Cassian led Lyra around the side of the cottage to the small fenced-in garden. Lyra gasped audibly when she saw the state of it. Weeds choked out the few remaining pale and sickly plants that valiantly clung to life amidst the neglect. Dry, cracked soil spread out in all directions, littered with leaves, sticks and other debris, puffs of dust stirring in the breeze.

The more she looked, the worse it got. Shriveled vegetable plants drooped sadly, desperately in need of water. An old wheelbarrow lay on its side, half-filled with compost that was more dirt than plant matter. The tomato cages were knocked over and rusted.

The garden was not just abandoned, it was ravaged. The sight of wilted and withered plants made her stomach churn with anger. This desiccated plot felt like a petty and personal attack on nature itself.

This was not at all what she had envisioned for the garden of a legendary hero like Cassian. She had imagined something beautiful and lush, with rare magical plants and flowers tended with care. Seeing the reality of neglect and decay shattered those fantasies.

It hurt to see, she remembered the joy of watching tiny seeds grow into a bountiful harvest of fruits, vegetables, and flowers. Her parents always reminded her that a garden needed constant care and attention to thrive. That if you took care of it, it would take care of you.

Lyra wanted desperately to ask how things had gotten to this point, but she bit her tongue, remembering his first rule - no questions until the work was done. She couldn't help but suspect that the state of his garden was why he'd made the rule to begin with.

"Forget already? No questions till we're done." He reminded her.

"I didn't ask a question."

"Your face is wearing one."

Cassian shuffled past Lyra, not bothering to glance her way as he grabbed a rusted trowel off the ground.

With a resigned sigh, Lyra set her satchel and books on the porch steps and rolled up the sleeves of her linen shirt. Cassian was already hacking away at a stubborn weed, tossing each piece into a growing pile with a scowl. She couldn't help but smirk at his lack of gardening finesse - it was clear he knew about as much about plants as a fish did about climbing trees.

Without further ado, Lyra grabbed a pair of gloves and got to work. She cleared away dead leaves and stems, taking care not to damage the few living shoots that clung to life. As she worked, a vision took shape in her mind - rows of lush vegetables interspersed with bursts of colorful flowers, bean poles with vines twining their way skyward, herbs releasing their fragrant oils as she brushed past.

The soil was dry and hard, so that's what she started on next. The historian turning over the compacted dirt to loosen it and allow air to penetrate. The earth was nearly devoid of nutrients, but she found old compost that could be mixed in to enrich it.

She took a critical eye to the scene, considering what plants could still be salvaged. The tomatoes were a lost cause, but maybe with some soil amendments, the cabbage and carrots could thrive. Lyra moved through the garden with purpose, carefully nurturing those that stood a chance and removing those that didn't.

The morning sun beat down as they labored in silence. Cassian attacked each weed like a personal enemy, stabbing at the soil with fury. Lyra worked methodically, carefully removing each weed by the root.

As Lyra worked, she tried to remember long summer days spent carefully watering seedlings, plucking pests off leaves, and watching in wonder as flowers unfurled their petals. She knew the joy of nurturing tiny seeds into ripe, abundant harvests.

After an hour, both were covered in dirt, sweat dripping down their brows. Lyra snuck glances at the legendary hero, his silver hair was matted with sweat and soil as he wrestled with the garden as much as the obvious pain in his joins. She'd gotten used to the constant curses he muttered under his breath.

The morning wore on as they labored to reclaim the overgrown garden. Cassian's joints creaked in protest, but he pushed through the pain, too stubborn to show weakness.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

At one point his back seemed to give out, and he grimaced in pain, leaning heavily on his shovel. He stiffly shuffled inside and returned with two tin cups filled with water so cold it numbed Lyra's hands. She gulped it down gratefully while Cassian sipped his own as he surveyed their progress.

"Hmph, barely made a dent," he grumbled. Though Lyra thought they had done quite well clearing the cabbage plots and half the carrot rows.

Later, as the afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, Cassian's knee joint locked up with an audible pop. He hobbled around cursing for a good fifteen minutes. He limped into the cottage and returned with two tall glasses of iced tea, condensation dripping down the sides.

"Here. Drink up and take five, would ya?" he said, handing Lyra a glass.

