Roots of Ruin

The fused vines pulsed beneath Feron's soil like a second heartbeat, their glow casting an eerie silver-crimson light across the war council table. Valencia traced the map's inked borders, her fingertips brushing the jagged line where Feron and Pherr met—now scarred by Lysandra's advancing forces. Xyrus stood at her side, his presence a steady counterweight to the storm in her veins.

"They'll strike at dawn," he said, tapping the Deadmarsh. "Vela's serpents thrive in rot."

The rebel leader snorted. "And your precious vines? Will they choke on Lysandra's poison?"

Valencia's hand drifted to the dagger at her hip—the one forged from Liora's fused blade. "They'll feast on it."

The battlefield was a graveyard of mud and mangled steel. Lysandra's forces slithered through the mist, their scaled armor hissing as Valencia and Xyrus rode to the front lines. The rebel leader's fighters flanked them, their loyalty as brittle as the frost beneath their boots.

"Remember," Xyrus murmured, his breath clouding in the dawn chill, "the vines respond to both of us now."

Valencia nodded, flexing her bandaged palm. "Let's give Vela a show."

They dismounted, pressing their bloodied hands to the earth. The ground shuddered, and the fused vines erupted—a tempest of silver and crimson thorns that tore through Lysandra's front line. Soldiers screamed as the roots dragged them under, their blood fueling the vines' rabid growth.

But the victory was short-lived.

The vines recoiled suddenly, retracting as if scorched. Valencia stumbled, her vision blurring. Xyrus caught her, his grip tight. "What's wrong?"

She stared at her trembling hands. "They're rejecting us."

Queen Vela's laughter cut through the chaos as she emerged astride her serpent mount. "Did you think blending your blood would make you invincible? Naive." She held aloft a vial of inky liquid—Liora's preserved blood, stolen from the crypts. "Your ancestor's rot runs deeper than you know."

Valencia lunged, but the vines writhed wildly, lashing at both armies. Xyrus pulled her back as a thorn speared the ground where she'd stood.

"Fall back!" he ordered, but the rebel leader's voice rose above the din.

"Hold the line!" The woman shoved past them, her crow-feather cloak billowing. "You've made your pact with Feron's devil. Now bleed for it!"

Valencia hesitated—then sliced her palm and clasped Xyrus's hand. Their combined blood dripped onto the roots, and the vines screamed, tearing through Lysandra's ranks with frenzied precision.

But with every kill, Valencia felt the corruption seep deeper. Liora's face haunted her vision, twisted and hungry.

In the aftermath, they surveyed the carnage. The Deadmarsh ran red, the fused vines now brittle and blackened at the tips.

"They're dying," Xyrus said, crouching to touch a withered root.

"No." Valencia knelt beside him. "They're changing."

The rebel leader approached, her blade unsheathed. "You've tainted the cure. Turned it into a weapon."

"You wanted survival," Valencia snapped. "This is what it looks like."

The woman's gaze flicked to Xyrus. "And him? Will you let Feron's prince share your throne—and your curse?"

Before Valencia could answer, a scout stumbled into camp, clutching a scorched scroll. "The mines—they've collapsed. The silver… it's alive."

Deep in the earth, they found the truth: the fused vines had infiltrated Feron's silver veins, birthing jagged crystals that pulsed with their combined blood. Xyrus pressed a hand to the wall, his breath catching. "They're draining the land. Feeding on us."

Valencia touched a crystal, her reflection fracturing in its surface. "Liora didn't vanish. She became this."

The rebel leader's voice echoed from the tunnel. "You've awoken the same rot you tried to kill. How poetic."

Xyrus drew his sword. "Choose a side. Now."

The woman smiled. "I already have." She hurled a crystal shard at Valencia—but Xyrus knocked it aside, the stone slicing his arm.

Blood dripped, and the crystals hummed, their light intensifying.

Valencia grabbed his wounded arm. "We need to go. Now."

That night, in the shattered palace, Valencia cleaned Xyrus's cut, her hands unsteady. "The crystals respond to our blood. To any blood."

He caught her wrist. "Vela will exploit this. Turn it against us."

"Then we destroy the mines."

"And lose Feron's strength?" He shook his head. "There's another way."

She leaned close, her voice a whisper. "What if we're the rot? What if this is what Liora tried to stop?"

Xyrus cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Then we'll burn together."