The Garden of Decay

Chapter 2

The path twisted deeper into the Garden, the soft rustle of leaves and the fragrant scent of flowers filling the air around (Y/N) as she followed the man who had pulled her to safety. His steps were steady, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable, as if he was always poised for a fight. She couldn't help but keep a wary eye on him, trying to make sense of his demeanor. He hadn't offered his name, nor had he asked hers, and the silence between them hung heavy with unspoken questions.

The surreal beauty of the Garden contrasted sharply with the chaos she had just escaped. Vines with delicate flowers draped across the stone walls that loomed high above her, encasing the sanctuary in an embrace of nature. The air here was fresher, cleaner than anything she had breathed in what felt like years. It was a stark contrast to the acrid stench of rot and death that clung to the world beyond. The Garden seemed untouched, a pocket of peace in a world that had lost all semblance of it.

But despite its beauty, (Y/N) couldn't shake the growing unease. It was too perfect, too tranquil, and the lack of sound — no birds, no insects, nothing but the wind through the trees — made her hyperaware of the man walking ahead of her.

His broad back remained turned to her as they made their way through the greenery, his gaze fixed forward as if he were escorting a prisoner. There was a coldness about him that made her reluctant to speak, a wall between them that wasn't just silence but something deeper. His posture was rigid, his eyes hard when he'd glanced at her earlier, and she could sense that any warmth in him was buried far beneath the surface.

As they rounded a corner, the path opened up into a small courtyard, surrounded by a high wall of greenery. The light here was softer, filtered through the canopy of leaves, casting a serene glow across the space. Several people moved about, tending to plants, organizing supplies, or speaking in hushed tones. For a moment, it looked almost like a village, a community that had somehow survived the apocalypse. The sight should have been reassuring, but (Y/N) couldn't ignore the strange stillness in the air.

"This is the Garden," the man said, his voice low, gruff, as if speaking required effort. He didn't look at her when he spoke, his eyes scanning the area, always watchful, always on guard.

(Y/N) tried to read his face, but his expression was unreadable, a mask of stoic control. He was clearly someone used to command, someone who saw the world in black and white — danger and safety, enemies and allies.

"Thorne." The voice came from behind them, soft but commanding enough to make Thorne — now she had a name for him — tense for a split second before he turned.

(Y/N) followed his gaze and saw a young man approaching. He was strikingly different from Thorne, smaller in stature, with an almost fragile appearance. His skin was pale, his ash-blond hair falling into his eyes in soft, disheveled waves. His clothes were loose and earth-toned, the fabric stained with dirt as if he had been working in the garden for hours. Despite his unassuming appearance, there was something about him that made her pause — a quiet intensity in his light green eyes that seemed to see more than what was in front of him.

"Elias," Thorne said with a curt nod, his tone cooling even further. "She needs treatment."

Elias stepped closer, his gaze shifting from Thorne to (Y/N), and for the first time since she had entered the Garden, she felt seen. His eyes lingered on her with a strange curiosity, as if he were studying her, but not in a way that made her uncomfortable. It was more like he was searching for something beyond the surface.

"You're hurt," Elias observed softly, his voice carrying an oddly calming lilt. His eyes dropped to the gash on her shoulder, the torn fabric of her shirt stained with blood and dirt. "We should take care of that before it gets worse."