They followed the map's glow for three days.
The path twisted through lowlands thick with blue moss, where trees leaned at impossible angles and flowers blinked shut when touched. The forest canopy opened at times to reveal flashes of the surreal sky above—swirling purples and golds without sun or moon. Mike's ribs still ached, but he bore the pain without comment.
Ren made sure they rested often. Aero flew high during the day and curled beside Mike at night, her feathers catching starlight that didn't seem to come from stars.
On the fourth day, the trees parted and the land sloped upward into a high, grassy basin. At the edge of a long cliff, their destination waited.
The Garden of Giants.
It wasn't a garden in the traditional sense. There were no neat rows, no fences or tools. It was wild—bursting with enormous flora. Sunflowers the size of windmills. Fungi that pulsed with light. Vines as thick as tree trunks, curled like serpents around towering blossoms.
But what truly drew their eyes were the statues.
Scattered throughout the garden were massive stone figures—giants frozen in mid-motion. Some sat cross-legged in meditation. Others reached skyward with open hands. One knelt in a pool of glass-clear water, a tree growing from its shoulder.
"They look real," Ren whispered. "Like they were turned to stone mid-step."
Mike stepped cautiously toward one. It was half-buried in vines, its face serene, a long crack splitting its cheek.
"Do you think they were alive?" Mike asked.
Ren didn't answer.
The map pulsed again, pointing toward the center of the garden. But between them and the glowing center stood a stone circle—thirteen giants arranged in a ring, each in a different pose. One covered its mouth. Another pointed to the sky. A third cradled an orb. Their bodies were carved with strange runes, and their placement formed a perfect circle.
At the ring's center sat a pedestal, its surface bare except for a shallow indent shaped like a feather.
A plaque beneath it read:
"Thirteen remember. Twelve will fall.
One speaks truth when none can call.
Follow silence, shun the sound,
Place the voice upon the ground."
Mike read the inscription three times.
"Another riddle," Ren muttered. "Figures."
Mike walked the circle, studying the giants. "Each of them represents something," he murmured. "A concept. A choice."
He paused in front of the giant covering its mouth.
"This one… silence."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Makes sense."
Mike continued, slowly circling. One by one, he identified the poses—sight, sound, judgment, knowledge, strength, rage. Each one seemed meaningful. Each one could be the answer.
He closed his eyes and whispered the riddle again:
"Thirteen remember. Twelve will fall…"
"Twelve will fall," he repeated aloud. "We have to choose the one that doesn't."
Ren crossed his arms. "So which one speaks truth when none can call?"
Mike opened his journal and jotted quick notes beside rough sketches of the giants. He narrowed it down to three: the one covering its ears, the one cradling the orb, and the one covering its mouth.
Then his eyes fell on Aero.
She was standing perfectly still beside the silent giant—the one covering its mouth—her head tilted curiously.
Mike's eyes widened. "Place the voice upon the ground…"
He turned and knelt before the pedestal.
From his satchel, he drew out Lirien's gemstone—the "piece of what was broken." It thrummed in his palm, sensing something ancient nearby.
He placed the stone into the shallow feather-shaped indent.
Nothing happened.
Then he stood and placed his hand against the silent giant's foot.
The statue trembled.
Cracks of light ran up its stone legs, across its chest, and into its face. The mouth glowed for a moment—then faded.
Behind them, the rest of the giants began to crumble—one by one—falling to dust, until only the silent one remained.
The pedestal slid open.
Inside lay a single winding staircase, leading down into the earth.
Ren gave Mike an impressed look. "You really are good at this."
Mike managed a faint smile. "I just listen."
⸻
They descended into a cavern filled with bioluminescent vines and flowering roots, winding down until they emerged into the heart of the garden.
At the center lay a stone nest, cradled in the roots of a flowering tree that bloomed fire-colored petals. And resting inside—radiating warmth and power—was the Phoenix.
Its body was curled, wings folded like molten bronze, feathers glowing with slow-burning flame. It breathed—but only barely—its chest rising with long, slow rhythms. Its eyes were closed, but Mike felt them watching anyway.
As he stepped into the clearing, the Phoenix opened one eye.
It glowed gold.
"He comes," it said, its voice more like music than sound. "The Speaker walks. The world remembers."
Mike's heart raced. "You know who I am?"
"We know who you were."
The Phoenix rose slowly, fire flickering from its feathers. Its wings spread, casting warmth over the entire clearing.
Ren took a step back, eyes wide.
"Your blood carries echoes. Your hands carry burden. But your heart…" The Phoenix tilted its head. "Your heart carries hope."
Mike stepped closer. "I need to know… my father—Tom Flowers. Did he come through the portal? Did he come here?"
The Phoenix didn't speak.
Instead, it flared brighter—and a vision filled Mike's mind.
A cave lit by firelight. A man—tall, broad-shouldered, with kind eyes and a bow strapped to his back. He was older than Mike remembered, but unmistakably Tom. He stood before a portal stone, holding something glowing in his hand.
He turned, as if hearing something.
And then the vision vanished.
Mike staggered. "He's alive. He was here."
"He walks a darker path," the Phoenix said gently. "But you may yet find him."
It lowered its head and opened its beak.
A single feather, glowing white-gold, floated down.
Mike caught it.
The moment his fingers closed around it, his bow pulsed—wood grain deepening, silver lines stretching along the limbs. The weapon felt stronger, tighter, more alive than ever before.
"You gave him a feather too," Mike said softly.
The Phoenix didn't respond.
Instead, it leaned in close. "Do not fear your path, Speaker. But do not walk it blindly. The eyes that follow you are older than Vlad. Older than kings."
Mike nodded.
Then the Phoenix folded its wings, closed its eyes, and went still once more.
They left the Garden in silence.
And for the first time, Mike no longer wondered if he belonged in this world.
He wondered what it would ask of him next.