The world tore apart.
Emiren felt the surge of energy engulf him, carrying him upward into the very heart of the storm, where golden and black streams of time intertwined. The space around him cracked like shattered glass, and through those fractures, he glimpsed other possible realities—echoes of futures that could have been but had not yet come to pass.
Ardalys stood motionless amidst the chaos, as if the storm did not touch him. His gaze was calm, almost contemplative, and his hand rested upon the dark bark of the new tree. Its branches stretched in different directions—some shimmering with soft light, others black as ash.
Emiren stepped forward and felt the space beneath his feet shift. The stone floor was no longer solid—it had become a web, threads of time spreading outward, vibrating with every step, as though the balance of the entire world depended on it.
— This is your last chance to turn back, Ardalys.
His voice echoed through the space, but it did not drown out the deep hum of the widening fractures.
Ardalys only smiled.
— Do you really think you can stop me, Emiren? That you can destroy what has already taken root?
He ran his hand over the tree’s trunk, and from its bark, a stream of light burst forth, twisting into tangled threads that rose upward, forming even more branches.
Emiren felt something within him shudder. This tree was not just a fracture—it had already become part of the very structure of time.
— The Garden will not allow this. It will reject this branch like a dead limb.
Ardalys shook his head mockingly.
— You still think in terms of the Garden. But what if the Garden is wrong? What if we are meant to shape its limits?
His voice softened, almost sympathetic.
— Haven’t you seen? Haven’t you felt all the moments that were erased? We were called Creators, but we were only gardeners, pruning branches by some unseen decree. I will not obey anymore.
Emiren inhaled deeply, trying to focus. He knew that every passing second made this tree stronger.
He raised his hand, and the space around him trembled.
The laws of the Garden still held.
Despite the fractures, despite the new branch, the old order had not been completely destroyed. There was still a chance to set things right.
Light gathered in his palm—not as a weapon, but as the very principle of harmony woven into the fabric of time.
But the moment he prepared to strike at the roots of the new tree, Ardalys abruptly raised his hand.
— Don’t do it.
His voice was calm, but something lay beneath it—not a threat, but a warning.
— If you destroy this branch, you won’t just restore what was. You will erase futures that have yet to exist.
Emiren froze.
— What do you mean?
Ardalys touched the trunk, and before Emiren, a vision unfolded.
He did not see fractures or destruction.
He saw… possibilities.
Realities that had never existed. People he had never known but who could have been born. Moments that had been erased before they even happened.
And suddenly, he understood the truth he had feared.
This tree was not merely a parasite.
It was part of a living process.
Ardalys looked at him with a faint smile.
— Now you see. This is not just rebellion. This is choice. This is freedom.
Emiren stood still, gazing at the tree that continued to grow.
He would have to make a decision that would determine not only the fate of the Garden but the very nature of time itself.
Should he destroy this branch to protect the existing order?
Or allow it to grow, even if it meant facing unknown consequences?
His hands trembled.
He knew that his next step would change everything.