Sylvara's Rebirth: A New Dawn for Abel novel Chapter 56

**Chapter 56: How Do You Treat Him?**

There was simply no way I could allow my husband, who seemed to have been plucked from the depths of a bargain bin, to come to harm. I was determined to find a way to protect him, to nurse him back to health without exposing myself in the process.

Sylvara felt the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Her eyes flitted around the room, scanning for any sign of danger or opportunity. After what felt like an eternity of contemplation, she sprang into action. Sitting upright, she rolled out of bed with a sense of urgency, moving with a speed that seemed almost unnatural. In mere moments, she washed herself with a fervor that spoke to her determination and changed into fresh clothes that clung to her as she rushed out the door.

With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a lemon into existence, its bright yellow hue a stark contrast against the earthy tones of the clay pot she held tightly to her chest. Without a second thought, she dashed toward the Agriculture Department’s experimental grounds, her heart racing with both excitement and apprehension.

Aslan, meanwhile, was hunched over, a bucket of beast dung swinging in one hand and a pair of metal tongs in the other. He was busy shoving clumps of mutant-beast manure into the soil, the pungent aroma wafting around him like a noxious cloud. The entire experimental base reeked of decay and something akin to fermented socks, a smell that could turn even the strongest stomach.

Sylvara approached, the lemon tree cradled protectively in her arms, her nose nearly glued to the fruit as she inhaled its sharp, invigorating scent. “Aslan, this is not how you bury manure,” she exclaimed, a mix of irritation and disbelief coloring her tone.

It was astounding how deeply rooted the farming instincts of the old Hesperians were within Aslan. No one else could ever hope to replicate their methods—an art form that seemed to be etched into their very bones.

Aslan turned his head, revealing his androgynous beauty, his face partially obscured by a cloth strip that covered his mouth and nose. But the moment he caught sight of the lemon tree in Sylvara’s embrace, he tore the cloth away as if he were unwrapping a long-lost treasure. He leaped to his feet, his eyes wide with excitement. “Sweetheart… you really are my sweetheart!”

Sylvara had anticipated this reaction, so she quickly hoisted the lemon tree high above her head. The overwhelming stench of manure hit her like a wall, causing her to gag momentarily. With a fierce glare, she issued a warning, “Stay right there. Move one step closer, and I swear I’ll drop it.”

Instantly, Aslan froze in place, his hands raised in surrender. “Sweetheart, let’s talk this through. Easy now—that lemon tree looks fragile.”

Sylvara lowered the lemon tree slightly, hugging the clay pot once more with a sly grin. “You want it?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

The leaves of the lemon tree were a vibrant, deep green, and the fruit—each the size of a fist—exuded a crisp, zesty fragrance that was intoxicating. Even from a distance of a couple of steps, Aslan could feel the hum of mental energy radiating from the fruits. He recognized it immediately, just as he had recognized the fruit he had managed to con out of her the day before—this tree was a creation of a Level-7 Plant Healer.

“Of course, I want it. What’s your price?” Aslan’s eyes were glued to the lemon tree, his expression intense. “As long as it’s reasonable, I’m in.”

With a flick of her wrist, Sylvara tossed the pot lightly toward him. “Deal. Catch!”

Aslan’s expression shifted dramatically. He sprang into action, leaping like a cat and snatching the pot from the air, cradling it against his chest. His eyes darted around the tree, inspecting it meticulously, and only after confirming that it had sustained no damage did he let out a sigh of relief. Turning back to Sylvara, he declared, “Sweetheart, you really are my sweetheart. I’ve made a decision—you are the chief student of this year’s Plant Department freshman class.”

Sylvara raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. She had no idea that he held such a position; she assumed he was merely boasting. “Aslan, don’t flatter yourself. You’re impressive, but you can’t just appoint the chief student.”

Aslan snorted, a proud grin spreading across his face. “I say you’re the chief, so you are. With this lemon tree in your possession—even if you were the worst student here, the chief seat is yours.”

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