A Tale of Doubt and Disruption

The Festival didn’t die when the gardens began to bloom.

It simply changed form.

Mara stopped throwing Wishstones herself.

She didn’t need to anymore.

Instead, she watched the Garden — the quiet paths, the planted seeds, the dwellers who no longer wore masks.

These ones weren’t louder. But they were visible.

They glowed in a different way.

And Mara knew something important:

If she couldn’t tempt the Gardeners, she could tempt the Trailhunters — and let them do the rest.

So, one night, something new appeared near the roots.It looked like a seed — warm, round, gentle light. But it buzzed, softly, just beneath the surface. Like it wanted to be noticed. Like it couldn’t wait.

Trailhunter offering the false seed to a hesitant dweller in the forest fog.

Trailhunter offering the false seed to a hesitant dweller in the forest fog.

The next morning, a Trailhunter picked one up and held it to the light.

It hummed in his hand.

He smiled.

“It grows faster,” he said, to no one in particular. “Maybe that’s what we need now.”

Soon, more appeared.

Always unmarked. Always glowing. Always… available.

And never from Maneki.

At first, the Gardeners didn’t notice.

They were tending their own sprouts — slow, real, rooted.But slowly, rumors drifted in through the mist.

“Did you see the new trail near the creek? Their garden doubled overnight. Maybe these new seeds are just… better."

Some stayed cautious.

Some stayed loyal.

But others were tired — tired of waiting, tired of growing, tired of defending something so fragile.

So they picked up the new seeds. Just to try.

And try they did.

These new plants shot up fast. Too fast. Their leaves gleamed unnaturally. Their fruit glowed before it ripened. And the Garden paths grew tangled with vines that looked like blessings but cut when brushed too closely

Even among the Gardeners, whispers began:

“What if Maneki’s way is too slow? What if she doesn’t understand how fast things move now? What if we’ve been left behind?”

Maneki heard them all.

She didn’t shout. She didn’t argue.

She sat beneath her lantern, her tail curled gently around a single true seed.And when questioned, she said only:

A real seed carries silence.

A real path doesn’t need to shout.

Maneki Beside the True Seed

But the Garden had changed.

Trailhunters now visited often — not to tend, but to suggest.

They came not with questions, but offers.

Not with lanterns, but smiles too wide, and pockets too full.

And Mara?

She watched, satisfied.

“Let them plant,” she whispered. “I only needed a way in.”

One dusk, it happened.

In the oldest garden — the one grown from the first seed, the one watered by the very first tear — a bloom opened too quickly.

Its light flared, pulsed… and exploded.

The First Garden Breaks

The shock tore through the vines, wilting the roots it had fed on.

A dozen other gardens flickered.

A hundred dwellers turned.

“Why didn’t she stop it?” someone cried.

But Maneki only closed her eyes.

“Because I don’t command. I guide. And not every light is a lantern."

That night, the Festival roared louder than it had in weeks.

The chase was back. The glow had returned.

And even some of the Gardeners… danced again.

But beneath the soil — deep beneath the damage and doubt —a tremor stirred.

Something old.

Something watching.

And in the hush before the next dawn, the forest held its breath