"Wake up, little lord." The voice reached him before anything else did, soft but persistent, cutting through the thick, stubborn warmth he'd buried himself in. Aelius stirred, face half-pressed into the pillow, the weight of sleep clinging to him as if it had no intention of letting go. The tap on his shoulder came a second later, light at first, then a little firmer when he only shifted and dragged the blanket tighter around himself.
"No… five more decades," he mumbled into the fabric, words slurring together as he turned onto his side and pulled the covers up over his head like that alone could shut the world out. There was a faint pause, the kind that carried a look he couldn't see but could almost feel anyway.
"My lord…" the voice came again, this time threaded with quiet amusement and a kind of practiced patience that had clearly been worn thin before. "You are barely seven. Give it a few decades, and you will, in fact, become old. Much like your grandfather. I don't believe that is the goal this morning."
That dragged him back faster than anything else could have. Aelius jerked upright in the bed, blankets slipping down to his lap as his eyes snapped open, the fog of sleep breaking apart all at once. "Oh, right!" he blurted, the words coming out sharp and sudden as they hit him all over again. "The test, I have a test today, I'll be late—" He scrambled, already halfway off the bed before his thoughts had caught up with his body, bare feet hitting the floor as he bolted for the door like momentum alone might carry him through the day.
He didn't get more than a few steps before the back of his sleep shirt went taut as a hand caught the scruff of it with effortless precision, stopping him mid-stride so abruptly his feet lifted slightly off the ground before settling again. The motion stole all that rushed urgency in an instant, leaving him hanging there for a second, arms still angled forward like he thought he could keep going if he just tried hard enough.
"Clothes, little lord," the voice said, closer now, calm and entirely unmoved by his attempt at escape. "I am aware you hold your bedtime attire in high regard, but I assure you it is not considered appropriate for examinations. Or, for that matter, public appearances in general."
Aelius twisted in the hold, brows pulling together into a small, stubborn frown as he looked down at himself as if he were genuinely considering arguing the point. The fabric was wrinkled, one sleeve slightly twisted, the hem uneven from where he'd slept on it wrong, but it was comfortable, and right now that seemed like it should count for something. "It's fine," he insisted, though there wasn't much weight behind it, more reflex than conviction. "No one's gonna care."
"Your grandfather will care," came the immediate reply, smooth and certain.
That made him hesitate for just a fraction of a second, and that was all it took. The grip on his shirt loosened just enough for him to be guided rather than held, turned back toward the bed with a practiced ease that suggested this exact scenario had played out more than once. His urgency didn't vanish, but it shifted, redirected into quick, jerky movements as he grabbed at the neatly folded clothes that had already been set out for him, the realization settling in that he really was running behind now.
He moved fast, tugging at sleeves and nearly putting something on backwards before correcting himself, fingers fumbling in that half-awake way that made everything just slightly harder than it should have been. Behind him, there was a quiet presence, watchful but not interfering unless absolutely necessary, letting him struggle through it rather than stepping in too early.
"You said I'd be late," Aelius muttered under his breath as he pulled the last piece into place, like he was still trying to argue the original point even now.
"I said you would be late if you ran out like that," the voice corrected calmly. "At the moment, you are simply… approaching late."
"That's the same thing."
"It is not," came the reply, just dry enough to make it clear the distinction mattered, even if only to one of them.
Aelius huffed, but he didn't argue it again. He just moved, grabbing what he needed, pushing toward the door a second time, this time without anything catching him, though he slowed just enough at the threshold to glance back, like he expected to be stopped again anyway. He wasn't.
"Go on, then," the voice said, a quiet note of approval slipping in despite everything. "Try not to fail spectacularly."
"I won't," Aelius shot back, already halfway out the door, the confidence coming easier now that he was fully awake, even if it sat on top of something a little less certain underneath. Then he was gone, footsteps fading quickly down the hall, urgency finally giving in again as the morning caught up to him all at once.
It didn't take him long. It never did. The path was carved into him at this point, something he could've followed blind and still made it through without thinking, out of the house and into the garden where the air always felt thicker, warmer, alive in a way most places weren't. The plants shifted as he passed, not quite moving fast enough to be called motion, but never still either, broad leaves curling slightly toward him, thin tendrils dragging along the ground like they were deciding whether or not to follow. The first pond came and went in a blur, then the second, and by the time he reached the third, he was already leaning forward into the jump, legs pushing off the stone with practiced ease.
