I’d heard about it in whispers, in fragments of overheard conversations, in the fearful murmurs of servants who’d seen it and never quite recovered. But seeing it was different.
It rose from the floor like a twisted tree, easily twenty feet tall. Crystal grew from wood grew from metal in a way that shouldn’t be possible—branches of silver sprouting leaves of emerald, roots of copper diving into stone, all of it wrapped in something organic that pulsed like living flesh. The whole structure glowed with that same green corruption, beautiful and terrible at once.
The Bloom had been growing here for generations. The first Elle had planted its seed, and every ruler since then had been feeding it with power and ambition. Now, Auradelle had inherited it and made it his life’s work, shaping it, feeding it, preparing it for this moment. For me.
Conduits—thick tubes of twisted metal and wood—erupted from the Bloom’s trunk like arteries, spreading across the chamber floor. They pulsed with dark light, carrying corruption to channels carved in the walls. At the heart of the structure was a space carved out of the trunk itself, shaped like a person standing with arms outstretched. My height. My build. Thorns lined the opening, each one as long as my hand and sharp as surgical steel.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Auradelle’s voice echoed through the chamber. He stepped from behind the Bloom, his dark robes stark against the green glow. “The culmination of centuries of work. Every marked one who failed, every attempt at balance that went wrong, every drop of blood spilled in the name of fixing what was broken—it all led to this.”
“It looks like what would happen if a torture device had sex with a nightmare and their baby was raised by sadists,” I said, because apparently my mouth had decided to keep being defiant even though my knees wereshaking.
He actually laughed at that, cold and bitter. “Accurate. It was designed to be both beautiful and terrible. Like power itself. Like the choice between order and chaos. Like love, if you think about it.”
“I’d rather not think about your definition of love, thanks.”
“No? But you’re about to experience it intimately.” He gestured, and the guards forced me forward. “Strip her.”
They tore the ceremonial robes away, leaving me in just a shift that barely covered anything. The cold air bit at my skin, making my marks flare brighter in response. I tried to fight, but the guards knew exactly where to grip, exactly how much pressure to apply to cause maximum pain with minimum visible damage. They’d done this before. Many times. To how many others who’d stood where I was standing?
They forced me into the Bloom’s embrace.
The moment my skin touched it, agony exploded through every nerve. The thorns didn’t just pierce—they burrowed, finding my marks with unerring precision. I felt them sink deep, hooking into muscle and bone, locking me in place. They pulsed, drinking something from me with each beat. Not just blood, though that flowed freely. Something deeper. Something essential.
“Perfect,” Auradelle murmured, beginning to connect the conduits. Each one attached to a different part of me—metal clamps closing around my wrists and ankles, a collar locking around my throat, probes pressing into the base of my spine and temples, a larger device settling over my heart. Each connection was its own special agony, metal and magic burrowing under my skin. “Do you know what these are?”
I couldn’t answer through the pain. My vision blurred white, then red, then green. Every nerve was screaming.
“They’re Root channels, corrupted and purified in endless cycles until they exist between states. Neither Root nor Bloom, but both and neither. They’ll take your essence—everything that makes you Elle—and spread it through the Heartspire itself. You’ll become the building, and it will become you. A living bridge between worlds.”
“That’s… impossible…”
“Your grandmother thought so, too. She ran before we could test it. Smart woman, in her way. She knew she wasn’t strong enough. Your mother might have survived it—she had the strength, the will—but she chose death instead. Selfish to the end. She could have saved the realm, but she chose to save herself from the pain.”
The conduits began to pulse. Green light flowed through them in a rhythm. I felt the magic pulling at me, trying to spread my consciousness outward. My thoughts scattered. My sense of self began to fray at the edges, reaching beyond my body into the Heartspire’s ancient stones.
“Stop!” I screamed. The word echoed strangely, coming not just from my mouth but from the walls, the floor, the air itself. My voice was spreading, becoming part of the building.
“We’re just beginning,” Auradelle said, moving to a panel of levers and crystalline dials set into the chamber wall. “When the Convergence peaks, when reality is at its thinnest, I’ll force the final merger. You’ll become the Bloom’s living key, whether you choose it or not.”
Through the bond, muffled but still there, I felt Kaelren’s rage spike to levels that shouldn’t be survivable. He was coming. Gods, he was almost here, corruption spreading with every step, becoming something monstrous to save me. I could feel him tearing through guards, leaving trails of decay in his wake.
“Yes,” Auradelle said, apparently able to read my thoughts through the Bloom’s connection. “Let him come. His corruption will make the perfect catalyst. When he arrives, when he sees you like this, his rage will complete what we’ve started. The Root and Bloom will merge in a conflagration of fury and desperation.”
“You’re using us.”
“I’m using everything. Every piece on the board, every fragment of power, every drop of blood spilled in this worthless war. The realm has been dying for longer than you’ve been alive. Longer than your mother was alive. The balance was broken before the first Crown took the throne, and every attempt to fix it has only made it worse.”
He began adjusting the controls, pulling levers and turning dials. Eachadjustment sent fresh waves of agony through me as the conduits dug deeper, pulled harder. But through the pain, I started to understand what he was really saying. This wasn’t just about power or control. He genuinely believed he was saving the realm, even if it meant destroying everything in it first.
“Do you… have any idea… what it’s like… being tortured by a madman who thinks he’s a hero?”
He actually paused at that. “Every madman thinks he’s the hero of his own story, child. The only difference is that I have the power to make my story a reality. I have the will to do what must be done, no matter the cost. Your mother understood that. That’s why she chose death. She knew that sometimes the hero has to become the monster.”
Mora appeared at the edge of my vision, trying to push past the guards. They held her back, but she kept trying, kept reaching for me. Blood ran from where she’d hit her head, and her eyes were desperate. She was humming something, barely audible over the chamber’s echoes. An old song of some sort.
The conduits pulsed harder. And then something happened that Auradelle hadn’t expected.
My marks didn’t just spread—they began to change. The golden vines started producing actual flowers, tiny blooms no bigger than my thumbnail. They opened and closed with my heartbeat, releasing pollen that caught the green light and turned it gold.
