Gardener of Eden

Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Registration

The morning sun broke through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across a room that felt entirely different from the day before.

For fifteen years, this room had been a quiet sanctuary—or a velvet-lined prison. Now, as Rowan sat on the edge of his bed, flexing his small, thin fingers and feeling the solid, painless density of his bones, the world outside felt vast and brimming with possibility.

”Rowan? Sweetheart, are you ready?”

Martha pushed the door open, carrying a freshly washed tunic. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t disappeared overnight, but the crushing exhaustion that usually slouched her shoulders was gone. Her eyes shone with a tearful, miraculous brightness.

”I’m ready, Mum,” Rowan said softly, standing up on his own two feet. His legs were still impossibly thin—his Strength and Agility sitting at a meager 2—making his movements slow, deliberate, and slightly unsteady, like a newborn fawn finding its footing. But he was walking.

”Take it slow,” Martha murmured, rushing over to steady his arm. ”Your father went to his morning shift at the docks with the lightest heart he’s had in fifteen years. He wanted to come with us to the Association, but...”

”I know,” Rowan smiled gently, leaning slightly on her for balance. ”Dad needs to earn back the time he took off. We’ll tell him everything tonight.”

The local Awakener’s Association building stood at the heart of the lower district—a sturdy, stone-built hall where fifteen-year-olds gathered every morning after the celestial alignment to officially register their awakened professions and receive their basic identification badges.

The grand hall was packed with loud, buzzing teenagers and proud parents.

”Did you hear? Young Master Julian from the North District awakened as a Tier-2 [Flame Mage]!” ”My boy got [Iron Vanguard]! The local defense guild already handed him an interview ticket!”

Excitement hummed through the air. In this world, the Awakener’s Association categorized professions neatly into combat, utility, support, and common labor.

Martha guided Rowan gently through the crowd, shielding his fragile frame from the eager teenagers rushing around. Rowan observed it all quietly. His high Intelligence (15) allowed him to absorb the chaotic environment effortlessly, picking up on details, whispers, and the faint traces of mana humming off the newly awakened youths.

Eventually, they reached Registration Desk 4. Sitting behind it was a middle-aged clerk with tired eyes, flipping through heavy parchment ledgers.

”Next,” the clerk droned, not looking up. ”Name, age, and hold out your right hand over the Mana Orb for verification.”

”Rowan Vance. Age fifteen,” Rowan said, stepping forward.

He placed his small hand over the cool, translucent glass orb on the counter. A dim blue light pulsed inside the crystal as it read his signature, translating the system data registered by the cosmos.

The clerk’s quill hovered over the parchment. ”Alright, let’s see... Rowan Vance... Class registered:”

The crystal flashed, displaying the official title read by the local system network:

[ Profession: Gardener ]

The local registration array—built only to recognize standard world classes—completely filtered out the transcendent prefix ’of Eden’. To the mundane machinery of the kingdom, the cosmic singularity of a Unique class simply read as the lowest agricultural labor tier.

”Gardener,” the clerk muttered, writing it down without batting an eye. ”A common utility class. Standard farming, estate maintenance, basic soil priming. Honest work, kid. You can apply for a permit to work in the Outer Farm Lands, or try for an apprenticeship tending the private gardens of the noble houses in the Upper District. They always need folks to trim hedges and keep the mana-roses pretty.”

”Thank you, sir,” Rowan replied with a polite, gentle bow.

”Here’s your Bronze Identification Badge,” the clerk said, sliding a dull metal token across the counter. ”Next!”

As they walked out of the loud, crowded hall, Martha squeezed Rowan’s hand gently, her eyes soft with maternal care. ”A Gardener is wonderful, Rowan. It’s safe. No fighting monsters, no dungeons. You can work in a quiet conservatory or a noble’s estate...”

”Mum,” Rowan stopped walking, looking up at her with a calm, serene smile. ”I don’t think I want to apply for the noble estates just yet.”

Martha blinked, surprised. ”You don’t? But the pay for estate gardeners is quite stable, dear.”

”I want to understand my class first,” Rowan explained softly. His eyes held a quiet depth that went far beyond his fifteen years. ”Our backyard has been overgrown and abandoned for years. I want to build a small garden back there. I want to learn how to tend to flowers, feel the soil, and see how things grow with my own hands first.”

Martha looked at her son. For fifteen years, he had been trapped indoors, looking at the outside world through a cracked window pane. The thought of him standing in the sunlight, digging his hands into the earth, brought a warm lump to her throat.

”Alright,” Martha smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. ”If you want to build a garden, then we’ll build a garden.”