He always cleared this one. The flytraps clustered around the path next to it were the worst of the bunch, wide, toothy maws glistening with thick strands of sap that stretched and snapped when they opened too wide, that awful sticky stuff they used to try and hold onto anything that came close. Though his grandfather always said it was because they wanted hugs.
This time, he didn't clear it because his foot slipped just slightly on the takeoff, not enough that it should've mattered, but it did, because right as he pushed off, he heard it. His name, distant and thin, stretched out like it had traveled too far to reach him properly. "Aelius…"
It didn't sound like it came from the garden. It didn't sound like it came from anywhere close at all. The distraction was enough for his trajectory to dip, and instead of landing clean on the far side, his foot caught the edge, momentum pitching him forward as his hands slammed down against the slick stones lining the pond. The impact jolted through his arms, but he held, fingers scraping for purchase before he slipped fully into the water, scrambling onto solid ground with a sharp breath.
The moment he was steady, he froze, head snapping up as he looked around. "…Hello?" he called, but it came out quieter than he meant it to, like part of him wasn't sure he wanted an answer.
Nothing.
The garden moved like it always did, slow and patient, leaves shifting, something low to the ground rustling out of sight, but there was no one there. No figure between the trees, no shape beyond the ponds, nothing that should've carried a voice like that. And yet he could've sworn he'd heard it again, faint and stretched thin, like it was trying to reach him and just… couldn't quite manage it.
Aelius frowned, lingering there a moment longer, listening harder this time, but the sound didn't come back. After a second, he shook his head, rough and quick, like he could dislodge the feeling along with it. "Just hearing things," he muttered to himself, even if it didn't sit right.
The rest of the run went clean, no more slips, no more strange distractions, just the familiar path opening up as the garden thinned and the ground sloped upward toward the cliff. The air shifted there, heavier in a different way, less crowded by the constant press of growing things and more… settled.
He reached the top just a little out of breath, but not enough to show, slowing as he stepped onto the flat stretch of ground where he already knew he wouldn't be alone.
His grandfather was exactly where he always was. He stood near the edge of the cliff, looking out over the drop like he had all the time in the world, which, as far as Aelius understood, he probably did. He didn't turn right away, not when Aelius first approached, just remained there, broad and steady, the green cloak draped over his shoulders shifting slightly like it was alive in its own quiet way. It hung heavy, the fabric thick and worn, edges darkened and uneven, as though it had been growing as much as it had been made.
Up close, he was as he always had been, tall and wide, not in the way of muscle, but in something softer, heavier, his form carrying a weight that didn't slow him but grounded him. His skin had that faint, uneven texture to it, not quite sickly, not quite healthy either, like it existed somewhere between the two and didn't feel the need to choose. His face held that same kind, patient smile, the sort that never felt forced, never felt like it was put on for anyone; It was just there, constant and unbothered. And his eyes, deep emerald, richer than anything else in the garden, seemed to hold more than they should, something old and knowing, something that saw too much and found all of it… acceptable.
"Grandpa, I'm here now, sorry I'm late," Aelius said as he came to a stop a few steps behind him, trying to sound like he hadn't nearly fallen into a pond a minute ago. "One of the nurglings got stuck in the cat door again."
That got a reaction, just not the kind most people would expect. His grandfather let out a low, warm chuckle, the sound thick and slow, like it rolled out of him rather than being pushed. When he finally turned, it was unhurried, his gaze settling on Aelius with a kind of fond attention that felt heavy without being uncomfortable.
"Did it now?" he said, voice deep and rich, carrying an almost damp warmth to it, like earth after rain. "And I suppose it cried the entire time."
"It was loud," Aelius admitted, wrinkling his nose slightly. "And gross. It kept… leaking on everything."
"Mm," his grandfather hummed, entirely unconcerned, the smile never leaving his face. "That is how they show affection."
"That's not affection."
"It is, to them," he replied easily, like that settled the matter completely. "You will learn, in time, that not all kindness looks the way you expect it to."
