Chapter 82 – Garden of Tranquility

Shawn’s eyes fluttered open, his breath shallow and uneven as he took in the sight before him. It was a place so serene, so otherworldly, that he couldn’t help but feel a deep unease. He stood in the middle of an expansive field of soft green grass that stretched endlessly, shimmering faintly under the glow of a golden sun that hung high in a sky of pastel blues and whites. The air was warm and inviting, carrying a gentle breeze that rustled through the leaves of towering, majestic trees scattered across the landscape.

The world was alive in a way that felt… unnatural. Every detail was painstakingly vibrant, every colour more vivid than he had ever seen. Flowers of every imaginable hue blanketed the ground in a kaleidoscope of beauty, their fragrance sweet and intoxicating. Small creatures roamed freely, their presence adding a surreal charm to the scene. A group of bunnies hopped near a cluster of blooming tulips, their fur catching the sunlight in a soft glow. Red pandas lazily lounged on low tree branches, their curious eyes peeking out from behind leaves. In the distance, a pair of fawns grazed peacefully near a crystal-clear stream, their delicate forms almost blending into the dreamlike environment.

Butterflies, with wings like stained glass, flitted gracefully through the air, while birds filled the realm with melodious tunes that felt too harmonious to be real. The world was so perfect, so idyllic, that it made Shawn’s skin crawl.

His sharp gaze wandered, taking in the endless beauty, but his brow furrowed in confusion. The sheer tranquillity of the place only heightened his disorientation. His deep voice broke the silence, rough and uncertain. “Where… am I?”

He turned slowly, scanning the horizon. The sky stretched endlessly, its vastness unbroken by any landmarks or structures, save for the occasional cluster of trees. It was as though the realm had been crafted solely for its beauty, devoid of purpose or history.

“What… happened to me?” Shawn muttered, his tone tinged with frustration.

He shut his eyes, searching his memory, trying to piece together the fragments of his past. Slowly, the events came back to him, disjointed and hazy at first but growing clearer with each moment.

He remembered standing immobilised alongside Makara, the two of them trapped as Selena followed Princess Thyra up the stairs, disappearing into the distance. The struggle to break free had been futile, but that wasn’t all.

Shawn’s frown deepened as he recalled the next moment. A vine had suddenly lashed out, yanking him into the air with brutal force. The sensation of being dragged was vivid in his mind, the vine coiling tightly around his leg as it lifted him high above the ground.

Then came the flower—a monstrous rose with petals. It had emerged from the lake, its massive form both beautiful and terrifying. Its petals opened like a maw, and it had swallowed him whole.

Shawn’s body tensed as he relived the memory. The suffocating darkness inside the flower’s stem was unlike anything he had experienced before—the walls around him, slick and slimy. Once inside, he figured he could move again.

Then he remembered thrashing, his powerful frame straining against the organic prison, but his strength had felt… diminished. The flower seemed to drain his energy with every passing second, leaving him weak and desperate.

Then, in the depths of his despair, a thought struck him. A reminder of who he was.

“Wait… I’m the Guardian,” he had whispered to himself, his voice trembling with newfound resolve. “I can summon my weapon.”

The memory of that moment burned brightly in his mind. Smoke had curled around his hand, coalescing into the familiar shape of his blade. The sight of it had reignited his determination, and he had swung it with all the force he could muster.

But the flower wall was thick. The goo that filled the stem dampened his movements, and while the blade cut deep, it wasn’t enough.

Frustration and rage had boiled within him, and his roars had echoed through the confined space, defiant and unyielding. With one final, desperate cry, he had poured every ounce of his strength into a single, decisive swing.

The blade had sliced through the flower’s flesh, and he had felt the rush of freedom as its form split open. The next thing he remembered was tumbling into the lake below, the cold water enveloping him. The memory of the lake was as vivid as the flower’s maw. The surface had been a deceptive mirror, reflecting the sky so perfectly that it had disoriented him. Shawn tried to swim up and came close to the surface, and that’s when he noticed the surface of the water was like a mirage, and the cut made by Shawn weakened the stem as it broke off the flower, as it came falling into the lake and landed over him, which sank him further down, but it wasn’t down.

He remembered the panic, the way his lungs had burned as he clutched at his throat, desperate for air. The silence of the water had been deafening, amplifying his fears as his vision blurred.

And yet, through the chaos, his mind had been consumed by thoughts of collecting the sword fragments, stopping the war, to put an end to the chaos. As his vision became dark, and clutched his throat for air.

Then—nothing.

Shawn’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped, clutching his throat instinctively as though he were still drowning. His chest heaved as he drew in the fresh, sweet air of the realm, the memory of suffocation still fresh in his mind.

He looked around, his heart pounding. The beauty and tranquillity of the realm felt mocking, a cruel joke in the face of the horrors he had just endured.

“This… this isn’t real,” he muttered, his voice laced with scepticism. “It can’t be.”

Yet, everything about the place felt real. The softness of the grass beneath his feet, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the gentle caress of the breeze—they were undeniable, tangible.

Shawn’s hands clenched into fists, his frustration mounting as he tried to make sense of it all. The serenity of the realm felt oppressive, as though it were trying to lull him into complacency.

“Am I dead?” he wondered aloud, his voice carrying a rare note of vulnerability. The thought sent a chill down his spine, despite the warmth surrounding him.

Shawn was bent over, breathing heavily, his hands resting on his knees. His chest rose and fell in ragged motions, each breath a battle to calm the storm within him. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his heart thundered in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to steady his racing thoughts and pounding heart.

Then, breaking through the silence like a soft breeze, a voice—gentle, soothing, and calm.

“You are not dead, Shawn. Breathe… Breathe slowly,” the voice said, its tone like a gentle melody.

Shawn’s eyes snapped open, his body tensing at the sound. He straightened up, turning toward the source of the voice. A few feet away stood a girl, her presence serene yet unsettlingly familiar. She had long, dark green hair that flowed like cascading ivy, gently swaying in the faint breeze. Her delicate frame was draped in a dark green kimono adorned with intricate patterns of real rose petals, each one blooming softly as if alive.

Shawn’s brow furrowed as he took a cautious step back, his voice gruff with suspicion. “Who are you?”

The girl met his gaze with a calm smile and unblinking eyes. “I am Princess Thyra,”