Thorns Beneath the Throne

In every empire, beneath the golden thrones and polished marble floors, lies something far less glamorous.

Secrets.Schemes.Thorns.

And even in Verdantia, reborn and radiant under the rule of the Bloomfather, the roots of rebellion still grew in the dark.

But they weren't reaching up.

They were burrowing deep.

The Throne of Bloom stood high in the skies above the capital, floating on an island of entwined petals and obsidian roots. From a distance, it looked like a divine miracle. To the faithful, it was a holy symbol. To the rebellious?

It was target number one.

But no blade could reach it.

No arrow could pierce the veil of blooming clouds that surrounded it.

Which is why they turned their eyes… beneath.

In the deepest underground tunnels of the city—below the old catacombs, beneath the buried temples long forgotten even by the gods themselves—a different rebellion was taking form.

This wasn't Laeron's army.

These weren't noble patriots or brave warriors.

These were the Thornborn.

Children abandoned during the Bloomfall.Alchemists banned from the new healing sanctuaries.Scholars who once served the Church, now deemed obsolete.

They weren't fighting for a lost throne.

They were fighting to pull everything down.

At their center was a woman with charcoal-streaked hair and eyes like shattered glass.

Mira Thornclad.

Once a royal gardener. Now the most dangerous woman alive underground.

She sat cross-legged in a chamber lit by candles and corruption, tracing a knife across the map of Verdantia carved into the stone table.

"He's blind to us," she whispered. "All eyes face upward. None imagine what grows in rot."

A man with missing fingers stepped forward. "But he hears everything."

"Let him hear this," she said, slamming a vial onto the stone.

Inside: a pulsing seed wrapped in black mist.

The man's eyes widened. "Is that—?"

"A corrupted Rootling. Grown from the same source he's building his empire on."

Another woman leaned forward. "If we can bend it… we can make the roots fight themselves."

Mira smiled coldly.

"The throne may float in the sky, but no bloom survives when rot touches its base."

Meanwhile, Priyanshu walked the sky garden barefoot, roots curling beneath his steps in worship. He sensed no immediate danger, no ripple in the System's predictions.

But he paused.

A sensation.

A shadow… beneath.

He turned toward the horizon.

"Lyria," he said gently.

She appeared behind him instantly, her gown of silk and twilight flowing like water.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"There's something I can't see."

Her brows furrowed. "Impossible. You've already connected every root to your system."

He shook his head. "Even perfect gardens grow weeds."

Beneath the capital, Mira performed the forbidden rite. The Rootling was embedded in an iron circle laced with anti-Bloom runes stolen from an old saint's tomb. It screeched—not from pain, but in raw, corrupted energy.

"We're not trying to kill him," she said aloud. "We're trying to make the roots remember who they grew for before he touched them."

A ritual of echoes.

To call on the memories buried within the soil.

Priests. Kings. Gods.

Each one buried beneath the same earth now claimed by the Bloomfather.

If they could awaken those memories… they might awaken Verdantia itself.

Above, the sky pulsed violet as Priyanshu's influence spread to nearby realms.

[New Realms Connected: 2][Verdantia Integration: 99.7%][World-Soul Resistance Detected: Minimal][System Alert: Anomaly Detected – Origin: Undersoil Layer 6]

He stopped mid-step.

For the first time in a long time, the system didn't whisper reassurance.

It whispered uncertainty.

Back underground, Mira bled into the soil.

Not her magic.Not her soul.

Her memories.

Tears of rage, loss, betrayal. Memories of a garden where her mother was buried alive for refusing to convert. Memories of vines that whispered promises—and then took everything she loved.

And the Rootling drank them in.

It writhed. It pulsed. It split.

And then…

It bloomed.

Not in violet.

But in crimson.

A flower of rebellion.

A signal that something beneath the throne had turned against its own master.

Lyria gasped the moment it happened.

A sharp pain in her heart—like thorns ripping through her veins.

"My Lord…" she whispered, stumbling.

Priyanshu caught her gently, but his gaze darkened.

He felt it too.

Not an attack.

Something deeper.

A challenge to his roots.

That night, the Throne of Bloom didn't shine as brightly.

Its petals drooped.

Its winds slowed.

And in the chambers of the Thornborn, Mira whispered to the flower in her hands:

"Grow, my darling. Grow right into his spine."

[System Update][Root Network Distortion Detected][New Entity Identified: Crimson Counter-Seed][Effect: Unknown][Threat Level: Undetermined][Recommendation: Investigate Before Bloomspread Reaches 100%]

For the first time since ascending, Priyanshu did not smile.

Because even gods must sometimes pull thorns…

...from beneath their own throne.