Aelius didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue it either, his attention already drifting past him for a moment, out toward the open air beyond the cliff, before snapping back. Up close like this, there was always that faint scent around his grandfather, not sharp, not unpleasant exactly, but thick, like rich soil turned over by hand, mixed with something older, something that spoke of rot and growth in the same breath.
"You were cutting it close," his grandfather continued, eyes narrowing just slightly, though the warmth never left them. "That is unlike you."
"I wasn't that late," Aelius said quickly, defensive out of habit more than anything. Then he hesitated for just a second, the memory of that voice tugging at him again. "…I think I heard someone, though. Back by the third pond."
His grandfather regarded him for a moment, really looked this time, not just at him but through him, as if he were measuring something deeper than the words. "And what did they say?" he asked, tone still gentle, but carrying something under it now, something older.
"…Just my name," Aelius said after a beat. "It sounded far away."
"The garden speaks to us sometimes," his grandpa said, turning slightly, one hand lifting as he gestured vaguely back the way Aelius had come. "It calls, it reaches, it grows. Sometimes it uses voices you recognize. Sometimes it does not bother to hide at all."
"That didn't feel like the garden," Aelius muttered, more to himself than anything.
"No," his grandfather agreed quietly, and for the first time, there was something in his voice that didn't soften the moment. Not fear, not concern, but an acknowledgment, like he'd been expecting something like that eventually. His gaze lingered on Aelius a second longer before he let it go, the warmth easing back in over whatever had surfaced. "But we will not chase every whisper that drifts through the air. Not today."
He shifted then, turning fully away from the cliff and toward him, the movement slow but deliberate, the ground beneath his feet seeming to settle with it.
"You have a test," he said, like the reminder mattered more than whatever else might be waiting out there. "And I would very much like to see how my grandson handles himself when he is not half asleep and covered in blanket lint."
Aelius huffed slightly at that, but the tension broke, just a bit. "I'm not covered in lint."
His grandfather's smile widened, just enough to show he wasn't going to argue it. "Of course not." The expression stayed, quiet and steady, before he lifted one large, heavy hand and rested it on Aelius's head. The weight of it was familiar, warm in a strange way, like something that should've been uncomfortable but never was, fingers settling into his hair with an absent kind of care.
"So it's already time…" he murmured, more to himself than anything, his voice lowering just slightly, thick with something that didn't quite match the softness of the gesture. "Oh, how the years fly by. Even for all my power, I find myself wishing you could have stayed a little longer." There was a pause there, just long enough to feel it. "Though… I suspect you hate me now."
Aelius tilted his head, the words not landing the way they were supposed to, confusion plain on his face. "What do you mean, grandpa? How can I hate you?"
For a moment, nothing answered him. The hand on his head didn't move, but the air around them shifted, like something had pressed down over the moment and held it there. The garden below the cliff seemed quieter than it should have been, the constant low movement of leaves and growth dimming just enough to be noticed if you were paying attention. Even the wind that should have passed over the edge felt… delayed, like it had to think about it first.
His grandfather exhaled slowly, and it didn't quite sound like a normal breath. There was a depth to it, a wet, layered weight, like something vast settling deeper into itself. "Because," he said, and now there was something else in his voice, not replacing the warmth, but sitting alongside it, older, heavier, patient in a way that stretched far beyond the moment, "children do not remain children, no matter how tightly one might wish to hold them there."
His thumb shifted slightly where it rested against Aelius's head, a small motion, almost absent, but deliberate enough to matter. His eyes, those deep emerald depths, lingered on him again, not just looking, but measuring, remembering, like he was seeing more than the small frame standing in front of him.
"You will understand," he continued, tone softening again, though it didn't lose that underlying weight. "Not yet. But you will."
Aelius frowned slightly, the confusion not going away, if anything settling deeper. "I still don't get it."
"I know," his grandfather said, and there was no frustration in it. "That is why you are allowed not to."
The hand lifted from his head then, slowly, like it was harder to remove than it should have been, fingers trailing back just a fraction longer before pulling away entirely. For a second, the absence of it felt noticeable, like something that had been anchoring the moment had stepped back.
