like they could."
The King's tone grew darker. "You've seen the Blight with your own eyes. What you fought tonight was only its shadow. The true corruption festers beyond the dry creeks and the withered roots. Our scholars believe it began when the giants' poisons — your people's poisons — seeped into our soil. Tainted water. Metal dust. Strange clear shards that never rot."
Noah blinked. "Plastic?"
Amaranthus tilted his head. "If that is the word for it, yes. Fragments of your world, poisoning ours."
The chamber fell quiet.
Amaranthus: "So you see, young one — this journey is not only to save your grandmother's land. It is to save ours as well."
Later, when the council had ended, Sprint clapped Noah on the shoulder. "Come on! You've met the King. Now meet the kingdom."
Before Noah could protest, Sprint was already leading him down the spiraling paths of Rootvale.
The city stretched wider than he'd realized. Bridges of braided grass crossed glowing pools. Houses built from hollowed roots leaned close together, their windows glowing warm and amber. The air smelled faintly of honey and woodsmoke.
Gardenlings filled the streets again — shopkeepers, artisans, children chasing glowing fire-gnats that left trails of light behind them. Laughter echoed through the tunnels, a sound Noah hadn't expected to hear so soon after the battle.
Sprint: "See? We don't just fight. We live."
They stopped at a market square. Stalls carved into mushroom caps displayed strange goods — pollen cakes stacked like golden bricks, jars of dew that shimmered like stars, and carved pendants made from seed shells.
A group of Gardenlings bowed their heads as Noah passed. One whispered, "That's him. The boy who lifted the sword."Noah flushed. "Do they all know?"Sprint grinned. "Everyone knows. You're Rootvale's favorite story now."
Before Noah could say more, Sprint tugged him toward a nearby tavern. It was carved into the side of a massive toadstool, its door made from polished bark and its sign painted with curling golden letters: The Hollow Hornet.
Sprint (smiling): "Come. You can't face monsters on an empty stomach."
The tavern was loud and bright. Glowing moss lamps hung from the ceiling, and the air buzzed with chatter. Gardenlings raised their acorn-cups in toast, laughter ringing through the space.
Sprint led Noah to the counter and ordered two small mugs of stingless-bee brew — a honey-colored drink that sparkled faintly in the light.
Noah sniffed it first. It smelled floral, sweet, with a tang of something sharp.He took a sip — and nearly coughed.
Noah: "It's… spicy?"Sprint (grinning): "Invigorating, isn't it? Straight from Queen Nela's hive. The bees ferment it with flower resin. Makes your legs tingle."
It did. Noah felt warmth rush to his face and fingertips. The room seemed brighter, the air sweeter. He laughed without meaning to, dizzy and giddy all at once. Sprint laughed too, clinking his mug against Noah's.
Sprint: "To tomorrow's journey — may it not end in disaster."Noah (smiling): "Or in a hangover."
They both laughed again, and for a moment, the world felt light.
Around them, the tavern's patrons began to sing an old Gardenling tune — something about bees guarding the heart of summer and flowers that never fade. Noah didn't understand all the words, but the rhythm made his feet tap along.
Later, when the tavern had quieted, Sprint walked him to a small inn built from entwined vines. The innkeeper, an elderly Gardenling with bark-brown skin and kind eyes, gave Noah a bowl of mushroom stew with roasted beetle leg.
It looked strange — but smelled delicious. Earthy, smoky, with hints of herbs he didn't recognize. He tried it cautiously and found it surprisingly good.
Noah (grinning): "If my grandmother cooked like this, I'd eat salad every day."
Sprint laughed. "Don't say that too loudly. The cook might take it as a proposal."
They shared a few more jokes before Sprint excused himself to make preparations. Noah thanked him, then climbed the spiral stairs to his room.
The chamber was small but cozy — walls of soft bark, glowing moss for light, and a bed made of woven leaves that felt surprisingly comfortable. He stepped out onto the balcony.
From there, Rootvale looked almost unreal — thousands of lights twinkling from root-houses and lantern pods, reflected in pools of water below. The ceiling high above shimmered faintly with bioluminescent fungi, like stars scattered across an underground sky.
A gentle breeze drifted through the tunnels, carrying the faint hum of bees — low and rhythmic, as if the hive itself was alive and dreaming.
Fern appeared at the end of the balcony, her hair catching the soft glow of mosslight. She smiled faintly. "Couldn't sleep?"
Noah shook his head. "Too much to think about."
She leaned on the railing beside him. "It's normal to be afraid before a journey. Even I am."
Noah: "You don't look afraid."Fern (smiling softly): "I learned to look brave first. The rest catches up later."
They stood in silence for a while, listening to the hum of life beneath the earth.
Fern: "Thank you, Noah. For fighting beside us. For giving us hope."Noah: "You reminded me what home feels like."
Fern looked at him, eyes soft as mosslight. "Then may this place feel like one until you find yours again."
She turned and left, her steps light against the wooden floor.
Noah lingered a moment longer, staring at the glowing city, at the living world that had accepted him. Tomorrow, they would leave — into danger, into mystery — to save both the garden below and the world above.
He lay down on the leaf-woven bed, the faint hum of bees echoing in his ears. The sound was soothing, steady, like a heartbeat in the earth.
And as he drifted to sleep, he thought of Queen Nela's hive, and the journey waiting just beyond the morning light.