She thanked him and gulped the tea greedily, the cold liquid refreshing after hours of work. Cassian leaned against the fence, staring at the garden with a faraway look in his eyes as he sipped his drink.

After their short break, it was back to the grind.

Cassian shuffled back over to the stubborn weed that had caused him to tweak his knee, Its deep roots remained firmly entrenched in the dry soil. He glared at it with contempt.

"You have to be gentle," Lyra said, demonstrating where she was at how to loosen the soil around a weed's base before pulling up slowly. Cassian huffed, squinted like he didn't trust a word she said, but still tried her technique.

The thing came up, root and all, and for the first time that day, Cassian wasn't muttering curses under his breath, he seemed almost happy. Then he caught Lyra still looking at him and shot her a withering glare.

"I didn't bring you here for a lesson in gardening."

"No, clearly you come here to torture plants."

Cassian looked around. "It's as bad as I think it is, isn't it?"

"Worse." Lyra replied, no hesitation.

"You don't know how bad I think it is though."

"Still worse." She insisted.

Cassian laughed, Lyra didn't.

Cassian stared blankly at the desiccated garden plot, lost in thought. This place had never been beautiful, not even at the start. Even he knew this garden was an abomination, a blight upon the pastoral fantasies of little girls and tired old men everywhere. But after spending day upon day hacking away at its overgrowth, cursing its very existence, something strange had happened. The glaring ugliness had faded into a familiar mediocrity. This garden had bullied its way into Cassian's heart, and though he'd never admit it aloud, he'd developed something dangerously close to affection for it. Saw himself in it even.

"I think we've done about all we can for today." He stated. Lyra deeply disagreed, and was about to say so, when she remembered she hadn't come here this morning with the intention of trying to revive a garden from the dead.

Cassian surveyed their progress, his expression unreadable. There was still a lot of work left to get this garden into something that didn't physically hurt to look at though. Lyra stood and dusted off her gloves with a satisfied smile. After a long moment, he sighed and nodded. "You've earned your questions. But not here - inside, where there's cool air and colder tea. But go wash up first, don't want you dirtying up the place."

Lyra almost laughed at that, as anything see did wouldn't help the place more than help. The exterior was run down and ramshackle, with peeling paint and overgrown vines creeping up the walls. As she stepped through the carved wooden door, The interior told much of the same story, uneven creaking floors and rough hand carved furniture.

As for some of the objects inside the house, she was uncomfortable touching without white gloves. The man just left relics and artifacts scattered about. There were dozens of mana stones, some embedded in objects, others just laying where he last used them, a pile of coins just sitting there, there was even a mounted hydra head on the far wall above the hearth. The scales on the hydra alone were worth more than she made in a year.

Cassian directed Lyra to a small washroom. After stripping down, she stepped into a stone shower stall. Next to it was a brilliant blue stone, nearly the size of a fist, that pulsed with energy. Magical runes were carved into the walls, and as she turned them on, jets of steaming water poured down like rain. She looked for any form of soap, but realized the water itself had been infused with the stuff. Another small luxury she didn't expect.

On a shelf she found soft towels and soaps that smelled of exotic spices. She looked at the clearly once expensive towels, faded, misused. She wondered if they were worthless now because of the state they were in, or priceless because who had put them in that state.

Under the towels she found a strange metal box with glyphs etched into the sides. On a hunch, she tentatively placed her dirty clothes inside and shut the lid. When she opened it a few moments later, they had been cleaned and dried, clearly by some sort of magic array.

Lyra changed back into her cloths and ran a comb through her damp hair. She wanted to look in a mirror, but realized Cassian didn't have one.

Refreshed, and trusting her appearance to higher powers, Lyra returned to the main room where Cassian waited. The tables were now laid out with plates of bread, cheese, and fruit. Thankfully, none of the bounty appeared to come from his garden. Her host gestured for Lyra to sit across from him. She did so eagerly, excited that he seemed ready to share more of his story at last.

"Works done." He stated simply. She noticed he was somehow already clean himself, "What do you want to know?"

Lyra had done a lot of thinking last night, and one question kept coming back to her. She decided to ask it now.

"What happened to Blackwater?"

"Oh, that ones easy enough." Cassian took a bite out of what looked like a cross between an apple and a watermelon, clearly gate conjured food, "I killed it."