"You think this is a test," he went on, turning slightly, his gaze drifting back toward the open air beyond the cliff, though it didn't feel like he was looking at the same view Aelius was. "And in a way, it is. That is not untrue."
There was a faint sound from below, something shifting in the garden, but it didn't follow the usual patterns, not quite. A branch bent too far without breaking. A cluster of leaves curled inward all at once, then stilled. "But not the kind you are expecting."
Aelius's attention flicked toward the sound, then back to him, unease starting to creep in, quiet but persistent. "Grandpa…?"
His grandfather didn't turn back immediately.
"When something grows," he said, voice steady, almost thoughtful, "it does not ask permission to change. It does not wait for comfort, or understanding, or approval. It simply becomes what it was always meant to be, whether it is ready or not. And sometimes," he added, softer now, though it carried further somehow, "it must be broken first.
He shook his head and put a hand on Aelius's shoulder, turning to face him, "Im going off track. This test can't be failed, though it can be succeeded in various levels. It all depends on how much you remember from this?"
Aelius blinked at that, the words catching strangely in his head. "What's the point of a test if I can't fail, though?" he asked, tilting his head even further, curiosity pushing past the unease, the angle of it almost unnatural as he tried to make sense of it.
"Haha…" The sound that left his grandfather was warm, but it lingered a little too long, echoing faintly in a way laughter shouldn't. "Well, you may not fail, but you can lose things, so it's best you hold your questions, alright, my boy?"
That made him pause. Not because he understood, but because something in the way it was said pressed down on him just enough to make him listen. Aelius nodded, small and quick, even if the confusion didn't go anywhere.
His grandfather's smile deepened, pleased in a quiet, almost distant way. "Good, my son. This test may seem simple, but think about it, alright." He took a breath. It was deeper than it needed to be, and it carried with it that same thick, earthen weight, like the scent of soil turned over and left to rest, like something old and patient drawing in the world around it. When he spoke again, his voice didn't rise, didn't sharpen, but it carried further than before, pressing into the space instead of just filling it.
"What do we represent?"
Aelius frowned, the instinct to answer coming fast, but the words didn't follow as easily. His gaze drifted, not fully by choice, pulling toward the garden below, toward the slow shifting mass of green and damp and quiet decay that never really stopped moving. The plants there weren't just growing. They were changing, constantly, leaves curling in on themselves as new ones pushed out, thick stems splitting slightly where something beneath forced its way through, the edges of things darkening even as they spread wider.
It wasn't dying. But it wasn't just living either. His eyes flicked back up, landing on his grandfather again, taking him in properly this time, not just the shape of him, but everything else. The weight of his presence, the way the air seemed to settle around him instead of moving freely, the faint, constant scent that clung to him, rich and heavy, like damp earth and something deeper beneath it. The way his smile never quite changed, no matter what was said.
Something in Aelius's chest tightened, not fear exactly, but the beginning of something that might turn into it if it went on too long.
"…Life?" he said finally, uncertain, the word feeling too small the moment it left his mouth.
The smile didn't fade. But it didn't widen either. "Mm," his grandfather hummed, considering it in a way that made it clear the answer hadn't landed where it needed to. "That is part of it."
Aelius shifted slightly where he stood, his mind pushing a little harder now, trying to grab onto something that made sense. His gaze drifted again, back to the garden, to the way things grew and sagged and split and continued anyway, to the way nothing there ever seemed to stop, no matter what state it was in.
"…Growth?" he tried again, a little more certain this time, though it still didn't feel complete.
"Closer," came the reply, soft and approving in a way that didn't quite ease the pressure.
That meant it still wasn't right. Aelius swallowed slightly, his thoughts starting to move faster now, not racing, but digging, pushing past the first answers into something deeper without fully knowing why. His eyes flicked back to his grandfather again, to the way he stood, solid and unbothered, to the way nothing around him seemed to resist him, not even the parts of the garden that should have. "…Decay?" he said, quieter this time.
His grandfather's eyes softened, just slightly. "Yes," he said, and this time there was something more solid in it, something that settled instead of drifting. "That too."
Aelius's brow furrowed deeper because none of it fit on its own. Life didn't explain it. Growth didn't. Decay didn't. They were pieces, but they didn't form anything complete.
