Chapter Thirteen: Shadows in the Ruins

The Sapling watched.

It felt the city around it in the same way it felt the roots it pushed through the earth. Every footfall pressed the soil. Every jar filled with stolen water tugged at its pond. Every broken fruit carried away marked a wound it could not close. And now those wounds grew sharper. Marks carved into stone. Fires lit in places once empty. Hardened hearts were growing in rhythm, far too close to their home for comfort.

The group of orphans had begun trying to sell what they were stealing.

At first, it was only Isha who crept into the garden, carrying gifts back to her starving band. But soon, the others followed, some with Tarin’s hand to guide them, others stealing in silence.

They brought jars, pots, even scraps of old metal tins, filling them with clean water. They plucked fruits in the dark, stripped the vines of honey, and returned to the tower with their treasures.

The dungeon let them have what they needed. They were not stopped.

It did not hate them, but understood their suffering. Hunger was a crueler master than most, and children were its most faithful companions: the first to sleep in its house, the first to laugh in its light. But it knew how swiftly hunger could curdle into hate.

Ashwin’s eyes were sharp and calculating. His mind ticked like gears, searching for cracks, plotting moves as though the world were a board. Already he had found buyers for their new goods.

The other gangs in the city had noticed, their eyes now following the little band of orphans as they carried their jars and baskets. Food that didn't require medicine to eat. Water that never made one sick. Honey made from real bees. To those who had known nothing but rot and disease: those things were worth more than gold, or life.

Ashwin’s gang ate their fill and sold what they didn't need. For a week, their bellies were full, their bones warm with a strength they had never known. But with the trades came whispers. And with whispers, came eyes.

The Sapling throbbed with unease.

Liora knelt in its roots, her hand pressed against the living bark. She listened. At first the pulses were faint, scattered, but then they gathered: shapes, feelings, images that spread through her mind like water across sand. Shadows in the ruins. Children’s hands on stolen fruit. Marks carved on stone walls. Hunger that turned to greed, spreading like mold.

“They don’t understand what they are doing." She whispered. "You want me to bring them back?”

The Sapling answered with a steady thrum.

The animals gathered beneath the great tree, sleeping as though held in safety by its falling lights and glowing tendrils. But the humans were growing restless.

Now Liora must walk into the ruins and speak to those who had stolen from them.

Tarin begged to come with her.

“They’re my friends, they’ll listen to me,” he insisted.

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“They’ll see you as my brother, not their friend.” Liora warned. “And that won't help us."

“Then let me bring Isha,” Tarin argued. “She trusts me. And She believes me.”

The sapling gently pulsed again. So Tarin came, and Isha led them.

The ruins rose around them like broken tombstones. Skeletal towers of steel and broken glass. Streets choked by rubble, and rusted cars collapsed on their frames. The smell of ash never left the stones. Liora held her brother’s hand as they followed Isha through hidden paths she had used hundreds of times.

Their destination was a smaller, abandoned tower. It jutted like a broken spear against the sky, its walls half-collapsed but its frame still strong. Within, the orphans had built their home. Makeshift ladders of rope. Tents stitched from scavenged cloth. Fires burning low in metal barrels.

Ashwin stood at the center, waiting. He was taller than the rest, though still thin, with eyes that seemed too old for his face. He looked at Liora not with wonder, or fear, but with calculation.

“So the prophetess comes herself,” he said. “And the brother too. I should be honored.”

“You’ve stolen, from us ” Liora said softly. “The tree spirit gave your group what you needed to live happily and comfortably, but you took even more. Your path leads only to ruin. Turn back before it’s too late.”

Ashwin smirked. “Stolen? You call it stealing to drink? To eat? Was it not food lying on branches? Water in a pond? No guard stood in the way. And if your god is real, then if he wished to stop us, would we not be stopped?”

Some of the children muttered in agreement. Others looked away, shame or fear in their faces.

