Capítulo 13: Chapter 11
The massive iron doors creaked open with a sound that echoed across the clearing, revealing the inner sanctum of the Grave Garden. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the teenagers and onlookers glimpsed the sight within—a lush, verdant space that seemed too perfect, too otherworldly to exist in this broken world. Rows of thornless rose flowers bloomed in an array of vibrant colors, their petals glowing faintly under the sunlight, as though illuminated from within. The air was heavy with a sweet, intoxicating scent that made some teenagers step forward, entranced.
Kaden stood at the back of the group, his expression unmoved. While others marveled at the ethereal beauty of the garden, his jaw tightened. Just as I remembered it, he thought bitterly, his fists clenching at his sides. There was no awe in his eyes—only disgust.
He detested those flowers.
Because of them, families had been torn apart. Brothers turned against brothers. Blood was spilled, and lives were ruined, all in the name of controlling a Grave Garden. Kaden knew this better than most. They do not bring hope. They bring greed and destruction. His lips curled into a sneer as his thoughts darkened. My family once had a garden too before… He stopped himself, shaking his head. That was a memory he refused to revisit, not here, not now.
The other teenagers moved forward cautiously, their faces painted with a mixture of hope and fear. For many, this was their one chance to escape the despair of the outskirts and rise to something better. Kaden felt no such optimism. He stepped forward, not out of hope, but because he had no other choice.
At the center of the garden, a small, weathered house stood like a shrine, surrounded by the glowing flowers. Its wooden beams were covered in ivy, and a single large rose, golden and radiant, grew above the entrance. As the teenagers gathered, a figure emerged from the house.
The man who stepped forward was tall and lean, with a face carved by age and wisdom. His dark skin was marked with lines of experience, and a large tattoo of a rose flower covered the side of his neck, its stem winding down his collarbone. He carried an air of authority that silenced the whispers of the crowd. This was the gardener—the keeper and guardian of this Grave Garden.
"Welcome," the man began, his voice deep and resonant, carrying easily over the hushed crowd. "Today is a sacred day. A day that marks the continuation of humanity's strength and resilience." He swept his hand towards the flowers around him. "These flowers are no ordinary blooms. They are the legacy of the Lords who once protected us, whose blood was spilled in the great battle against the demons. Though the Lords are gone, they remain with us through these flowers. Their power, their essence, their blood lives on."
Some of the teenagers nodded eagerly, inspired by his words. Others shifted nervously, their gazes darting between the gardener and the glowing flowers. Kaden stared at the ground, his mind buzzing with conflicted thoughts. He couldn't help but feel the irony in the gardener's words. Their power lives on… but what about the lives that have been neglected due to them not having a strong ability?
The gardener continued, "The method for gaining your flower is simple. You will enter the garden, and the flower that is meant for you will come to you. It will choose you, for the Lords know the hearts of all men." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, as if searching their souls. "Remember, this is a gift, not a right. Treat it with the respect it deserves."
With that, he gestured towards the garden. "Go now. Step into the garden and receive the gift that will shape your destiny. May the Lords guide you."
The teenagers hesitated for a moment, the weight of the moment settling over them. Then, one by one, they stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the garden. The glowing flowers swayed gently, though there was no wind, as if beckoning them closer.
Kaden lingered at the back, his feet rooted to the ground. His chest tightened as memories threatened to resurface—memories of another garden, another time. This is your only chance, he told himself, forcing his legs to move. If you want to survive, you have to do this.
The teenagers began stepping into the grave garden, each one holding their breath in anticipation. The ethereal roses shimmered as though alive, their soft glow intensifying when they found a match. One by one, flowers rose into the air, drifting toward the teenagers.
For the wealthy, the flowers moved with haste, almost eager to bond with them. For the poor, the process was slower, hesitant. The reason was clear—nutrients in the body played a crucial role in the compatibility and potency of the flower. Those from the outskirt, malnourished and frail, could only hope for the weakest flowers.
Kaden stepped into the garden, his heart pounding. He watched the scene unfold with a mixture of anxiety and hope. As he moved further in, the roses closest to him began shifting away, recoiling as though he were a plague. His stomach twisted, but he reassured himself. "They'll come. They have to."
Minutes passed. Then hours. The garden was nearly empty of roses, each teenager already holding their flower, a new light of hope and pride on their faces. Kaden stood in the center, still waiting.
"Why isn't one coming to me?" The question burned in his mind. He clenched his fists. "It must be my body. Low nutrients. Maybe I'm not good enough for even a weak flower."
He waited, his desperation growing with each second. The other teenagers, their flowers secured, began to whisper and snicker. At first, he ignored them, but their voices grew louder, their words sharper.
"He's not going to get one."
"Pathetic."
"Even the lords don't want him."
The ridicule stung worse than any physical blow. Even those from the outskirt, who shared his struggles, joined in. Their faces, once filled with camaraderie, were now twisted in mockery. "This is human nature," he thought bitterly. "Give someone the slightest edge over another, and they'll turn into the bully they've always hated."
Kaden's hands trembled as he bent down, his mind racing. "If a flower won't choose me, then I'll take one myself." He reached for a rose, gripping its stem tightly. But the flower wouldn't budge. It was as though the soil itself fought against him, denying him even the smallest hope.
"Move!" he growled, his voice breaking with frustration. His arms strained, but the rose remained rooted. Tears blurred his vision as he cursed under his breath. "Why? Why won't you come to me?"
The gardener, who had been watching the entire ordeal, stepped forward, his face etched with disdain. "You dare to disrespect the lords by forcing their will?" he roared. "Guards! Remove this plague from the garden. He is an insult to the sacredness of this day!"
Two guards descended on Kaden, grabbing him roughly. He struggled, shouting, but their grip was iron. They dragged him out of the garden, his feet scraping against the ground. The last thing he saw before being thrown out was the sneering faces of the other teenagers, their mockery cutting deeper than any blade.
The gates slammed shut behind him, leaving him alone outside the grave garden. Kaden collapsed to his knees, trembling. The world around him seemed to fade as a single thought consumed him: "I'm nothing. Not even the lords want me."
He tilted his head back, staring at the sky, his chest heaving with raw emotion. "Why?" he shouted, his voice hoarse and broken. "Why, lords? You took her from me! You've killed my hope! Why?"
The wind carried his words into the void, the silence mocking him in return. Deep down, he knew the truth. The lords were dead, and his cries fell on deaf ears.
Kaden's voice cracked as he pushed himself to his feet. "Fine," he said, his tone colder, darker. "You don't want me? I don't need you. I'll show you. I'll survive without your stupid horticulture. Watch me."
The words felt hollow even as he spoke them, but they were all he had left. He turned away from the grave garden, his fists clenched, his resolve hardening with every step. He was done waiting for salvation. If the world wouldn't give him a place, he would carve one out for himself.
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