He looked between the garden and his grandfather again, the connection starting to form whether he wanted it to or not, the way everything there seemed to cycle through itself without stopping, the way nothing was wasted, not even what should have been the end of something.
It just… kept going.
His mouth opened, then closed again, the answer sitting just out of reach, close enough to feel but not close enough to say. And his grandfather waited.
"I can't help you, my boy. They are waiting for you. You can save them, but you need to accept what you are, what I am, and what you will be." The words didn't come down hard. They settled instead, slow and heavy, like everything else around him, pressing into Aelius without forcing their way in. For a moment, he just stood there, looking up at him, trying to line that up with everything else that had been said, with the question that still hadn't fully left the air.
"They're waiting…?" Aelius echoed, quieter now, the uncertainty starting to show through more clearly. His eyes flicked again, not just to the garden this time, but past it, like he was trying to find something beyond what he could actually see. "For what?"
His grandfather didn't answer that right away. He watched him instead, that same steady, patient look, like there was no rush, like the answer would come whether Aelius wanted it to or not. When he finally spoke, his voice hadn't changed, still warm, still carrying that same grounded weight, but there was something firmer under it now, something that didn't bend. "For you," he said simply.
Aelius frowned, the unease settling deeper into his chest, spreading out in a way he couldn't quite pin down. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do," he said, a bit sharper than before, frustration slipping in around the edges. "You're asking me what you represent, and then saying people are waiting, and that I have to accept something, but you won't even tell me what that is."
"I already have," his grandfather replied, not correcting him, not pushing back, just stating it like it was a fact.
Aelius's jaw tightened slightly. "You didn't."
His grandfather lifted his hand again, not to rest it on his head this time, but to gesture outward, not toward anything specific, but to everything at once. The garden, the cliff, the air itself.
"What do you see?" he asked.
Aelius hesitated, but he looked at the way the plants shifted, the way some leaves were fresh and full while others sagged and darkened, the way the ground itself seemed to pulse with something unseen beneath it. The smell, thick and damp, not unpleasant, but impossible to ignore. The way nothing here ever really stopped, not fully.
"It's… growing," he said slowly, like he was working through it as he spoke. "But it's also… not. Stuff is dying too."
"Is it?" his grandfather asked, not dismissing it, but nudging it forward.
Aelius frowned again, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked harder. The leaves that curled didn't fall away completely. The stems that split didn't collapse. Even the darker patches, the ones that looked like they should have been dead, still fed into something else, still part of the whole.
"…No," he admitted after a second. "Not really."
His grandfather's hand lowered again, satisfied with that much. "Nothing here is wasted," he said quietly. "Nothing is lost. It changes. It breaks. It rots. And then it becomes something else."
Aelius swallowed, the pieces starting to press together whether he wanted them to or not, the earlier answers circling back around in his head. Life. Growth. Decay. None of them had been wrong, but none of them had been enough on their own.
"…It just keeps going," he muttered.
"Yes." There was something almost approving in that, though it didn't come with any warmth this time, just certainty. "Whether it is wanted or not."r.
Aelius shifted slightly where he stood, the ground under his feet feeling more solid than it should have, like it was holding him there rather than just supporting him. "And that's… what you are?"
"That is what I represent," his grandfather said.
"And I have to… accept that?" Aelius asked, the hesitation back, stronger now.
"You already live within it," came the answer, immediate, unshaken. "Acceptance is not about changing what is true. It is about no longer denying it."
Aelius didn't respond right away. His gaze drifted again, not just outward this time, but downward, like he was trying to see something in himself the same way he'd just looked at the garden. His hands flexed slightly at his sides, like he expected to feel something different and didn't know what that would be.
"…And if I don't?" he asked after a moment.
That, finally, drew something different. "Then you will still go forward," his grandfather said, the words slow and grounded. "But you will lose more along the way."
Aelius's throat felt tight, though he couldn't really say why. The idea didn't make sense, not fully, but it felt like it should, like there was something just out of reach that would make all of it click into place if he could just… get there.
"They're waiting," he repeated, softer now.
"Yes."
"…And I can save them."
"Yes."
"…But only if I…" He trailed off, the last part sticking.
