Chapter 18

The shard plunges into the basin, and the world ignites. Gold flares first, a molten wave that sears my retinas, followed by violet—sharp, electric, clawing at my skull—then white, pure and blinding, swallowing everything. The chamber's collapse accelerates, roots snapping like bones, earth cascading in clumps that batter my shoulders as I shield my face. The liquid in the basin surges upward, a geyser of light and sound, and I stumble back, the shard's absence a hollow ache in my hand. The hum—her hum, its hum—cuts off mid-breath, replaced by a ringing silence that presses against my ears, heavy as the void.

I'm falling again—or not. The ground buckles, then holds, and when the light fades, I'm kneeling in a crater, the basin shattered, its golden-violet fragments strewn across soil that pulses faintly, alive. The roots have stilled, their tips curling inward like burned fingers, and the air hums with a new scent—sweet, floral, undercut by rot. My hands tremble, empty now, smeared with blood and ash, and I scan the wreckage for the shard. It's gone, dissolved into the basin's ruin, leaving me lighter yet unmoored.

The cloaked figure is nowhere, their bark-woven silhouette erased by the blast. The chamber's walls are split wide, revealing a sky—not the void's endless black, but a bruised expanse, streaked with amber and green, clouds boiling slow and thick. I stagger to my feet, legs numb, the torn robe flapping against my thighs, and breathe deep. The air's thick, damp, alive with spores that catch in my throat. I'm not in the void anymore, but this isn't home—not Kaelen's windswept cliffs, not Rhea's sun-bleached sands. It's something new, something born from the shard's fall.

A rustle draws my eye—a vine, thin and glossy, uncoiling from the crater's edge. It blooms as I watch, petals unfurling in shades of violet and gold, their edges curling like the shard's barbs. More follow, a carpet of flowers spreading across the soil, their fragrance dizzying, intoxicating. I step closer, and the nearest bloom tilts toward me, its center pulsing with a faint light—white, then violet, then white again. *"Yours…"*—a whisper, soft as a breeze, not her voice, not the entity's, but something gentler, stranger. My chest tightens, a flicker of Kaelen's laugh ghosting through me, and I reach out, fingers brushing the petals. They're warm, alive, and the light flares, a spark arcing to my skin.

The ground trembles, and I pull back, heart racing. The flowers shiver, their stems thickening, twisting into shapes—arms, legs, faces—half-formed figures rising from the soil. They're not her, not the bone-crowned queen, but echoes: eyeless, featureless, their mouths gaping in silent screams or smiles, I can't tell. The entity's tendrils are gone, but this feels like its shadow, reshaped, reborn. "End it, or become it," the figure had said, and I wonder—did I end it, or plant it anew?

I turn, scanning the horizon. The sky darkens, amber bleeding into violet, and a wind rises, carrying whispers—*"Ours… grow… take…"*—not menacing, but insistent, weaving through the blooms. The crater's edge crumbles, and I climb out, boots sinking into the soft earth, flowers brushing my calves. Beyond lies a forest—gnarled trees with bark like glass, leaves shimmering gold, their branches heavy with more blooms. It's beautiful, alien, and wrong, a landscape stitched from the shard's light and my blood.

A sound—sharp, human—cuts through the whispers. I freeze, hand instinctively reaching for the shard that isn't there, and spot movement among the trees. A figure stumbles into view—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair matted with sweat and dirt. Kaelen. My breath catches, hope spiking, but his gait is off, unsteady, and when he lifts his head, his eyes glow violet, rimmed with white. "You're here," he says, voice rough, his, but layered, like hers once was. He steps closer, and the flowers turn toward him, blooming faster, their light pulsing in time with his steps.

"Kaelen?" I choke out, rooted where I stand. He smiles—his smile, warm, crooked—but tendrils of vine curl from his sleeves, thin and alive, swaying like they're tasting the air. "I heard you," he says, stopping a pace away, his gaze locking on mine. "I held on." The wind carries his scent—salt, leather, and that floral rot—and I want to run to him, but the vines tighten around his arms, rooting him to the earth.

"What happened?" I whisper, stepping back. The flowers hum, their whispers louder—*"Ours… bind… grow…"*—and Kaelen's smile falters, pain flickering across his face. "You did," he says, softer. "You fell, and I followed. Found you here." He gestures to the forest, the blooms, and the vines coil higher, blooming along his shoulders. "It's us now."

My stomach twists. The shard's fall didn't end it—it spread it, wove it into this place, into him. I shake my head, retreating, and the ground shifts again, a root bursting free, wrapping my ankle. I yank loose, panic rising, and Kaelen reaches for me, vines stretching from his fingers. "Stay," he says, urgent, "it's not what you think. It's better." The violet in his eyes flares, and I see her in them—not the queen, but me, crowned in flowers, smiling.

"No," I snarl, slashing at the root with a splintered basin shard I snatch from the dirt. It snaps, oozing gold, and Kaelen staggers, clutching his chest like I've stabbed him. The flowers wilt around him, then bloom anew, faster, climbing his legs. "I didn't choose this," I say, voice breaking, and bolt toward the trees, his call—"Wait!"—chasing me.

The forest closes in, branches clawing at my arms, blooms bursting as I pass. The whispers grow—*"Take… bind… become…"*—and the sky churns, violet swallowing amber. I run until my lungs burn, until the trees thin, revealing a cliff's edge. Below stretches a sea—not water, but flowers, endless, rippling gold and violet, their light pulsing like a heartbeat. Kaelen's voice echoes behind me, closer, and I turn, seeing him emerge, vines now a second skin, his form flickering—him, me, something else.

"You can't run," he says, not a threat, a plea. The cliff trembles, blooms spilling over its edge, and I clutch the basin shard, its edge biting my palm. The sea below hums, alive, and I feel it—her, it, us—rooted here, growing from my choice. I didn't end it. I became it, or birthed it, and Kaelen's the proof, his love twisted into this.

I step to the cliff's brink, wind tearing at me, and raise the shard. "I'll end it now," I say, to him, to the blooms, to the thing I've made. Kaelen lunges, vines snapping, and I leap—not into the sea, but at him, driving the shard into the vine at his chest. Light explodes—gold, violet, white—and we fall, tangled, the forest screaming as it unravels, blooms withering, the sea surging upward.

We hit the ground, and the world stills. Kaelen gasps beneath me, vines retreating, his eyes clearing—brown, human, his. The flowers fade, the sea recedes, and the sky lightens, amber again. "You're enough," he whispers, echoing the void, and I collapse beside him, the shard dull in my hand, the whispers gone.

For now.