Birch lets out temple shaking wails. With every swing of his broadsword, the ground shakes and splits into two. The temple ceilings shake loose dust clouds that it is holding for centuries and a cold glare replaces his warm and welcoming eyes.
His breath is growing shorter with every strength he drains from himself. His frustration growing stronger, then Shyama comes forward. Their eyes meet. Her eyes consoling, but he continues to hold a cold, blank stare. This compels Shyama to extend a hug. Gentle and warm, but no amount of condolences help appeases the pain that Birch is going through.
"That's alright," she continues to do so. Her hand gently stroking the back of his head as best as she can, "There is still something that we can do."
Life creeps back into his eyes, but no matter how much warmth Shyama puts into her efforts, it cannot thaw the ice that holds his eyes hostage and gravity binds his neck, leaving his head hanging with tears raining on the ground. Lincoln feels how helpless Birch is feeling in spite of the soft sobs his lips let go, but he stops after a huge cry. He shows Shyama the best smile he can and looks over to the bush that Lincoln is hiding before he leaves, pushing himself up from the ground with so much force that the earth craters under his strength.
Once more, silence fills the garden.
"To eavesdrop is very rude, you know?" Shyama's voice echoes as she disappears from where she is only to reappear behind Lincoln. Her amber hair swinging lightly with the soft night breeze.
Lincoln breaks in a cold sweat. Panicking, he scrambles away from her, but she only smiles and closes the gap between them before he keeps the distance between them.
"Nothing to be afraid of Lincoln," she suggests, offering her hand to help him up,
"Because if you show fear, you become a more vulnerable target."
"How are you?" she asks with another smile, warm enough to manipulate him into becoming comfortable. But he feels the mischief behind it, subtle, but very strong.
"I am fine, I guess," he responds, his guard down nonetheless but avoiding her glaring stare and the longer it stays on him, the more self-aware he has become.
"Relax," she suggests, letting go of a soft giggle, "I do not have the same monster eyes those guys."
Still doubtful, but Lincoln lowers his guard even more still as her manipulation's hold on him gets stronger enough that when she invites him over to sit over the ledge, he does.
Looking over the empty meadow, silence fills the space between them.
"Don't worry, they'll grow in the morning" breaking the silence, "They normally do."
This fact leaves Lincoln in disbelief and the wonder of how this could happen formulates the strangest imagination in his head. This carves a smile on his lips.
"Did you know your father?" Shyama asks, taking him out of his own thoughts.
Lincoln shakes his head.
"Only an outline of him," he says, "From pictures that Dirkan showed me, but he always had his back to the camera."
"Remember me not having the monster eyes that others have?" she asks, testing how attentive Lincoln is, changing the topic as she feels the air becoming heavier. He nods.
"In a way, those were from your father," she explains, "Especially these."
Shyama extends her arms, her elbows at a 90-degree angle. Almost surgeon-like. Then, she digs them into the ground and suddenly, Lincoln feels the roots dig themselves into the earth before sprouting greenery and flowers out from the ground. With her hands, it does not take overnight to grow a meadow. It only takes minutes.
"I may not have those monster eyes that those guys have, but I have hands that can revive almost anything."
Lincoln tries his hardest to keep his jaw where it is, quivering in his excitement which makes Shyama let out a boisterous laugh.
"Stop the adult, tough guy act and live a little," Shyama suggests, her laugh now a soft giggle, "You're a child, let loose. Free your mind."
Hesitantly, Lincoln allows a smile to crawl its way to his lips and let the kid in him come out. His jaw drops and his eyes giddy with excitement. Then, a thought pops in his head and his curiosity
Lincoln considers this for a moment, and a brilliant idea pops in his head, but disappointment creeps through when Shyama adds, "Granting that I do not resurrect anybody back from the dead."
This weighs on him and the longer the standstill, the heavier it has become. An awkward silence fills the time between the two of them.
"You should run back to your room," she urges, shooing him away, "I want to stay with the flowers longer."
Lincoln walks away, before she interrupts his retreat, "Oh, by the way, a letter from your father," extending her arm but her attention stays with the meadow.
Lincoln grabs the piece of paper and she shoos him away.
---
The moon sheds its silver radiance as it peeks through the cracks in his roof and the eyes of his windows. He gives the letter another glance, another piece of memory from his father that he is afraid of letting go.
It continues to stand across him, near the foot edge of his bed. Hours seem to pass before he jumps to the letter. His forehead beads in sweat. His heart races and his hands tremble out of excitement and of fear of what it holds and when he cracks the seal, the piece of paper bursts into dark ashes and reveals a hologram of Shadow. In full height but not a second older than when he first appears in his dream.
Lincoln's breathing becomes heavy. Racing, and the longer the hologram does nothing, the quicker his breath has become expecting it to speak.
Then, when he least expects it, Shadow jolts and goes up in another explosion of darkness and embers float from the burst of black light until they settle into a phrase.
"Darkness is everything. And anything. If you set your mind right."
The wind blows it quickly enough, but Lincoln ingrains it long enough to keep it at the back of his mind, it does not make sense, but his instincts feel that it will be important one day.
(Shadow is my father)
This fills him with pride and joy, but just as much, his body aches of exhaustion. His mind is going fuzzy and it is not long before the night snuffs his eyes out.