His grandfather didn't fill it in for him this time.
Who was he even supposed to save? The thought hit harder when he actually tried to follow it. His head tightened, a dull pressure building behind his eyes, like something in him didn't want that question asked too directly. Faces didn't come. Names didn't come. Nothing clear enough to grab onto. Just that same empty space where something should have been.
And then the voices came back. Layered over each other, uneven, some sharper, some breaking, all of them pulling at him at once. His name, again and again, but different each time, like it was being said by people who didn't even know each other, just united by the same urgency.
Aelius flinched slightly, his hands tightening at his sides as his gaze snapped away from his grandfather, searching for something that matched what he was hearing. There was nothing there. The cliff, the garden, the slow shifting of things that had always been there, unchanged.
But the voices didn't stop. If anything, they pressed harder.
"Just answer the question. What do we represent?"
Aelius's breathing felt off now, not fast, not slow, just… wrong, like he couldn't quite find the rhythm anymore. His head still hurt, the pressure sitting there, pushing when he tried to think around it. His eyes dragged back to his grandfather, to that same steady figure, unchanged, unmoved by any of it.
Life. Growth. Decay.
But that wasn't It.
The garden shifted again below them, and this time he really saw it, not just the surface of it, but the way everything fed into everything else. The sagging leaves weren't separate from the fresh ones. The rot wasn't separate from the growth. It all sat together, layered, intertwined so tightly there wasn't a clean line between any of it.
Nothing ended, but nothing stayed the same. It just… continued.
The voices pulled again, sharper now, desperate, like they were running out of time. Something in his chest tightened with it, instinct kicking in even if the memory didn't follow, that sense that he should know who they were, that he should already be moving.
"…You're not just one thing," he said slowly, the words dragging a little, like they had weight to them. "You're… all of it."
His grandfather didn't react. So he kept going, pushing past the first layer, even as the pressure in his head spiked, even as the voices clawed louder at the edges of his focus.
"Life doesn't stop. It changes. It breaks down, it rots, it…" He faltered for a second, the word catching, because it didn't feel right to call it dying when it didn't actually end. "…it keeps going. Even when it dies."
The garden below seemed to shift with that, a slow, almost approving motion rippling through it. Aelius swallowed, forcing himself to finish it, even if it felt like something in him was resisting the shape of the answer. "…You're the part that doesn't end," he said, quieter now, but more certain. "The part that makes everything keep going. Even if it's ugly. Even if it hurts. Even if it… takes things apart first."
The voices surged again at that, louder than before, almost overlapping into something unintelligible, but there was a thread in them now, something that lined up with what he was saying, like they were pulling in the same direction, whether he understood why or not.
His eyes locked onto his grandfather's again. "…You're all of it at once," he finished. "The growth, the decay… the part that makes it keep moving no matter what." The pressure in his head spiked once, sharp and sudden, like something had clicked into place that hadn't been meant to yet. "You represent the cycle of death and life; things must die to come back stronger."
His grandfather grinned. "Closer," he said, voice low, carrying that same patient weight. "But that wasn't the question." There was a small pause, not to give him time, but to let the words sink properly. "What do we represent?"
Aelius's breath caught slightly, not because he didn't understand the words, but because of what it implied, what it pulled him into, whether he was ready or not. His gaze flicked down, not toward the garden this time, but toward himself, like he expected to see something there that hadn't been before.
"You can save them."
The words echoed back through him, not from his grandfather this time, but from the memory of it, from something deeper that was starting to line up with everything else, whether he wanted it to or not. Save them. From what?
His eyes snapped back up, locking onto his grandfather again, searching for something solid to anchor to, but that didn't help the way it should have. If anything, it made it worse, because now that he was really looking, the edges of him didn't feel as fixed as they had before. Not shifting in any obvious way, but… layered. Like, there was more there than what he could see at once.
"We…" Aelius started, then stopped, the word feeling wrong in his mouth, not because it didn't fit, but because it fit too well.
His hands clenched slightly at his sides, fingers tightening as that pressure in his head flared again, sharper this time, pushing against something that didn't want to give. The garden below shifted harder, a slow ripple passing through it like it was reacting, like it was listening.
