Chapter 27: The Harvest’s Shadow
The Thorn's Embrace
The golden thorn in Lyra's chest pulsed like a second heart, its roots threading through her ribs with every breath. By dawn, veins of light spiderwebbed across her skin, glowing faintly even in sunlight. She hid them beneath gloves and high collars, but Evangeline noticed.
"It's spreading," she said, cornering Lyra in the cellar. The Rosa Noctis loomed behind her, its petals now edged in the same gold as Lyra's thorn. "Let me remove it."
Lyra recoiled. "You'd kill me."
"I'd save you." Evangeline's dagger glinted. "Before it's too late."
A root lashed from the cellar rose, knocking the blade aside. The garden's voice, honeyed and venomous, slithered through the air: "She is mine now, Viper. Touch her again, and I'll salt your precious peonies with bone."
Evangeline left without a word. Lyra's thorn hummed in triumph.
The Star Charts' Secret
Kael's star charts sprawled across the solarium floor, their ink constellations shifting like living things. Nyra traced a clawed finger over a cluster of stars labeled The Sower's Hand.
"This isn't a map," she said, her voice still raw from the comet's burn. "It's a trap. The First Gardener wants us here." She tapped a star marked with a thorned crown. "The Harvest begins where her first vessel fell."
Jack knelt beside her. "Then we go there. Cut the head off the serpent."
"Serpents regrow heads," Nyra muttered. "Especially this one."
Lyra's thorn flared. "We don't have a choice."
The charts rearranged, forming a path to a derelict observatory carved into a mountain's heart. Nyra paled. "I've seen this place. In the visions. It's… alive."
The Observatory of Echoes
The mountain loomed at the world's edge, its peak sheared off to cradle a crumbling observatory. Statues of forgotten astronomers lined the path, their eyes replaced with roses, their mouths frozen in silent screams. Lyra's thorn pulsed faster with every step.
Inside, the air tasted of static and iron. Telescopes pointed at a fractured ceiling, their lenses cracked. Nyra gripped Lyra's arm. "They're here. The others."
Shadows peeled from the walls—figures cloaked in starlight and rot, their faces half-consumed by thorns. The First Gardener's failed vessels.
"Join us," they whispered, their voices overlapping. "The Harvest is mercy. The garden's teeth are kind."
Lyra's thorn burned gold. "Stay back."
The nearest shadow laughed. "You already belong to her."
The Fractured Constellation
At the observatory's heart hung a chandelier of frozen starlight, its crystals shaped like roses. Beneath it lay an altar stained with old blood and older ink. Nyra deciphered the runes:
"Here lies the First Gardener's covenant. Break the crown, shatter the web."
Jack frowned. "What crown?"
Lyra's thorn answered. A beam of light struck the chandelier, refracting into a constellation above the altar—a crown of thorns orbiting a dead star.
"The Eclipse Crown," Nyra breathed. "It's the key to the First Gardener's power. Destroy it, and the web unravels."
Evangeline hefted her dagger. "Then let's break it."
The shadows hissed. "Fools. The crown is us."
The Crown's Price
The crown materialized in Lyra's hands, cold and impossibly heavy. Its thorns bit into her palms, and the voices of a thousand vessels flooded her mind—screams, pleas, mad laughter.
"Put it on," the First Gardener crooned. "See what I have seen. Rule what I have sown."
Lyra's thorn surged, roots snaking toward the crown. "No."
"YES."
The crown clamped onto her skull. Visions tore through her: galaxies devoured by roses, stars snuffed out like candles, Nyra and Evangeline dissolving into gold dust.
"This is your legacy," the First Gardener whispered. "Embrace it."
Lyra screamed.
Evangeline's Pact
Evangeline acted without thinking.
She plunged her dagger into the cellar rose's heart, black sap spraying her face. "Bring her back!"
The garden roared. "You dare—?"
"I'll feed you a kingdom," Evangeline snarled. "A world. Just. Save. Her."
Thorns erupted from the floor, impaling the specters around Lyra. The crown cracked. Lyra collapsed, the thorn in her chest dimming.
The First Gardener's laughter shook the observatory. "You bought minutes, Viper. The Harvest comes."
The Gathering Storm
They fled as the mountain collapsed, Nyra dragging Lyra while Jack and Evangeline carved a path through thralled shadows. Above, the sky darkened—not with night, but with something vast and hungry.
Nyra stared upward. "The Harvest isn't a thing. It's a she. The First Gardener's daughter."
Lyra's thorn pulsed weakly. "Another vessel?"
"Worse. A perfect one."
The observatory crumbled behind them, and in the dust, a figure emerged—tall, crowned with living thorns, her eyes twin eclipses.
"Hello, little sister," the Harvest said. "Let's play."
Chapter 27 End.