Chapter 9 – The Crimson Orchard

The road to the Crimson Orchard was not marked on any map. It twisted like a buried root, hidden between thorn-thick ravines and cliffs stained with old sap. Yuzu and Mira walked in silence for hours, their steps muffled by soil that felt strangely warm, as if the earth beneath them remembered fire.

The sky grew darker the farther they traveled west. Not with clouds — but with something else. A kind of flavor in the air that Yuzu couldn't name. It tasted like memory and metal, like sweet fruit gone bitter. His sigil pulsed faintly under his sleeve, reacting to the shifting aura around them.

Mira broke the silence first.

"You're humming again."

Yuzu glanced at her. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "It's not bad. Just... loud. Most of us never get loud."

They crested a hill. Below them, sprawled across a valley like a bleeding wound, was the orchard.

Red trees. Miles of them. Their leaves glowed faintly in the dusk — not with life, but with history. With grief.

Yuzu froze.

"It's burning."

"No," Mira said. "That's just how it looks. The Crimson Orchard doesn't burn. It remembers being burned."

They descended slowly.

The moment they stepped beneath the canopy, the air shifted. Scents twisted around them like smoke: cinnamon, rust, plum, old ash. Fruit hung low, too ripe, like it had been waiting centuries to fall.

Yuzu reached toward one.

"Don't," Mira warned.

He paused.

"Some of them still dream," she said. "If you touch the wrong one, you might not wake up."

They pressed deeper into the orchard. The trees whispered in a language Yuzu didn't recognize — or maybe he did. It sounded like his tree when it stirred in sleep. The same cadence. The same hunger.

They reached a clearing just before nightfall.

At its center stood a single tree.

Taller than the rest.

Dead.

No leaves. No fruit. No glow.

Just twisted branches stretched like claws toward a blood-colored moon rising behind it.

Yuzu knew, without being told, that this was the tree the Burned Gardener had meant.

He stepped closer. The air thickened. His sigil burned.

Then the ground beneath him trembled.

A voice echoed — not around them, but inside him.

"You came."

Yuzu dropped to one knee.

The tree pulsed once, like a dying heart given new rhythm.

"You carry the First Bite," the voice said. "But one bite is not enough. The orchard must awaken."

Mira backed away slightly, her expression hard. "Something's moving under the roots."

Yuzu didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the tree.

Its bark cracked.

And from the fissures, black sap oozed, swirling with flickers of gold.

"Feed me," the tree whispered. "Feed me what you've stolen."

Yuzu's chest tightened.

"You want… the spirits?"

"No," the tree said. "Their flavor. Their lies."

Without thinking, he extended his hand.

His sigil blazed.

And from within him, echoes of Vesca's citrus spirit, of the Spliced resonance from Mira, of the Pulse of the Forgotten — all twisted together into a shimmering thread that leapt from his palm and coiled into the tree's open wound.

The tree shuddered.

Then bloomed.

Not with fruit.

With eyes.

Dozens. Hundreds. Blinking open all at once, each set into the bark, staring in every direction. Some were human. Others were not.

Mira took a step back. "This isn't normal."

"No," Yuzu whispered. "It's mine."

The air cracked.

The orchard screamed.

Not with sound — but with taste. Every tree around them burst with scent and flavor so intense it knocked Mira to her knees. Yuzu stood unmoving, caught in the pulse of something ancient and hungry.

Then — silence.

The central tree sighed, like a storm released.

And from its trunk, a single fruit dropped.

It didn't glow. It didn't pulse.

It was small. Pale. Almost plain.

Yuzu picked it up carefully.

Inside, he felt a skill form.

Not violent.

Not loud.

But certain.

[New Skill: Seed of Truth – Rank E]When consumed, this fruit reveals the hidden flavor of any spirit it touches. Duration: 60 seconds.

Yuzu tucked the fruit into his satchel.

The tree didn't speak again.

But before they left the clearing, Mira turned to him.

"That fruit," she said quietly. "It'll show you what someone's hiding."

He nodded.

She hesitated. Then added, "That includes yourself."

The walk back through the orchard was slower.

The trees no longer whispered. They watched.

As if recognizing him.

Claiming him.

Yuzu didn't look back.

At the edge of the orchard, beneath the shadow of the last red tree, Mira stopped.

"We're not alone," she said.

From the treeline, a figure stepped into view.

Clad in armor made of dried fruit skin and vine-thread. A silver sigil burned across his chest, shaped like a hollow apple.

A Fruitwatcher.

He looked at Yuzu.

Then at Mira.

Then smiled.

"The Orchard grows strange flavors these days," he said.

Yuzu's hand went to his side.

But the watcher raised one palm.

"I'm not here to prune. Not yet. I'm just here to… taste."

He vanished into the orchard with a blur of citrus wind.

Mira exhaled slowly. "They've found you."

Yuzu nodded.

"I know."

Night fell.

And the trees kept watching.