Life. Growth. Decay. A cycle. "…It's not just the cycle," he muttered, more to himself than anything, forcing the thought forward even as it resisted. "That's just… how it moves."
The voices hit him again, louder, overlapping, and for a split second, something broke through them, not clear, not whole, but enough to feel wrong in a different way. Panic. Pain. The kind of fear that didn't belong in a garden like this didn't belong anywhere near the slow, patient weight that surrounded him now.
"…We don't just… keep things going," he said slowly, the words dragging, like he was pulling them out of something deeper than his own thoughts. "We… change them."
Aelius swallowed, pushing forward before it slipped away again. "We take what's there… and we don't let it stay the same," he continued, his voice quieter now, but steadier in a way it hadn't been before. "Even if it breaks. Even if it rots. It doesn't matter. It becomes something else anyway.… And not everything wants that," he added, the realization hitting harder as he said it out loud. "Some things… don't want to change like that."
The moment stretched. His grandfather's smile didn't fade. Aelius's throat felt tight again, but he didn't stop this time. "…We're not just the cycle," he finished, forcing the last part through, even as something in him recoiled from it. "We're the part that makes it happen. Whether it's wanted or not."
"Warmer, my boy." His grandfather's voice settled over the words, slow and heavy, not correcting, not praising, just pressing. "I need you to accept that fact. Accept what you are, and what you represent. Can you do that?"
Aelius didn't answer right away. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like he was trying to find a rhythm that kept slipping just out of reach. The voices were still there, not fading, not weakening; if anything, they felt closer now, pressing against the edges of him like they were trying to break through instead of calling from afar. There were too many of them. Too loud. Too desperate.
Save them. The thought hit again, sharper this time, not as a suggestion, not as something distant, but as something immediate, something that mattered now.
But every time he tried to follow it, to grab onto who they were, where they were, what was happening to them, his head pushed back. Hard. Like something inside him refused to let those pieces line up unless this came first.
His fingers tightened into his palms, nails pressing just enough to ground him, but it didn't help much. His gaze dropped again, not to the garden this time, but to his own hands, like he expected to see something different there, something that would make this easier to understand.
Nothing looked different. But it didn't feel the same.
"…If I accept it," he said slowly, the words coming out rougher than before, "then it's not just something that happens anymore… It's me," Aelius continued, quieter now, like saying it any louder would make it more real than he was ready for. "It's not just… part of the world, or something that just is. It's… what I am."
"…They don't want that," he said, the realization dragging itself into the open whether he liked it or not. "Whoever they are… they don't want to be part of it."
"No," his grandfather said quietly.
Aelius's jaw tightened. "Then how am I supposed to save them if I have to accept this? If this is what I am, then—" He stopped, the thought cutting itself off because he didn't want to say it out loud.
His grandfather's gaze didn't waver. "You are trying to separate the two," he said, not unkindly, but without giving ground. "As if saving them and accepting this are opposing paths."
"They are," Aelius shot back, faster this time, the words coming out sharper. "If I accept it, then I'm the thing doing it to them."
Then, slowly, his grandfather stepped forward, not closing the distance entirely, but enough that his presence pressed heavier against the space between them. "And if you refuse?" he asked.
The voices filled that silence for him, louder, sharper, cracking at the edges, not just calling his name now, but breaking around it, like whatever they were going through wasn't stopping, wasn't waiting for him to figure this out.
His grandfather's voice cut through again, lower now.
"If you refuse, they do not stop suffering," he said. "If you refuse, the process does not halt. It continues, as it always has, as it always will."
Aelius's chest tightened. "…Then what changes?" he demanded, frustration breaking through the hesitation now. "What's the point of me at all if it happens anyway?"
That was when his grandfather's smile shifted. But something in it settled, like that was the part he'd been waiting for "You," he said simply. The word didn't feel simple. "You change," he continued, steady and certain. "Not the existence of it. Not the truth of it. But how it is carried. How it is… understood."
Aelius shook his head slightly, the motion small, almost instinctive. "That doesn't—"
"It does," his grandfather cut in, not harsh, but final. "You believe this is about stopping something. It is not. It is about becoming part of it without turning away."
