Chapter 20: The Greenheart’s Pulse

The seed's hum grew louder, waking Alaric nightly with a jolt that left him breathless. He slipped into the crypt at midnight, the air cold and musty, stone walls carved with runes that glowed faintly green under his touch. "What now?" he muttered, vines—hundreds now—sprouting as the Greenheart pulsed in his chest, cracking the floor with roots that snaked through the stone. A thrall attacked from the shadows—fangs bared, claws slashing. He bound it in a glowing net, sap burning its flesh as it writhed. "Stay down, fang-face," he said, tightening the vines until it slumped, lifeless.He staggered out, sap dripping, the night sky a blanket of stars over Eldrathia. "This hero crap's gonna kill me," he wheezed, flopping onto the grass, his chest heaving. But a flicker of pride sparked—naps, pie, maybe Eldrathia were worth it. He clutched the sage bundle, muttering, "Fine, I'll fight. But I'm napping first." The Greenheart pulsed, a quiet agreement.