Peeble landed on my shoulder, and I was surprised by how light they felt. Or maybe I was stronger now.
“Well,” the beetle said, “you didn’t explode. That’s something.”
“Was explosion a real possibility?”
“Oh yes. About thirty percent chance, actually. Though I’ve seen worse odds turn out fine. Well, mostly fine. There was that one time with the pixie who thought she could control lightning, but we don’t talk about that.”
The Sage clapped their hands, and the sound echoed wrong, like it bounced off surfaces that didn’t exist. “She’s passed the first threshold, but barely. The transformation will continue accelerating.”
I looked at my accidental garden more closely. The flowers were moving, very slightly, tracking motion like tiny sentient things. Their appearance shifted when I wasn’t looking directly at them, and I could have sworn one of them had teeth.
“That’s disturbing,” I said.
“That’s the Root,” Kaelren said, crouching to examine one of the flowers without touching it. “Everything it touches becomes more aware. More hungry. More dangerous.” He studied the pattern of growth with the focus of someone analyzing a battlefield. “The way they’re arranged—it’s defensive. Instinctive territory marking.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“You never mean to. That’s the problem.” He stood, brushing moss from his leathers. “Eltrien, check her vitals before she sleeps. Sarnyx, double the perimeter watch—the power spike will have drawn attention. Nimor, scout the approaches. Bryx, make sure Kevin and the other mounts are secure. We may need to move quickly.”
The crew dispersed with practiced efficiency, and I realized this was the first time I’d heard him actually lead them. Not bark orders during combat, but plan. Strategize. Consider multiple threats at once.
“You think something’s coming?” I asked.
“Something’s always coming. The question is whether we’re ready when it arrives.” He looked at the Sage. “How long before the second threshold?”
“Days. Perhaps a week if she’s careful.”
“She won’t be careful. She doesn’t know how yet.” He turned back to me, and his expression was harder to read than usual—not quite anger, more like calculation. “You need rest. Real rest, not collapse. Your body is rebuilding itself at the cellular level. That requires resources.”
“I’m not hungry—”
“You will be. Bryx is bringing food that won’t kill you. Eat it. All of it.” He paused, then added, “The flowers you made? They’re feeding off your excess power. As long as they’re growing, you’re stable. When they start dying, that’s when we worry.”
“Why?”
“Because it means you’re not generating excess anymore. You’re consuming everything you produce just to maintain the transformation.” His silver eyes met mine. “That’s when people start burning through their humanity to fuel the power.”
It was the longest explanation he’d given me about anything, and the fact that he’d bothered felt significant.
“Thank you,” I said.
He looked uncomfortable with the gratitude. “It’s practical information. You’re no use to anyone if you burn out before the second threshold.”
“Right. Practical.” But I saw Peeble’s antennae twitch in a way that suggested the beetle didn’t believe him either.
As evening approached—marked more by the dimming glow of the bioluminescent fungi than any actual sunset—the hollow settled into its own rhythm. I could hear the sounds of the community around us: arguments in languages I didn’t recognize, laughter that sounded like breaking glass, children (or child-like things) playing games that seemed to involve a lot of screaming. The smell of cooking food drifted through the air, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was being cooked.
Bryx appeared with what he claimed was dinner—some kind of stew that glowed faintly and tasted like mushrooms and regret. “It’s nutritious,” he said when I made a face. “Probably won’t kill you.”
“Probably?”
“Ninety percent sure. Maybe eighty-five.”
I ate it anyway because the alternative was starving, and my transformed body seemed to need more fuel than before. The marks on my skin pulsed gently as I ate, and I could feel them spreading incrementally, claiming more territory with each heartbeat.
“Hey,” Bryx said suddenly, his compound eyes reflecting the fungal light in fascinating patterns. “Want to see something cool?”
“Does it involve potential death?”
