Chapter 40: The Fractured Self

The Shadow in the Roots

Oblivion's voice slithered through Priam's mind, its timbre a perfect mimicry of his own. "You've always known, haven't you? The rot in Aevum's heart… it's yours."

Priam's scars blazed, the latticework of gold and void searing his skin as he stood before the shattered Bloom. The faces in the petals now mirrored his own—eyes hollow, lips twisted in a sneer he'd worn a lifetime ago as Seraphine's butler, sharpening knives and sharper words.

"You're not me," Priam growled, though the lie curdled in his throat.

"No?" The Bloom's remnants swirled, coalescing into a shadowy reflection: Priam, but draped in the Sovereign's tattered cloak, his scars weeping void ichor. "Who carved the first wound into Aevum? Who let doubt fester?"

Flashback Triggered:

Priam, weeks earlier, hesitating as Mira plunged the voidsteel shard into Aevum's roots. A heartbeat's doubt—could the Tree truly heal them?—and the rot took hold.

The ground beneath him cracked, roots snaking around his ankles. "Get. Out."

Oblivion laughed, its form dissolving into smoke. "You can't purge what's already part of the soil, gardener."

Seraphine's Gambit

Seraphine knelt in Ūnora's ruins, the Oblivion seed pulsing in her palm like a diseased heart. Lucien's voice whispered from the shadows, coaxing, familiar. "Plant it, sister. Let the roots decide."

"I'm not your sister," she hissed, but her hands trembled. The seed's allure was visceral—a chance to reset the board, to burn away the grove's corruption even if it meant ash.

The Seed's Promise:

Potential: Purge Aevum's rot, reset the Cycle.

Cost: Oblivion's rebirth, Seraphine's soul as its vessel.

She drove the seed into the soil. The earth recoiled, then consumed it.

Mira's Whisper

Mira's petrified form cracked, fissures spreading like spiderwebs. Her voice echoed from the Bloom's remnants, frayed but resolute. "Priam… the roots… they're listening."

Aevum's core convulsed, its light dimming as tendrils of void threaded through the heartwood. Priam pressed his palm to the Tree's bark, and the world dissolved.

Vision Unlocked: The First Gardener

A figure with Priam's face knelt in a primordial grove, planting seeds that sprouted into towering Trees. One light, one void. "Balance," they whispered. "Not dominance."

The Trees merged, birthing Aevum—and a shadow that slithered away: Oblivion.

Priam woke gasping. "We were never meant to fight it. We were meant to balance it."

The Grove's Choice

The Oblivion seed sprouted in Ūnora, its roots devouring the ruins. Seraphine staggered back as the ground erupted, birthing a Black Bloom—a grotesque twin to Aevum, its petals edged with teeth.

Black Bloom Traits:

Abilities: Corrupts light into void, puppeteers corpses via thorned vines.

Weakness: Tethered to Seraphine's life force.

Lucien's laughter echoed. "Welcome home."

The Dance of Light and Void

Priam found Seraphine at the grove's edge, her eyes now voids streaked with gold. The Black Bloom loomed behind her, its roots strangling Aevum's.

"It's in me," she said, voice trembling. "The seed… it's growing."

He stepped closer, his scars humming in resonance with the Black Bloom. "Then we grow with it."

The Merge:

Priam channeled Aevum's light into the Black Bloom.

Seraphine's void surged into Aevum, purging rot.

The grove screamed, reality fracturing.

The Price of Balance

Mira's statue shattered, her essence merging with the converging Trees. The survivors watched as light and void intertwined, birthing a Gray Grove—neither corrupt nor pure, its bark mottled, its roots humming with equilibrium.

Gray Grove Effects:

Voidspawn: Petrified into thorned statues.

Survivors: Marked with gray vines, immune to corruption but stripped of magic.

Seraphine collapsed, the void receding from her eyes. "Did we… win?"

Priam knelt beside her, his scars now silvered. "We survived."

 The Unseen Gardener

At dawn, the Gray Grove's heartwood bore a new sprout—a sapling of shifting gray. Mira's voice whispered from its leaves, guiding the survivors.

Seraphine left at dusk, her pouch filled with gray seeds. "Next time, I'll plant them better."

Priam remained, tending the sapling. In the soil beneath, Oblivion stirred—not gone, but balanced.

And in the shadows, Lucien smiled.