The Seed That Chose

Evermist Lore, Part 4: A Tale of Roots and Rebirth

The Garden wasn’t the same.

Lantern-lit paths were tangled with bright, sprawling vines — growing faster than anyone could manage. Where the oldest garden had once stood — where the first seed had been planted — the ground was cracked and bare. A few Gardeners returned to see the damage. Some came with doubt, others with hope, but all felt the same unease.

One dweller, one of the first to follow Maneki’s way, knelt in the dirt, holding a single seed. Its glow was faint but unbroken. Maneki approached, her lantern light swaying softly.

The dweller looked down. “It didn’t grow. All the others did — even the fake ones. But this one... just stayed the same.”

Maneki curled her tail around her paws, watching the small, glowing seed. “Not all growth is fast,” she said. “Sometimes the roots wait. Sometimes the soil isn’t ready. But if the seed holds true, it will find its way.”

The dweller pressed the seed back into the soil — slowly, as if daring it to stay. A low, rumbling hum rose from the ground — deeper and older than the false vines. The cracked earth softened, and small roots pushed through, intertwining with the soil. The light from the seed grew stronger, not in a sudden flash, but in a steady, warm pulse. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t bright. But it was real.

More Gardeners gathered, drawn by the change. Some brought their own seeds, hesitant but hopeful. Others just watched, remembering why they had planted in the first place.

Then, at the garden’s edge, one of the false vines caught fire — bright, unnatural flames. The vine curled inward, shriveling into ash. More followed — the light that seemed so vivid and strong revealing itself as empty flash.

A Trailhunter approached cautiously, eyes wide. “Why are they burning?”Maneki glanced at the wilting vines. “They never rooted. They grew fast but hollow. Only real roots survive the storm.”

Mara stepped from the trees, her eyes sharp and her smile thin. “Roots are slow,” she said. “And slow doesn’t win. The Festival will always have those who want it more.”

Maneki didn’t turn to face her, just kept watching the new shoots push through the soil. “The Festival burns bright,” she replied. “But only until the fuel runs out. What you’re seeing now — it doesn’t burn out. It doesn’t need to.”

Mara’s smile faded slightly. She wasn’t used to losing, but this didn’t feel like loss — more like being seen through. “You think they’ll stay?” she asked, almost curious. “Some will,” Maneki said. “And when they do, it will outlast any dance at the Festival.”

Mara laughed — sharp, almost mocking. “You haven’t changed them. They’ll keep chasing. They always do.” But even as she spoke, some of the Trailhunters began to take off their masks, leaving them at the garden’s edge. One of them spoke quietly. “We thought fast meant better. But it just burned.”

Mara hesitated, just for a moment, then turned away. “The Festival’s still bright,” she said, more to herself than anyone. She walked back into the mist, not defeated, but quieter. The Festival still roared in the distance, but its light seemed more like a flicker than a flame.

The Gardeners took a collective breath, as if something heavy had lifted. The small tree that grew from the first seed stretched its roots deeper, its single bloom swaying gently in the breeze. Maneki watched, not triumphant, just present. She knew the Festival would never disappear. But now, the Garden didn’t just exist — it endured.

As the sun rose, the mist lifted, and the Garden stood resilient — not perfect, not complete, but alive. The Festival still flickered at the forest’s edge, but fewer followed. Some stayed to tend the soil, realizing that real growth wasn’t about chasing light — it was about becoming the light.And as the day broke, the Garden glowed softly, as if it had always been there, waiting to be seen.