The old man didn't look up. "I planted every flower here before the flames came. And I watched each one die."
Victor frowned. "So you've been here the whole time?"
He paused briefly... "Since the city was burned to the ground. Since we were all betrayed. Since the anchor was born from the hatred of the fallen."
Victor stepped closer. "Then help me destroy it."
The spirit's eyes glowed brighter, reflecting centuries of pain. "And what would you do if it showed you every agony we endured? Would you still strike it down?"
"Without hesitation," Victor said. "I'm not your savior. But I don't like seeing people shackled—living or dead."
The ghost's smile was small but real. He stood slowly and pointed to the center of the garden where a monument stood—
"That is where it began," the gardener stated.
Victor looked at the statue. For a second, he swore he heard a sob come from it.
Something swirled in the air—resentment, grief, desperation.
