CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE: BLOOD AND BLOOM

The Cradle of Thorns wasn't just a place. It was alive. Breathing. Watching.

The air shifted the moment they stepped across the twisted threshold. The trees surrounding them curved inward like ribs, thorns slick with something darker than dew. The earth was soft and springy, like flesh. Every step echoed like a heartbeat.

Emberlynn swallowed hard. "This… is where the fragment is?"

Malphas didn't answer immediately. His eyes were locked on the stone tower that rose in the distance, wrapped in vines that pulsed like veins.

"Yes," he said at last. "And more."

She glanced at him—and froze.

Malphas had changed.

It wasn't just the way his cloak flowed without wind, or how his shadow stretched far longer than it should. His aura had thickened, grown heavier. Gold bled into his sclera, and ancient runes flickered along his collarbone, like something buried was clawing its way to the surface.

"Malphas?" Her voice wavered.

"I'm still me," he said, without turning. "But the Cradle… it remembers. And it remembers me."

His voice was strange. Deeper. Like he was speaking with more than one voice.

"You've been here before."

"I built it."

She flinched.

"You what?"

He finally faced her. "After you sealed the King… I used what was left of your power to grow this place. To hide the pieces of you scattered in the sealing. The fragments. This tower grew from your essence. Your blood. Your sorrow."

"But why hide them?" she demanded.

"Because remembering would have broken you. And I… I couldn't bear to watch you shatter again."

Her breath caught. "You knew what I was. This whole time."

"I never forgot," he said. "Not even once."

The tower loomed closer. Every thorn twisted toward them like it wanted to taste skin.

Suddenly, one shot out and sliced Emberlynn across her arm.

She hissed—and staggered back.

The mark on her shoulder blazed violently.

The vines responded.

Malphas grabbed her wrist. His grip was firm, but his eyes—his eyes—burned like suns on the verge of collapse.

"It's starting," he said. "The Cradle is waking. It can feel what's inside you."

The wound on her arm didn't bleed.

Instead, light spilled from it—pale, golden, ancient.

The vines recoiled from the glow, but the tower thrummed like it was singing.

"You're not just the Key," Malphas said hoarsely. "You're the lock, too. You're the root of the seal."

"And if I touch the fragment?" she whispered.

"Then everything you buried will come back."

They reached the tower.

Its surface pulsed, alive with memory.

Malphas placed his hand against the door. The thorns parted.

Inside was dark, but not empty.

Vines coiled along the walls, cradling a pedestal. And atop it—glowed a shard of crystal. No bigger than a fist. But it burned with the light of a dying star.

Emberlynn stepped forward. The mark on her shoulder ached. The crystal pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

She reached toward it—

Malphas grabbed her wrist.

"Wait."

Her eyes met his.

"I can feel it," she whispered. "It's mine, isn't it?"

"It's you," he said. "The piece of you that chose death over destruction. That fragment contains your last thought before the seal. It's... your truth."

Emberlynn's fingers curled.

"I need it back."

"No." His voice cracked. "Not yet. The moment you take it, you'll start becoming what you were."

"And what was that?"

"A god," he said bitterly. "A force. Not light, not dark—something older. Something the world was never meant to survive again."

She hesitated.

Then: "You're afraid of me."

Malphas didn't deny it.

"I'm afraid for you."

And that's when the tower attacked.

Vines whipped around Malphas, yanking him backward. His claws slashed, but more thorns coiled, dragging him toward the wall.

"Run!" he snarled.

"No!"

But the Cradle had chosen.

It wanted Emberlynn.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Malphas was gone.

She was alone with the fragment.

And the tower whispered, soft and seductive:

"You buried yourself to forget. But now… you must remember to save him."

The mark erupted with light.

And the shard rose, spinning in the air.

Visions flashed—herself in armor forged of flame, wings of shadow curling behind her. A kiss stolen in the middle of war. A scream that shook the stars. Her voice—commanding the seal to close… even as it ripped her soul apart.

Tears burned down her cheeks.

"I died," she whispered. "I chose to die."

And still the fragment waited.

If she took it back, nothing would be the same.

But Malphas had risked everything.

For her.

With a shaking hand, Emberlynn reached out.

And took the shard.