CHAPTER 65: HE STILL SLEEPS? - 3

"Should I apologize?" he asked, his voice gentle, a faint flush on his cheeks.

"No," Sylvara said immediately, her vines brushing his hair back with tender care. "You should rest. Maybe you’ve caught a chill."

"I’m immortal," he replied gently, his smile unwavering. "I don’t catch colds."

"Maybe it’s the garden," Nyxsha muttered, her golden eyes narrowing as she jabbed a claw toward Sylvara.

"You’ve been eating weird berries. Or maybe it’s her fault—her pollen’s floating everywhere."

Sylvara huffed, her vines swirling indignantly, scattering a faint cloud of pollen.

"My pollen is medicinal," she said, her amber eyes flashing with mock offense.

"Your pollen is also floating in the air like sparkly fog," Nyxsha shot back, her tail thumping the moss. "Pretty sure even I nearly sneezed yesterday."

"Then maybe you should stop sniffing everything like a dog," Virelya murmured, her coils shifting as she smirked.

"I will eat you," Nyxsha growled, though the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying a reluctant amusement.

Azareel rubbed his nose softly, his silver eyes half-lidded in amusement, the garden’s warmth wrapping around him like a gentle embrace.

"It’s alright. I don’t mind. Just... surprised," he said, his voice soft, his smile spreading as he watched them bicker.

They surrounded him—

Sylvara fussing with a vine brushing his hair back, Virelya watching with delight, her coils inching closer, Nyxsha grumbling but hovering protectively, ensuring he didn’t fall over.

It was absurd, really—here in the Abyss, surrounded by ash and ruin, they were arguing over a sneeze.

And yet, for a moment, it felt like... home, a fragile sanctuary woven from their presence.

Then—Rrrrmmmmm.

It began with a tremor—a soft, almost hesitant vibration beneath their feet, like the Abyss had taken a breath, stirring the ash-laced soil.

The moss quivered, the crimson blooms flickering as if startled.

Virelya’s coils lifted from the earth, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes narrowing as she sensed the shift instantly.

Nyxsha’s enormous form stirred beside Azareel, a guttural growl rumbling in her throat, her yellow eyes snapping open, her black fur bristling as she rose to her paws.

Sylvara, perched near the edge of the blossoming garden, turned, her serene smile fading as dust rose from a deepening fissure near her root-veined feet, her amber eyes widening.

"...That’s not right," she said, her voice a melodic whisper laced with alarm, her flowering hair rustling as a petal fell.

Another crack lanced across the garden, splitting a vibrant patch of blue lilies down the middle, their delicate blooms hissing softly, as if the earth itself felt pain.

Azareel stood quickly, his bare feet trembling as the soft moss gave way beneath his heel, his torn white tunic fluttering in the sudden stillness.

"Is this... normal?" he asked, his silver-gray eyes, flecked with rain-blue, scanning the fracturing ground, his voice quiet but uncertain.

"No," Virelya said, her coils tightening, her golden eyes sharp as she slithered to the garden’s edge.

"Not unless the Abyss suddenly hates us more than usual," Nyxsha muttered, her tail lashing as she stepped protectively between Azareel and the growing fracture, her golden eyes blazing with defiance.

All around them, the once-stable circle of land—Sylvara’s precious cultivated bloom in the dead waste—began to fragment, islands of green floating just inches apart, separated by cracks that exhaled faint heat and whispered voices, soft and unintelligible, like secrets buried too long.

Some vines still clung between the pieces, their tendrils trembling as if the garden itself were trying to hold on, desperate to preserve its sanctuary.

Azareel felt it deep in his chest, a pressure behind his ribs, a sense that something ancient and unseen was watching—not the omnipresent gaze of the Abyss, but something focused, directed, its attention pinning them like moths to a flame.

"...It’s just us," he whispered, his silver eyes scanning the edges, his voice barely audible over the garden’s hum. "The rest of the terrain—it’s not shifting."

Sylvara glanced beyond the crumbling edge of their bloom, her golden-green eyes wide with realization. "He’s right," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

"The bones are untouched. Even the dead walls beyond the veil haven’t moved."

"The Abyss is singling us out," Virelya breathed, her voice carrying a faint echo of something reverent, her coils tightening as she peered into the mist. "No pulse in the deeper land. Only here."

Nyxsha snarled, her claws unsheathing with a metallic shink.

"So much for laying low," she growled, her massive form tensing as she scanned the horizon.

Sylvara spread her arms, vines blooming from her sleeves like living rivers, curling toward the cracks as if to hold the ground together.

"I-I can slow it—!" she said, her voice strained, her amber eyes blazing with determination.

"No," Virelya hissed, her golden eyes flashing. "You’ll waste your lifeblood."

Azareel reached for her hand, his fingers brushing her vine-laced wrist.

"Sylvara—" he began, his voice urgent, his silver eyes wide with concern.

But it was too late.

A final groan split the silence like a scream through wet earth, the sound raw and visceral, shaking the garden to its roots.

The last piece of land—the one they all stood on—shuddered violently, cracks spiderwebbing outward in a chaotic lattice, the moss tearing like flesh under a blade.

Azareel stepped back instinctively, but there was nowhere to go—the garden beneath their feet was no longer connected to anything, the Abyss yawning open below.

And then—it crumbled, the ground giving way with a deafening roar, plunging them into darkness.

They fell, the air howling around them—or perhaps it was the Abyss laughing, its voice a mocking chorus of wind and shadow.

Virelya’s coils snapped around Azareel’s waist, her grip tight but steady, her golden eyes blazing as she pulled him close.

Sylvara screamed, her roots snapping midair with bursts of green sparks, her flowering hair fluttering like a curtain of gold as she reached for the earth that was no longer there.

Nyxsha twisted mid-plummet, her monstrous body shielding Azareel instinctively, her black fur a barrier against the rushing dark, her violet hair whipping in the wind.

The garden was gone, its crimson blooms swallowed by the void.