The early sun hovered golden over the garden, painting each dewdrop with liquid light. Jan stepped through the hidden door, feeling the summer air wrap her in its gentle arms. Mubarak waited patiently under the low branches of a pomegranate tree, his ears perked and his eyes kind, yet a little more serious than yesterday.
“Come,” he said, beckoning her deeper into the garden, past beds of poppies and rows of silver thyme. Every sound seemed sharper here: the lazy drone of bees, the burble of water over stones, the distant call of a dove. Jan glanced at her wrist; the crescent mark had faded to a silvery outline, but she felt its quiet hum just beneath her skin.
Mubarak led her to a circle of standing stones near the pond’s edge. Flowers pushed up between them, and moths fluttered in the cool shadow. “This is where your training begins,” Mubarak announced. He hopped up onto one of the mossy stones and motioned for Jan to sit across from him.
The air felt charged. Jan sat down, smoothing her dress over her knees. “What do I have to do?”
“First, you must listen,” Mubarak said, lowering his voice. “The garden speaks in ways most people have forgotten. Guardians must hear its messages if they hope to protect it.”
Jan closed her eyes, uncertain but willing. She slowed her breathing and tried to focus on the sounds around her. At first, all she heard was her own pulse, but then—the sigh of wind in the leaves, the faint trickle of the pond, the whisper of grass as something small darted through it.
She sensed it then: a gentle tug at her heart, as if the very roots of the olive tree were reaching out to her. A hush, like the promise of rain, filled her chest. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she saw a faint shimmer, green and gold, swirling like mist around the stones.
When she opened her eyes, Mubarak was watching her with approval. “You feel it,” he said. “Good. Now, ask the garden a question.”
Jan hesitated, then whispered, “What does the garden fear?”
The world seemed to still. Wind rustled the poppies and a hush fell over the water. Suddenly, a chill crept across the grass. A single black feather drifted down from the fig tree and landed at Jan’s feet. She shivered. Shadows flickered at the far edge of the lawn, just where sunlight met gloom. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure—tall, hunched—standing in the trees. But when she blinked, it was gone.
Mubarak’s nose twitched. “The Shadow King’s servants have begun to watch. You must learn faster than I hoped.”
Before Jan could reply, a cry rang out—sharp, startled, near the garden’s farthest gate. The crows scattered. Something—or someone—had entered the garden unannounced. Mubarak’s ears flattened, and his body went tense with alarm.
Jan scrambled to her feet as the garden’s peaceful magic fluttered, the flowers shrinking as if in fear. Mubarak glanced at her, urgency burning in his eyes. “Stay close. This may be our first real test.”
From beyond the wild roses, footsteps crunched on gravel. The shape of a stranger, half-shadow, appeared at the threshold of the garden, cloak billowing, features hidden under a dark hood. The air turned colder, and the crescent on Jan’s wrist throbbed with sudden heat.
The stranger paused, gaze fixed on Jan and Mubarak. The crows circled above, restless and watchful. Jan’s heart hammered in her chest as she braced herself, not knowing if she faced friend or foe.
The figure stepped forward, gloved hand outstretched, and spoke—a voice soft, but edged with warning. “I come with a message from the Shadow King.”
Jan stood rooted to the spot, the ground humming beneath her feet, the garden holding its breath, as the moment of choice crashed over her like a breaking wave.