Chapter 39: The Whispering Rot

The First Bloom's Lure

The flower's song was everywhere. It slithered through the grove like a serpent made of honey and thorns, sweet enough to make teeth ache, sharp enough to flay the soul. Priam stood before the Bloom, its petals trembling with every note. They were not petals at all, he realized—they were faces, half-formed and screaming, their mouths stretched wide to mimic Nyra's lullaby.

"It's using her," Seraphine muttered, her voice raw. "Using what's left of her to bait them."

Them. The voidspawn.

They came at twilight, drawn by the Bloom's siren call. Not the mindless horrors of before, but evolved things. Their forms defied sense: bodies of liquid shadow studded with human teeth, limbs that split into fractal branches, eyes that pulsed with stolen memories. They moved like a tide, their whispers harmonizing with the Bloom's song.

Voidspawn Evolution:

The Mimics: Shapeshifters that wear the faces of the dead. Their skin bubbles and reforms, echoing voices of loved ones.

The Fractals: Geometrical horrors, their bodies folding into impossible angles. Their touch unravels reality.

The Weepers: Tall, emaciated figures with hollow eyes. They secrete a black resin that puppeteers corpses.

Mira huddled behind Aevum's roots, her root-veined arm clutched to her chest. "They're everywhere."

Priam's scars throbbed. "Stay close. Don't look at their eyes."

The Rot in the Light

The Verdant Covenant's survivors had barricaded themselves in the grove's remnants, but their faith had curdled into something desperate. They painted their faces with Aevum's golden sap, now rancid and cloying, and chanted hymns that made the air vibrate with static.

Zealot Corruption:

Appearance: Skin cracked like dried earth, glowing sap oozing from fissures. Eyes replaced with voidspawn larvae that pulse in time to the Bloom's song.

Behavior: Sacrifice small animals—and eventually themselves—to "feed" the Bloom, their blood crystallizing into jagged offerings.

Seraphine cornered their new leader, a woman named Elara, once a gentle healer. "This isn't salvation. It's suicide."

Elara smiled, larvae writhing in her eye sockets. "The Bloom is purity. It burns the rot away." She seized Seraphine's wrist, her grip fever-hot. "Join us. Let it burn you too."

A Moment of Quiet

In a rare lull, Priam found Seraphine sharpening her dagger by a polluted stream. The water ran thick and iridescent, dead fish floating belly-up, their scales peeled back to reveal tiny voidspawn squirming inside.

"Remember the academy?" she asked suddenly. "The gardens? The way the roses smelled after rain?"

Priam sat beside her, wincing as his scars pulled taut. "You hated the roses. Said they were too perfect."

"Still do." She smirked, but it faded. "This place… it's like the roses now. Beautiful, rotting, wrong."

He followed her gaze to Mira, who slept fitfully nearby. Roots had begun creeping up her neck, delicate as lace—but lace that choked. "We can't save her," he said quietly.

Seraphine's knuckles whitened around her dagger. "We don't have to save her. We just have to let her choose."

The Fractured Villain

Elara's past unfolded in shards:

Memory 1: A young healer, hands stained with herb juices, tending to a child's voidrot. "Hold on, Mira. Just hold on."

Memory 2: The child's death, body dissolving into blackened petals. Elara screaming as the Verdant Covenant dragged her away. "The Tree will cleanse her! It must!"

Memory 3: The Bloom's first note, sweet and suffocating. Elara's tears turning to sap as she pressed her ear to its petals. "Yes… yes. I hear you."

When Priam confronted her, she stood at the Bloom's base, voidspawn larvae spilling from her lips. "You think me a monster? I am mother to this new world. And every mother… sacrifices."

Her body split, birthing a Voidspawn Matriarch—a writhing mass of tendrils and infant faces, each crying Nyra's song.

The Corruption of Choice

Mira's turn came at dawn. The roots had reached her jawline, their glow sickly. "I can feel it," she whispered. "The Bloom… it's not evil. It's scared."

Priam knelt, his voice fraying. "It's using your fear to control you."

"Maybe." She touched his scarred hand. "But what if… what if I can control it?"

Mira's Gamble:

She let the roots consume her fully, merging with Aevum's core.

The grove screamed, voidspawn recoiling as her light flooded the Bloom.

But the cost was visible: her body petrified, a statue of wood and bone, eyes frozen mid-command.

 The Bloom's Truth

The Bloom shattered, revealing Nyra's true form—not a flower, but a prison. Inside, Oblivion stirred, its voice a mirror of Priam's own.

"You cannot kill me, gardener. I am the rot in every root, the lie in every light. I am… you."

And in the ruins of Ūnora, Seraphine found Lucien's final gift: a seed. Not of Aevum, but of Oblivion.