Al-Haitham kept blowing the whistle even though he knew, in his heart, no one should be nearby. His lungs burned, each breath ragged, hands trembling as he pressed bandages against Lena's wound. Blood seeped through the cloth, hot against his palms, and he cursed his own helplessness.
"Please…" his voice cracked. "Someone, anyone…"
The jungle answered.
From the mist between the trees, figures emerged in silence. Cloaked in green and brown, masks carved of jade that glowed faintly in the moonlight, they moved without sound — as if the jungle itself had shaped them. The air changed with their presence: calm, yet heavy, as though the very Garden bowed to them.
Al-Haitham froze. His hand instinctively reached for his bow, then fell away. He knew.
"Wardens…"
Three of them stepped into the clearing. One knelt at Lena's side without hesitation, while the others passed swiftly to Tomoe and Nycto. Their movements were precise, practiced — like healers, soldiers, and priests all at once. They carried pouches of herbs and crystalline tools that pulsed faintly with inner light.
One of them finally spoke, voice muffled behind the jade mask.
"Your fight with the Veilfang was reckless. The Garden punishes recklessness."
Al-Haitham lowered his head, shame coiling in his chest.
"But," the Warden continued, "your will to protect… reached us."
He produced a seed. It was not like any seed Al-Haitham had ever seen: metallic, faceted, glowing faintly green as though carved from living crystal. He pressed it into the soil.
The ground stirred.
Roots spread in delicate spirals. A jade-green vine unfurled upward, crystalline leaves trembling like glass in the faint light. From its veins, soft waves of luminescence rippled outward — sinking into the soil, then rising again, a tide of warmth that washed over the wounded.
Al-Haitham could feel it on his skin, like sunlight pressing through water. He watched Lena's chest rise more steadily, her breath evening.
"The Jade Queen's Mercy," the Warden explained. "Her gift to the Garden. Here, it bends the land's essence into healing for those who suffer. Slowly… but surely."
Al-Haitham's throat tightened. "They'll live?"
"For now," the Warden said, his tone neither cruel nor kind, only absolute. "But the girl" he gestured to Lena, "her wounds run deep. Stay close. She may falter before the vine's work is complete."
"I won't leave her," Al-Haitham swore instantly. His hand tightened around hers.
The Warden's masked gaze lingered, unreadable. "Good. You'll need that resolve. The Collector hunts all who walk this Garden. And when he comes, mercy will not be his gift."
The words struck like a blade. The jungle seemed to lean closer, darker at the edges, as if listening.
The Wardens said no more. They stood at the edge of the clearing like statues, silent guardians of the vine.
Two days passed beneath the slow, glowing pulse of the Jade Queen's Mercy. The air was filled with the faint sound of leaves trembling, the soft heartbeat of the vine's light. None of the wounded stirred at first, but their color returned, their breathing eased.
Al-Haitham did not sleep. He barely ate. His hand never left Lena's. Every twitch of her breath sent his heart leaping; every pause nearly broke him.
At last, on the dawn of the third day, Tomoe stirred. Her lashes fluttered, breath rasping, but her eyes opened. Weak though she was, she turned her head - and saw Al-Haitham still sitting at Lena's side, eyes hollow, yet unbroken.
"You…" her voice was hoarse, but her lips curled faintly. "…you did it."
Al-Haitham let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Relief threatened to undo him.
But Tomoe's gaze shifted to the others, then downward. Shame pressed into her chest like stone. She had been the fighter, the strong one, the one who never broke. Yet when it mattered most, she had been helpless — carried, not carrying.
The Wardens did not comfort, nor condemn. They only watched from the shadows, jade masks unreadable, as if silently weighing each soul in turn.
And the vine pulsed on, its crystalline leaves whispering in the dark.