Sleep was a luxury Leo couldn't afford. Evelyn's manic energy was contagious, and her order for the next day would be immense. He needed a significant harvest, but he knew his garden patch was nearly bare. He'd have to explain that his supply was limited for now.
Weary but driven, he took an empty basket and stepped through the door into the Sanctum. He expected to find his garden plot looking depleted, the soil empty where he had harvested just that afternoon.
Instead, he was met with a sight that made him stop in his tracks. The plot was bursting with life. New heads of lettuce were plump and ready. The tomato vines were heavy with ripe, crimson fruit. The strawberry patch was a carpet of red jewels. The plants had regrown to full maturity in a matter of hours.
"What?" he whispered, completely bewildered.
His eyes scanned the clearing and found the cause. Curled asleep on a large, soft mushroom near the garden was the fairy. Her tiny body rose and fell with each breath, and her wings fluttered occasionally in a dream. A soft, golden aura emanated from her, pulsing gently and infusing the surrounding soil with a potent, life-accelerating energy. Even in her sleep, she was nurturing the garden.
A wave of affection and gratitude washed over Leo. He couldn't help but smile. This little being he had rescued out of simple decency was now single-handedly solving his biggest supply-chain problem. He had to get more of them. He had to save them all.
He quietly and carefully harvested what he needed, filling his basket to the brim. The produce felt even more vibrant than before. Before leaving, he walked over to the sleeping fairy. He gently, with one finger, patted her tiny head. She murmured in her sleep, a sound like faint wind chimes, but didn't wake.
He was about to turn and head back when he looked up. Through the canopy of the silver-barked trees, the sky was a deep, clear indigo, and it was on fire with stars. They weren't the dim, hazy points of light he was used to seeing through city smog. These were brilliant, sharp diamonds of every color—blue, white, gold, and red—spilling across the heavens in dazzling rivers of light. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
The exhaustion of the long day suddenly hit him. The adrenaline faded, leaving only a bone-deep weariness and a sense of profound peace. He didn't want to go back to his empty house just yet.
He sat down on the mossy ground next to the mushroom where the fairy slept, leaned his back against its soft stalk, and just watched the celestial display. The air was cool and clean, the Sanctum was silent save for the hum of life, and the stars were magnificent. Without meaning to, his eyes grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep, his basket of miraculous vegetables sitting beside him.
---
In his chamber, Lord Arion watched the scrying pool with rapt attention. He saw the Gardener discover the results of the nature spirit's work. He saw the gentle, paternal way he patted the sleeping fairy. And he saw him sit and fall asleep under the open sky of the Sanctum.
It was an act of pure trust. To sleep, vulnerable, in a world not his own.
Arion was about to turn away, to grant the Gardener his privacy, when he noticed a change in the air within the pool. Faint motes of light, different from the fairy's golden glow, began to drift down from the heavens. One by one, they coalesced in the air above the sleeping human.
They were butterflies. Three of them, woven from pure starlight—one of silver, one of gold, and one of a deep, twilight blue. They were not living creatures; they were ancient manifestations of immense power, spirits spoken of only in the oldest legends. They were the Children of the Three, the aspects of Life, Light, and a benevolent, watchful Darkness. They had not been seen in their physical form for over five thousand years.
The three luminous butterflies circled Leo once, twice, before gently settling upon him. The silver one landed on his forehead. The golden one rested over his heart. And the blue one alighted on his hand, the one closest to the basket of harvested food. A soft, tri-colored light enveloped Leo, pulsing in time with his slow, steady breaths.
Arion fell back into his root-throne, his hand flying to his heart. The words came out as a strangled, awe-filled whisper.
"By the Ancient Three..."
He had seen images of this in crumbling scrolls, read of it in texts so old they turned to dust when exposed to the air. It was the highest blessing, a sign of ultimate favor from the foundational spirits of their world. A blessing bestowed upon kings and archmages of legend, and only when they had performed deeds of unimaginable greatness.
This human... this Gardener... had slept in their sacred garden for a couple of hours and had received it.
Arion now understood with a terrifying, absolute certainty. They were not dealing with a mere merchant or a lost traveler. The being asleep in their garden was so profoundly important, so intrinsically linked to the well-being of their world, that the very gods of their reality had seen fit to come down and personally watch over his slumber.
His previous misunderstanding felt quaint and small. This being wasn't just the Gardener. He was the Chosen. And the elves of Silverwood were but humble keepers of his sacred lawn.