Reyn landed with soft feet in beauty that made her eyes water.

  The garden existed at the edge of everything, where possibility became flower and bloomed into might-have-been. Each blossom was a window into a different reality. Rose petals showed worlds where she'd never left Bormecia. Lily stamens revealed futures where she'd become a merchant, a mother, a memory. Reyn couldn't help but feel satisfied with the world she was born in.

  "Early," said a voice like wind through autumn leaves. "Or late. Time does not matter much here."

  The gardener was ancient in the way mountains were ancient, present before the question of age became relevant. He, at least he looked like a he, moved between the flowers, adjusting reality with gentle touches.

  "Tea?" he offered, plucking a leaf that sparkled. "A fall like that would leave one thirsty, I imagine."

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  Reyn accepted the cup. The liquid tasted of tomorrow's rain and yesterday's sunshine. "How long have I been falling?"

  "Forever. None at all. The question assumes linear time, which is adorable, but inaccurate." The gardener smiled. "In your world? A month, give or take. Here? We're having tea."

  "That's... less than helpful."

  "Help is relative. Understanding is optional. Tea is certain." He refilled her cup. "You're taking this well."

  Reyn sipped the tea. It tasted of everything at once, each flavor distinct yet simultaneous. It made her thoughts fizz. "I'm too tired to panic properly, if that's what you mean."

  "Wisdom often wears exhaustion's mask." The gardener tended a flower that bloomed backwards into seed. "Your sword is lovely, by the way. From the Cemetery? The best weapons end up there. All those endings pressed into steel."

  "It cuts through air. It cuts... portals, I think."

  "Everything cuts something. Swords cut flesh. Words cut hearts. Time cuts everything." The Gardener paused. "That may be the tea talking."

  Reyn laughed. The sound surprised her, bubbling up from somewhere deep. Real laughter, not the polite kind. She laughed until her ribs hurt, until tears came, until she tilted too far back in her chair and felt gravity take a hold of her.

  As she fell backwards and the Gardener and his garden disappeared above her, Reyn could taste chamomile and cosmic irony on her tongue.