The Garden of Echoes
Three summers had passed, painting the Frostspine foothills in shades of green and gold. Arnav crouched in the garden, his fingers digging into the cool, rich soil. Sunlight filtered through the birch trees, casting shifting shadows across his arms. He frowned at the stubborn "silverstep" mint. Yesterday, its buds had pulsed when Veyra sang. Today, it was just… a plant.
"Patience, little storm," Veyra called from the porch, grinding blue petals in her mortar. "Emberroot takes decades to flower. You've given it three minutes."
Arnav sighed. It still felt strange being in this small, unfamiliar body. He plucked a dandelion and watched its seeds drift away, glinting briefly like tiny sparks.
Fractured Memory
A memory struck without warning—Kumar's office balcony, the potted fern he had kept alive despite coffee spills and long nights.
"It's called a Ficus elastica," he had told Priya. "You water it with sunlight, not guilt."
Then, screeching tires—
"Arnav!" Doran's voice pulled him back. His father stood at the forest's edge, a stag slung over his shoulders, blood dripping onto the ferns. "Enough with the weeds. Tomorrow, I'll teach you to track hares!"
Veyra threw a clump of dirt at him. "He's three, you brute!"
Their argument faded into the background as Arnav stared at his hands. The crescent-shaped mark on his wrist glowed faintly. Where his tears had fallen, a tiny vine sprouted.
Unblooming
That night, moonlight spilled into Arnav's cradle. He traced his palm, still tinged with the scent of mint. Did I imagine it? The cottage creaked—Doran's snores, the soft gurgle of the creek, the steady click-click of Veyra's pendulum clock.
A shadow moved outside. Yellow eyes gleamed—a black fox with a scarred muzzle. It stared directly at him.
"Lira," Veyra whispered from the doorway, gripping a steaming teacup. The fox vanished. "You… saw nothing." Her voice was too sharp. A crescent pendant dangled at her chest, mirroring his birthmark, before she disappeared into the night.
The Surge
Morning brought storms. Arnav pressed his nose to the hexagonal window, watching rain lash the garden. Veyra and Doran whispered near the hearth.
"—claw marks near the creek. Not wolves," Doran muttered, fastening his quiver. "The Guild's stirring up monsters to force villages into their 'protection.'"
"Don't go today." Veyra gripped his arm, her fingers stained crimson from emberroot dye. "What if they're watching the boy?"
Arnav's chest tightened. My fault. The memory of Mumbai's wet asphalt blurred into the scent of woodsmoke.
CRACK.
A bolt of lightning split the sky. Arnav screamed. Or the storm did. Veyra's herbs exploded—
Vines burst from clay pots, curling across the floor. Emberroot flowers bloomed and withered in seconds, their glow filling the air. The crescent mark on his wrist burned.
Veyra grabbed his hands. "Look at me!" Her pendant pressed into his skin. The world stilled. The plants crumbled to dust. "Breathe, Arnav. This… this is normal."
Doran stood, gripping his bow. "Normal? Woman, your lies—"
A howl rose outside. Not a wolf. Not a bear. Something worse.
"Take him to the root cellar," Doran ordered. "Now."
Beneath
The cellar smelled of pickled turnips and secrets. Arnav clung to Veyra's skirt, his mind spinning. The crescent mark pulsed faintly.
Veyra drew symbols in the dirt. They glowed for a moment, then faded. "Listen well," she whispered. "What you did wasn't wrong. Your heart's song is… louder than most."
Upstairs, something crashed. Doran roared.
Veyra pressed her forehead to Arnav's. "When the earth shakes, don't speak. Sing. Not with your voice—here." She tapped his chest.
A heavy thud shook the ceiling. Dust rained down. Arnav's mark flared.
In the dark, something green and fragile pushed through the stone.