The Garden of the Endless

"Grief had carved its mark upon them, a wound that time refused to mend—but in the quiet sanctuary of the garden, where a single sapling took root, hope had not yet withered."

— Master Edrion of the Order of Drava

Silence blankets the garden, broken only by the wind weaving through the trees, rustling the leaves, and gently kissing the tips of the flowers. The animals that wander here seem to sense the solace too. Butterflies flit through the branches, and by night, fireflies gather like spirits in the dark. The soft murmur of flowing water weaves through the garden, adding to the peaceful hush. In the distance, the sorrow of those who have come to plant their memories lingers in the air, a quiet reminder of loss.

Near every Order of Drava, there lies a garden—a sacred space dedicated to those lost too soon. These vast gardens stand as testaments to time, and within the Garden of the Endless, the departed may find eternal peace. Retired healers of the Order tend to them, finding their own final place of rest among the memories they nurture.

Heartache and grief are etched into the very roots of the flowers and trees, each planted by grieving parents and loved ones—a living tribute to those who were lost. A place of true quiet, small streams weave through the garden, said to form a path to the Under-Sanctuary. It is written that Drava, mourning the many young souls he could not save, took pity and planted the first of the lost within his own garden, so that they might live on forever in its embrace. Nelous the God of the Death, treats these gardens as small sanctuaries were these souls might find peace.

Those who come are offered tree saplings, flower bulbs, or whatever they need to plant a memory of their lost one. The healers provide tools and then step back, allowing each mourner to find their own space within the garden to lay their grief to rest. There is no right or wrong way for this process, and if someone cannot complete task a healer is always there to help.

The garden is always open, for sorrow does not keep to hours—it arrives unbidden, crashing over the soul in waves that break a person into pieces. The healers offer tea, food, and quiet comfort, but loss is not an easy wound to mend. Some pains are not meant to heal, only to be carried.

All are welcome here in the Garden of the Endless.

Excerpt From Little Flower and The Demon Manuscript

"Some wounds never heal. They grow with you, shaping the person you become—scars written in silence, grief buried beneath the roots of time."

— Lucien Valcoris

Lucien’s mind drifted back to a darker time, a moment etched in his memory like a scar. It was when they were part of the Brothers, young and reckless, their lives tangled in a web of ambition and desire. He recalled the joy and fear in Dulcianna’s eyes when she first revealed the secret they shared—a child growing within her. Even though he hadn’t been ready then, he would have done anything to keep them safe.

But tragedy struck. A cruel twist of fate tore them apart in the market, a violent encounter that left Dulcianna shattered. The vicious ecounter stole their child from them, and the ache of that loss resonated in his chest like a haunting melody. He remembered the day she came to him, holding a small box in trembling hands, her voice barely a whisper as she asked him to go with her to the Order of Drava.

“I want to plant them in the garden,” she had said, her eyes filled with tears.

He hadn’t known of the place, the Garden of the Endless. But he followed her, compelled by a mix of love and sorrow. When they arrived, Master Edrion had met them with solemnity, giving her a sapling tree that seemed almost fragile in her grasp. Lucien stood by as she searched for a small space among the vibrant flora, digging into the earth with desperate hands. Tears streamed down her face, and the sight of her anguish twisted his heart.

He had taken over, unable to bear watching her suffer as she tried to bury their shared dreams. The act of digging felt foreign—an unwelcome ritual of grief that he never imagined would bring him such heartache. As she whispered her goodbyes, planting the small box beneath the sapling, he felt as though they were burying a piece of themselves. He offered a quiet prayer to Nelous, hoping the little one would live on in the afterlife.

For a long time, it had been their secret—a silent pact forged in the depths of sorrow.

His gaze flickered back to Dulcianna, the weight of that memory pressing on his chest like a stone. The scars of their past lingered, but so did a flicker of hope. He wanted to believe that they could rise from the ashes of their heartbreak, stronger and more resilient.