BlindfoldedDev

In the vast, ever-shifting lands of Florencia, magic is not drawn from the elements, but from the essence of flora. Warlocks and witches cultivate their power through ancient botanical rites, wielding spells infused with the soul of plants. The rarest flowers grant immense power—some can heal, some can destroy, and some can bend reality itself.

Kieran Ashthorne, a rogue warlock with eyes like the burning sky and hands stained with forbidden magic, has lived his life as a mercenary, selling his skills to the highest bidder. He’s infamous, not just for his talent, but for his cursed lineage—descended from a bloodline that once shattered the balance of magic.

But when Kieran stumbles upon the legendary Blood Lotus, a flower said to rewrite fate itself, he does something no one expects—he offers it instead of wielding it.

To who?

To a runaway princess, Isolde Varelle, the last heir to a kingdom overrun by an apocalyptic force known as the Rotborn—beings of decay that corrupt magic itself. Isolde, once sheltered, must now learn to fight, and Kieran, for the first time, must learn what it means to protect rather than destroy.

Together, they embark on a quest to restore lost flora, rediscover ancient warlock covens, and outrun bounty hunters, treacherous gods, and the shadows of their pasts.

But magic is fickle, and the more they use the power of plants, the more they realize—the flowers are watching them back.

The Blooming Warlock

Kieran's curse thrummed beneath his bandages, aching to be unleashed.

The Thorned Lords stood between them and freedom, their dark, vine-laced armor gleaming in the rain. The leader stepped forward, his colorless eyes watching Kieran with calculating amusement.

"You're different." His voice was almost admiring. "You smell of something… forgotten."

Kieran's jaw tightened. He could feel the roots of his curse stirring, slithering beneath his skin.

Isolde, still clutching the bloodied bundle, took a step closer to him. "Kieran." Her voice was low. Urgent. "Can you fight or not?"

Kieran smirked, flexing his fingers. "Guess we're about to find out."

The one with the thorned whip lashed out, the weapon slicing through the rain with a deadly whistle. Kieran barely ducked in time—the whip tore through a wooden signpost behind him, splitting it clean in half.

Isolde didn't hesitate. She lunged, her dagger flashing in the dim streetlights. The second Thorned Lord, armed with a curved dagger, blocked her strike—but she was fast. Faster than Kieran expected.

She twisted mid-air, bringing her knee up to slam into the Thorned Lord's ribs. The force sent him stumbling, and she immediately went for the kill—blade aimed for his throat.

But the leader moved in an instant.

He flicked his fingers—a wall of vines erupted between them, forcing Isolde back. She skidded to a stop, her dagger slicing through the foliage just as it snapped closed like a jaw.

Kieran gritted his teeth. He knew they couldn't win like this. Not with his magic sealed.

The leader turned to him, his gaze steady. "I know what you are," he murmured. "I can feel it."

Kieran forced his expression to stay blank.

The Thorned Lord smiled faintly. "You don't belong to the Rotborn. But you're not untouched by them, either."

He grabbed a pouch from his belt and flung it at the ground. A burst of crimson smoke exploded between them—warlock's dust, designed to temporarily blind anyone caught inside.

Isolde didn't hesitate. She grabbed Kieran's arm. "Move!"

They bolted, darting into the maze of alleyways.

Behind them, the leader's voice remained calm, almost amused.

"Run, then," he murmured. "It won't change anything."

They didn't stop running until they reached the lower districts of Lirath.

Isolde collapsed against a wall, breathing hard. "What—" She coughed. "What in the gods' names were those things?"

Kieran ran a hand through his damp hair. "Warlocks," he muttered. "Same as me."

Kieran sighed. "Well. Not exactly the same."

She didn't look convinced, but instead of pressing, she held up the bloodied bundle she'd been carrying all along.

Kieran hesitated before nodding at it. "What's in there?"

Isolde looked away. Then, carefully, she peeled back the cloth.

The severed hand was still there—but now, it was moving.

Kieran swore under his breath. "That's not normal."

Isolde nodded grimly. "It belongs to someone still alive."

Kieran's mind raced. Severed limbs didn't just move on their own. Not unless—

"Wait." He narrowed his eyes. "Whose hand is that?"

Isolde swallowed. Then, her next words changed everything.

"Technically, I stole it before it was cut off," Isolde muttered. "But yes."

Kieran exhaled slowly. "Fantastic."

Because now, the entire kingdom would be hunting them.

The Thorned Lords (2)