The morning of the six hundred and thirty-second year brought a clarity that I had not felt since the moment I became part of the garden. The source stone was glowing brighter than ever. The song threads were singing with a resonance that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The water was flowing with a purpose that felt different, more complete.
Arin and Sorcha had passed on the guardianship long ago. The current guardians were a pair named Eamon and Brigid. They were the oldest guardians the garden had ever had, chosen not for their youth but for their wisdom. They had spent their entire lives in the garden, learning its secrets and understanding its depths.
They felt the clarity that morning. They knew that something was about to change. Something that would complete the vision in
