Chapter 627 The Garden of Withered Promises

After traversing the echoing corridors of confession, Fitran, Rinoa, and Sheena arrived at the next root door—this door did not spin, did not glow, but pulsed like a wound refusing to heal.

As they stepped inside, the air changed.

It was no longer cold. Not hot. But empty.

They walked into a garden…

that should have been beautiful.

As if time had stopped, silence enveloped them, pressing in on the space around. Each step felt heavy, like the weight of unfulfilled promises hanging between them, creating an atmosphere thick with hope and fear.

Yet all the trees there stood dead.

Their flowers dried in bloom, as if frozen in the midst of hope. Their leaves were black and peeling. The soil was soft but unplantable.

It seemed to remind them of every word ever spoken sincerely—one by one, never forgotten. In the air hung a faint fragrance, like roses that had forgotten how to live.

Among the shadows, a whisper floated softly, following their steps, stirring forgotten memories.

Sheena touched one of the tree trunks, and it crumbled like dust.

"It seems we are not alone here," Rinoa whispered, her eyes glancing toward the shadows moving among the dead trees.

Rinoa walked to the center and read the Proto-Speech inscription on the winding root wall:

ꦥꦿꦼꦠꦸꦁ ꦏꦺꦴꦤ꧀ꦢꦺ ꦏꦁꦒꦶꦤ꧀ —

Prétung Kondé Kanggin

(A promise unfulfilled, yet remembered by those who wait.)

This garden was the grave of the promises they made… then ignored.

Every bright illusion now left behind deep black shadows. And now, each promise… rose again.

A sense of dissatisfaction enveloped the space, like a melodious orchestra of sorrow, playing a tune full of regret that touched their souls.

The ground nearby cracked. From within it emerged a girl with pink hair, wearing an old protective magic cloak. Her eyes shone softly, but her neck bore bruises. The wind whispered as if telling old stories, reminding Fitran of every second that had passed, every hope that remained.

She looked at Fitran and said:

"You said you would return after the war was over."

Fitran stared at her, silent. A burden weighed on his mind, like a dark shadow that refused to leave his soul.

"I waited for you every day. Even when all the students left, even when the school burned down… I still believed you would come."

The girl was not an illusion. She was a reflection of a soul that once believed in Fitran. The dim light enveloping the garden gave a soft impression, as if offering hope even though darkness surrounded them.

"But you didn't come back. You just… forgot."

Fitran did not cry. He simply walked over and embraced her. In that embrace, pain and love long buried intertwined.

"I didn't forget. I chose not to remember… because I was too afraid to face the promises I couldn't keep."

The girl smiled, then transformed into bright roots, absorbing into the dead tree. Instantly, the rustling of leaves filled the air, as if recounting hopes that once existed.

One tree… bloomed again. New life burst forth from the darkness, signaling that the promise would not die forever.

Rinoa touched the still water in the center of the garden. From within it emerged an old man dressed in tattered clothes, with a face half-burned. The breeze carried whispers of the past, as if reminding her of the promise that once bound them.

"You once promised… you would help us. We are from Gamma. We have no place. But you said, you would find a way for us to still exist."

Rinoa fell silent. This was not the present.

This… was a distant past. Within her chest, a sense of guilt slowly mounted, like a stream of water that could not be stopped. Each drop reminded her that hope once existed, but now lay stranded in silence.

"You said you would write a letter to the world. But you fell silent. And we… disappeared."

Rinoa knelt down. Around her, soft shadows from the past danced, forming silhouettes that reminded her of faces that once shone brightly. She felt the pulse of the world, the rumble of souls waiting to be awakened.

"I'm scared. I don't know if they will hear me. I… don't want the world to know I once failed."

"But we know," replied the man. "We know you once wanted to save us. And that… is enough."

He embraced her. In that embrace, warmth enveloped her, bringing peace to Rinoa's guilt-laden soul. She felt the pulse of life from the trees around her, as if every branch and leaf hoped to live again, reaching for the light.

And one Gamma tree—a tree with a crystal-layered bark—bloomed.

Its Ether roots glowed blue. With shimmering blue light, hope began to blossom again, as if the world was starting a new chapter. Forgotten promises now scattered among the whispers of the wind, ready to be rediscovered.

Sheena stood alone. No one appeared.

Only the wind whispered softly, a gentle sound that seemed to invite old memories to return. In her silence, she felt it, a faint presence, like the wind brushing against her cheek.

Then from among the roots, a small child emerged.

She resembled herself, with eyes shining bright like stars she had never seen before.

"You once promised… you would be my mother."

Sheena trembled, her heart racing. In the child's soft voice, there was a breeze of longing, as if hinting at buried hope.

"I… never—"

"But I live in the Genesis Archive. I exist… in the possibilities you hold.

But you chose to die… and I was never born."

The child smiled, a smile full of meaning, as if bringing light to the darkness that had enveloped her all this time. For a moment, time stopped, and the world seemed to vibrate with deep energy.

"But because you called back your name… I know I once had a place."

The child did not fade. She transformed into a small flower… that grew right from Sheena's chest.

A flower that had no species but had form. Each petal emitted a soft glow, as if reminding Sheena that the promise, though left in the shadows, still vibrated alive within her soul. And between them, there was an invisible bond, threads of fate binding them in hope and regret.

Three trees came back to life. And in the center of the garden, a pillar of roots made of once wilted flowers emerged. A sweet, gentle fragrance enveloped the air, as if each flower petal told a story of hope that never faded.

Above it appeared new text:

ꦲꦺꦴꦫꦺꦭ꧀ ꦱꦸꦤ꧀ꦢꦸ ꦥꦼꦩꦸ —

Orel Sundu Pemu

(A promise revived not because it was fulfilled, but because it was acknowledged as a wound.)

Fitran, Rinoa, and Sheena exchanged glances.

No more denial.

No more lies. In their gaze, the story of the past was etched, the pain and love long buried, as if the garden became a silent witness to their souls' journey.

The garden now glowed with root lights pointing downward—into layers of unseen sins, yet defining. Each light vibrated, calling them to remember, to feel again all that had been lost.

"Are we ready to face all of this?" Rinoa asked, her voice trembling.

"There's no other way," Fitran replied, gazing toward the light calling them. "We must move forward, even if it's heavy."

Sheena nodded, feeling the strength of the promises being rekindled. "We are not alone. We have each other."

With renewed determination, they stepped toward the light, ready to confront the past and transform it into a better future.