Chapter Thirteen

Garth woke slowly, his body sinking deep into the most luxurious bed he had ever felt. Silk sheets, far too soft for a man used to the scratchy wool of a Citadel cot, wrapped him in a cocoon of warmth. The air, however, was icy, like he had somehow been transported north beyond the Wall. Groggily, Garth opened his eyes, trying to piece together the chaos of his last memories. The Red Wastes. Slavers. Walking until he collapsed. And then... the boys. The flying boys. He remembered seeing them, vaguely, and then nothing. Was this a dream?

He glanced around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. This was no slaver's tent. One wall was covered in bookshelves, stacked high with neatly arranged volumes, each one beautifully bound and clearly well cared for. Garth's eyes drifted over the titles, but as he squinted, he realized with growing frustration that he couldn't read any of them. The script was unlike anything he had ever seen, strange and sharp, as if it were from a language entirely foreign to the world he knew. His head ached just looking at it.

On the opposite wall was something even stranger: a wall of glass. Crystal clear and flawless, it was as if someone had simply removed the wall altogether and replaced it with nothing but air. Garth had seen glass in Myr, the famed city of glassmaking, but nothing as pristine as this. Beyond the glass, a lush garden stretched out before him, impossibly green and blooming with life. The trees were trimmed into fantastical shapes—an elephant, a dragon, a lion—and the flowers were the most vibrant colors he had ever seen. But further beyond the garden, just visible in the distance, was the familiar and unforgiving expanse of the Red Wastes.

A sharp contrast, indeed. Was this place real?

Then his eyes caught something else, something glowing softly in the corner of the room. A statue of a woman, tall and serene, cast in some kind of white stone, with a face so peaceful that Garth felt a strange calmness just looking at her. Her hands were clasped in prayer, her eyes downcast, and she glowed with a soft, ethereal light. He didn't recognize the figure, but she seemed important, like a guardian watching over him.

Just as Garth began to feel a sense of security, a loud bang rang through the room as the door was kicked open. Garth practically leapt out of bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He instinctively grabbed a pillow, holding it in front of him as if it could somehow protect him from whatever storm had just entered.

"OOH YEAH!" boomed a voice from the doorway.

A man swaggered into the room, his entire body gleaming like a starry night. He was wearing what could only be described as the most absurd outfit Garth had ever seen—a silver, shining suit that caught the light in a way that made him look like a human-shaped disco ball. Garth blinked rapidly, wondering if the brightness was affecting his eyesight. The man had kicked the door open with such dramatic flair that it seemed like he was about to perform some sort of dance number.

Before Garth could process any of this, the man struck a pose, pointing at him with both hands like he was waiting for applause. "I am Mark! The one and only!"

Garth, still clutching the pillow, blinked in confusion. "Uh... what?"

Mark, clearly undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm, strutted further into the room, flashing a dazzling smile. "Mark Lantrun. Savior of the Red Wastes, master of disco suits, and the guy who just saved your sorry butt."

Garth's mouth opened and closed, trying to form some kind of coherent response. "S-saved me? From what?"

Mark leaned casually against the bookshelf, crossing his arms. "Oh, you know, the whole 'being sold into slavery in Qarth and dying of thirst in the desert' thing. Small stuff." He grinned. "My boys—Taren and Orin—took care of those slavers before you ended up on a spit roast."

Garth's grip tightened on the pillow. This man, this shining man, was speaking as if everything that had happened was a mere inconvenience, like being late for tea.

"Wait... so, I'm free?" Garth asked, still struggling to make sense of it all.

Mark nodded, his grin never faltering. "Free as a bird, baby. And welcome to Eden." He gestured with both hands like a magician revealing his greatest trick. "Our little paradise here in the middle of nowhere."

"Eden?" Garth repeated. His eyes darted around the room again, trying to understand the sheer strangeness of it all. "What is this place? Where am I?"

Mark sighed dramatically, as if he'd been waiting for this question all day. "Eden is a sanctuary, my friend. A little corner of heaven, tucked away from all the madness of the world." He paused, grinning even wider. "And I'm the guy in charge."

Garth's brain was racing, trying to keep up with the onslaught of information. "But... why? Why would you save me?"

Mark waved a hand dismissively. "Why not? I don't like slavers, for one. And two, you looked like you needed a little break. So, consider this your lucky day." He looked around the room theatrically. "Take a load off. Enjoy the garden. Read some books... not that you'll be able to, since you probably don't speak English."

"English?" Garth echoed, bewildered.

"Yeah, the language of awesomeness," Mark replied with a wink. "You'll catch on. Or not. Doesn't really matter."

Garth was speechless. Everything about this place—and this man—was completely insane. The garden, the statue, the cold air, the suit. It was like he had stepped into a fever dream.

Mark clapped his hands together, startling Garth out of his thoughts. "So! You've got two options. Option one: You stay here. Rest up, live the good life. Food, books, shelter—you know, the essentials. Option two: You head back out into the Red Wastes, take your chances, and try to make your way to Qarth or wherever you were going."

Garth stared at him. "Go back? I'd die."

Mark nodded seriously. "Yup. Almost definitely. But hey, I'll give you a couple of supplies to make it fun. A map, maybe a canteen. I'll even throw in a hat if you want."

The absurdity of it all made Garth laugh, a sharp, incredulous sound that echoed in the cold room. He couldn't tell if this was all a joke, or if Mark was genuinely serious.

"And... if I stay here?" Garth asked slowly, lowering the pillow slightly.

Mark's smile softened, and for a moment, he seemed almost sincere. "Then you stay. Live a life free of worry, free of danger. You're safe here. We've got food, books, shelter... hell, we've even got Wi-Fi."

Garth blinked. "Wi... what?"

Mark shook his head, chuckling. "Never mind. You'll figure it out. The point is, you're welcome to stay. No strings attached."

Garth looked around again, his mind racing. This place was strange, yes, but it was beautiful. Peaceful. A far cry from the slaver's chains and the brutal desert. The statue of the woman glowed softly in the corner, as if beckoning him to stay.

Mark clapped him on the shoulder, startling him once more. "Take your time, bud. No rush. Think it over."

And with that, Mark turned on his heel, striding out of the room with the same dramatic flair with which he had entered. As he left, he struck one final pose at the doorway. "Welcome to Eden!" he announced grandly, before disappearing down the hallway.

Garth stood there for a long moment, still holding the pillow as if it were a shield. His heart was pounding, and his mind was spinning with questions. But despite the absurdity of it all, one thing was certain.

He was free. And for the first time in a long time, he felt safe.

Garth collapsed back into the soft bed, sinking into the silk sheets. His eyelids grew heavy, and as he drifted off to sleep, he wondered if perhaps he had, in fact, stumbled into paradise.

But as the cold air wrapped around him, and the soft glow of the statue bathed him in light, Garth decided that for now, paradise would do.