They arrived at the edge of a valley just past noon, where the air felt heavier and the trees grew gnarled and uneven. The soil beneath their boots was cracked in odd patterns—like something had been trying to rise but changed its mind halfway.
"This isn't natural," Elliot muttered, crouching to study the dirt. "It's dry, but not dead. Still alive. Barely."
Lyra didn't answer. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out to touch the nearest patch of earth. The moment her skin made contact, her breath caught.
"I... I can't feel it clearly," she said. "It's loud, but wrong."
Elliot looked up. "Loud?"
"It's like the soil's trying to speak in too many voices at once. And none of them are whole." Her eyes flicked to the left, then right, unfocused. "It's splintered."
Despite her warning, she knelt and pressed both hands down, calling on her roots. The vines extended—but then recoiled, as though the ground bit them back.
"Lyra!" Elliot grabbed her shoulder, steadying her.
She gasped. "It touched me."
Her hands were shaking now. Fine green veins under her skin glowed dimly, pulsating with energy Elliot had never seen before.
"It's not just broken," she said, voice strained. "It's cursed."
They had encountered dead zones before—places where Stillfall's aftermath had scorched life into silence—but this wasn't silence. This was noise, jumbled and sharp, desperate to be heard but unable to form sense.
Elliot helped her stand. "We need to leave this place. Whatever happened here—whatever's still happening—it's not safe for you."
But Lyra looked back, eyes still locked on the fissured earth. "I need to understand it. Something happened here that bent the rules of growth. I need to know how... or it could spread."
Despite his unease, Elliot nodded. "Then we'll mark the edges. Draw the line between our roots and whatever this is."
They spent the next hour collecting samples—small clumps of dirt that hummed faintly, a pebble shaped like a droplet, and two twisted leaves that didn't seem to belong to any living plant.
As they returned toward their trail, Lyra stumbled once more. Her fingertips brushed a stone, and for the briefest second, her eyes went black.
"Lyra?" Elliot's voice cut through the strange hum. She blinked, and the darkness faded.
"I saw..." Her voice cracked. "I saw a woman made of bark standing in a garden of mirrors. And everything was burning—but she didn't run. She smiled."
They stood in silence after that.
By the time they reached the outskirts of their own garden again, the sky had begun to dim, and Lyra's glow had dulled to a faint shimmer.
She didn't speak for the rest of the day.
And Elliot, though he wanted to ask, didn't.
The earth had touched her.
And it had whispered something he wasn't sure they were meant to hear.