The voices surged again. Closer than ever. And for the first time, they didn't just sound frantic. They sounded like they were breaking. Aelius's breath hitched, something in him twisting hard at that sound, something that didn't line up cleanly with everything else he was being told.
"…If I accept it," he said again, slower this time, like he was forcing each piece into place one at a time, "then I'm not separate from it anymore."
"No."
"…And I don't get to pretend it's not happening."
"No."
"…And I don't get to pick and choose parts of it."
"No."
Aelius closed his eyes for a second, not to escape it, but to hold onto the thought long enough to finish it. "…Then I have to accept all of it," he said quietly. "Even the parts I don't want." The pressure in his head spiked again, but this time it didn't feel like it was pushing him back. "Both the good and the bad."
The words left him quieter than anything he'd said so far, but they didn't waver. They settled into place, heavy and final, like something that had been circling him this entire time had finally found where it was meant to land. For a fraction of a second, nothing reacted. The garden didn't shift. The air didn't move. Even the voices, frantic and breaking at the edges of his mind, hit a sharp, unnatural pause, like something had reached in and forced silence across all of it at once.
Then it all came crashing in. Something gave way inside him all at once, like a wall that had been holding back far too much, finally cracked under its own weight. The voices didn't just press at the edges anymore; they tore through, flooding in with everything they'd been carrying. Fear, pain, anger, desperation, all of it tangled together, all of it familiar in a way that made his chest seize.
Aelius's breath hitched, sharp and uneven as it all forced its way in, no longer held back by whatever had kept him here, small and separate from it. His knees almost buckled under the weight of it, his hands tightening into fists as something deeper than thought snapped into place.
The garden trembled as the edges of it started to pull, not visibly at first, but wrong in a way that couldn't be ignored, like the space itself was stretching too thin to hold together now that he wasn't playing along with it anymore. The leaves below didn't just shift; they dragged, lagging behind their own motion. The ground seemed to dip where it shouldn't, like it was losing its shape piece by piece.
His grandfather stood where he had been, unchanged. Watching. Just… letting it end.
Aelius looked at him, really looked this time, and the shape of him didn't hold the same way it had before. The edges of his form blurred slightly, not disappearing, but losing that clean separation from everything else around him, like he wasn't standing in the garden so much as he was part of it.
The garden cracked as the world split, seams tearing through the space as everything that had felt solid a moment ago gave way. The cliff edge warped first, the line of it bending inward like it had been drawn wrong, then the ground followed, the soil breaking apart into something that wasn't soil anymore, something softer, something that pulsed.
The plants collapsed in on themselves, layers of growth and decay peeling back like they'd never been separate to begin with. The air thickened, the scent shifting from earth and green into something heavier, wetter, something that stuck in the back of his throat.
His grandfather was still there. Still smiling. But now there was no pretending that shape was all he was; his form flickered to something monstrous and rotting. "Im so proud of you, and I always have been," he said.
And that was the final push. Time slammed into him, overlapping, tangled, years of it crashing together without care for sequence or sense. Pain layered over endurance, fights that didn't end when they should have, moments where stopping wasn't an option because there wasn't anyone else who could keep going.
The last of the garden tore apart as he, the sky above it splitting like it had been stretched too far, and then it was gone. Darkness replaced it, and Aelius's eyes snapped open, and for a second, nothing made sense. He couldn't move, not properly, his body locked in place, something pressing in on all sides, thick and resistant. It clung to him, not like a solid barrier, but like something that gave just enough to remind him it was there, that he was inside it.
His breath came sharp, dragging in air that tasted wrong, heavy and damp, carrying that same underlying rot he'd just accepted, but thicker now. He was back in the cocoon.
It tightened slightly as he moved, reacting to him, the surface around him pulsing once, slow and heavy, like it had a heartbeat of its own. His arms strained against it, muscles responding slower than he expected, like they were remembering how to move again just as much as he was.
The voices weren't distant anymore; they were right there. Real instead of his imagination.
"Aelius—!" That one cut through clearer than the rest, sharp with urgency, grounded in something he could finally recognize properly. Levy.
His chest tightened, not from the pressure around him, but from the weight of everything snapping back into place at once. He took a deep breath, and with a thought, the cocoon began to split.