“It sees you,” Liora whispered. “It knows your hunger. It wants to help you, to keep you safe. Come back with us. You and all your friends. You will be fed and cared for. You will not need to steal.”

Ashwin’s jaw tightened. “And be pets to your people? Caged birds, waiting for fruit to be dropped in our mouths? No. We’ll take what we need. And when it runs out, we’ll take more the next day. It always grows back by the time we return anyway.”

“It won't, if you do that,” Liora said. “Even gods can die. Nothing is infinite.”

Ashwin laughed. “Then maybe it’s not a god after all.”

The room went silent. Unseen, the dungeon listened through roots that ran beneath the tower, through motes of light drifting into cracks. It felt the weight of Ashwin’s words. The boys anger was dangerous. He dripped poison into the others’ ears.

But then came a surprise.

Isha stepped away from Ashwin’s side, moving to stand beside Tarin and Liora. “I’m going back with them,” she said firmly. “You can stay here if you want, but I won’t. I’ve seen the garden. I’ve felt it. I won’t live here just because Ash would rather watch the world burn.”

The orphans gasped. Even Ashwin faltered, his confidence cracking for a heartbeat.

But he said nothing as Liora, Tarin, and Isha left.

They vanished into the ruins, leaving the rest behind.

That night, karma found its way back to the group.

Three gangs, lean and desperate, struck as the orphans slept. Their whistle split the silence, followed by the crash of stones and the roar of voices. Rusted blades and chains swung in the dark. Fires lit the lower levels of the tower.

Ashwin’s gang fought back, but they were too few, too small and weak. Daro went down first, clubbed from behind. Mira’s screams rang out until they were cut short. Half the younger ones scattered into the ruins, never to be seen again.

When the smoke cleared, Ashwin’s band was broken. Those who lived were bound in rope and dragged before their conquerors.

The rival gang leader, a broad man with scars running down his arms, kicked one of Ashwin’s jars until the water spilled out onto the cracked concrete. He dipped a finger, tasted it, and spat.

“Clean,” he muttered. “Too clean. Where’d you get this?”

Ashwin kept silent. The scarred man’s followers didn’t wait. They beat two of the younger children until their cries echoed up the ruined streets.

“Where?” the leader asked again.

Ashwin broke. Pride was one thing, but he could not watch more of his people die. “The garden,” he muttered hoarsely. “A place we found. Fruit grows there, with good water, and even animals. We call it Eden.”

The scarred man laughed, a harsh, cruel sound. “A fairy tale. Tell me, if such a place exists, why aren’t you there, instead of squatting in this ruin?”

Ashwin flushed. The shame cut deeper than any blade. Why weren’t they there? Why had he turned away Liora’s offer? His pride, his refusal to bend, had condemned them all.

The rival leader grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back. “If your Eden is real, you’re going to take us there. If not—” He glanced at the trembling children. “Then you die with them.”

Bound and beaten, Ashwin stumbled as they marched him through the streets. Behind him, the orphans cried quietly, their hands tied, their faces hollow with terror.

For the first time in his life, Ashwin prayed. Not to the gods of old, not to the sun or the stars, but to the Tree god itself.

Please, if you’re real… if you’re more than tricks of light and fruit on branches… save us. Save them. I’ll believe. I’ll kneel. Just don’t let this be the end.

And then, after a half a day of marching through the cracked streets and fallen debris, they saw it.

Eden.

The pond gleamed like a mirror of the heavens. The pumpkins glowed like lanterns. Great beasts moved lazily among the vines, not with hunger but with peace. And at the center of it all, the Sapling stood, taller than all the nearby trees, its trunk was massive, its branches cascading in curtains of glowing vines. The air shimmered with drifting motes of silver, gold and purple.

The rival gangs froze. For a moment, silence ruled. Even their scarred leader gaped, his weapon lowering.

Ashwin stared, heart pounding. He had doubted. He had scorned. And now, at the edge of paradise, he truly hoped the priestess had not lied.