Chapter Ten: The Shepherdess Lia

The air in the cellar froze. Even the crackling of torches fell silent.

The blacksmith's iron rod clattered to the ground, sparks sputtering out in the damp straw, leaving only the sound of ragged breathing echoing off stone walls.

The infant's wailing rang out—clear and sharp, not like any human cry, more like a crystalline resonance. The sound pierced the skull, burning through Renn's wrist where the runes began to sear. He saw the old hunter's calloused hand drift to the hilt of his blade, his lone eye flickering with wary suspicion.

"Lia did come from beyond the village," the old hunter finally broke the silence, his gaze locked on the glowing infant. "But she said she was fleeing an arranged marriage..."

Renn dropped to one knee beside the haystack. In the shepherdess Lia's arms, the bundled child was glowing. As he reached out a hand, the baby fell abruptly silent. Its unfocused gaze shimmered with the same emerald light as Old Marsha's eyes. When its tiny fingers closed around his, blinding green light burst through the cellar—

Twelve hooded figures sat around a black crystal altar. But under their hoods were not faces—only writhing masses of mycelium. Eleven crystal cores hovered mid-air, wrapped in fungal threads. The twelfth space remained empty, filled only by a shifting shadow.

"They're missing one," Lia said, her voice layered in a triple-toned echo. Her irises were drowned in green light, her hair lifting in an invisible wind. "The Council will not wait for the next lunar phase."

The child floated from her arms, its swaddling layers unfurling like petals. Luminous runes etched its skin, and from its chest shone a green shard that pulsed in harmony with the crystal heart within Renn. Worse still, beneath its back, fine networks of mycelium twitched just under the skin.

"Lia didn't flee a wedding," the infant spoke with Old Marsha's voice. "She is a handmaiden of the Divine, sent by the will of the Seed."

As the child's words fell, the villagers dropped to their knees. Whispers of prayer began to rise.The blacksmith's scarred face twisted. Renn noticed the faint glow of a sigil beneath his collarbone—mostly hidden by old burn scars.

"That fire eighteen years ago..." the old hunter murmured, "you burned the records on purpose?"

The child floated back into Lia's arms, impossibly light.

Suddenly, the shard in its chest pulsed violently. Old Marsha's voice stuttered: "Before dawn... the Council will try to... extract the Seed..."

The wall's projections flickered, revealing the current state of Black Mire: Corrupted ones skittered across rooftops on backward-jointed limbs, dragging villagers toward the square. At its center, a bone altar was taking shape, crowned with eleven throbbing crystals under a blood-red moon.

A dull thud echoed from above. Clumps of dirt rained down. As the blacksmith grabbed his hammer, the entire earthen wall bulged outward into a human silhouette. A villager screamed, knocking over the last torch.

"They've found the cellar!" Lia's eyes snapped back to brown, green glow vanishing. She clutched the child tightly. "They're digging through the ground!"

Scratching sounds erupted from all sides. Earth crumbled.

With a roar, the blacksmith swung his hammer—striking not dirt, but black ichor.

A villager screamed, pointing at the corner. Something was pushing through the soil, a swelling shape shaped like a person.

"Holy water! Drink it, now!" the old hunter barked at the villagers.

Renn drew his silver dagger, its runes blazing like daylight.

As the first Corrupted burst through the wall, he struck—only for the blade to sink in as if through rubber. Black slime crawled up the blade toward his wrist. As Renn prepared to drop the weapon, the infant let out a piercing shriek. The slime recoiled as if scalded.

"Normal weapons are useless!" the blacksmith panted. His hammer was eaten down to a bare wooden shaft.

Then a massive section of the ceiling caved in. Blood-red moonlight poured like a waterfall, revealing dozens of Corrupted hanging upside down in the opening. Their necks hung limp, heads twisted unnaturally, mouths split to the ears—not teeth inside, but roiling mycelium.

"Through the passage!" the old hunter shouted, kicking over the candelabrum. Flames spread across the dry straw. He flung aside a stone slab in the corner, revealing a hidden shaft. "It leads to the Silverbloom Field!"

The Corrupted hissed in fury, surging forward. Renn took the rear, every swing of his blade trailing green light.

As the last villager dove into the passage, a claw tore through Renn's left side. Pain dropped him to his knees. But in the corner of his eye, he saw the infant float from Lia's arms and place its palm on the wound.

Warmth surged through him. Blood and flesh knitted back together. The infant's light dimmed. The Corrupted shrank back from the glow.

"Go!" the old hunter shouted, hauling him into the tunnel. The slab slammed shut just as the cellar collapsed in fire.

The tunnel was narrow and damp, thick with the scent of rot and faint floral sweetness.

They moved in silence, save for the baby's occasional whimper. Renn noticed mysterious glyphs glowing faintly green along the tunnel walls.

"This was dug by the First Guardians," the old hunter explained between gasps. "Leads straight to the edge of the village."

The blacksmith, leading the way, suddenly halted. "It's blocked," he said, despair thick in his voice.

Renn pushed forward, pressing his palm to the collapse.

Tangled roots stirred, shifting like slender snakes, parting before his touch. As the passage reopened, every villager turned to him in reverence.

"Just beyond here... the Silverbloom Field," the old hunter whispered. "But outside..."

An explosion cut him off. The entire tunnel shook. Dust cascaded from the ceiling.

Renn sprinted ahead. As he emerged from the tunnel, he froze.

The Silverbloom Field was writhing in green fire.

Each burning bloom oozed black slime. From their hearts swelled egg-like growths.

At the field's center stood a monstrosity—once vaguely human, now a mountain of flesh. Hunched and bloated, six tentacles thrashed the air, each tipped with a ring of teeth.

Beneath it lay the shredded remains of a forest warden—still wearing the uniform.

"Finally, I've found you little pests," the hunchbacked apostle hissed, its voice like chitin scraping against chitin. "The Council has waited long enough."

With a flick of its tendrils, mounds of dirt burst open. Corrupted rose, each clutching an unconscious villager.

Renn noticed the faint green light at their chests—their silver pendants glowing.

"With Guardian blood," the apostle snarled, lifting a girl with its tentacle, "the Seed's defenses will falter."

The old hunter fired an arrow, but a single tentacle batted him away.

The blacksmith charged two steps before he was struck down. His hammer bounced uselessly off a fungal mass.

Renn stood still. His crystal heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the roar of flames.

The infant floated again from Lia's arms, its glow flooding the field.

"Remember," Old Marsha's voice echoed in their minds, "when the Silverblooms awaken..."

The apostle lunged, its tentacle striking toward the infant.

Renn leapt, silver blade meeting flesh. The impact blasted back nearby Corrupted. At last, the final rune on his blade flared to life, revealing the oath inscribed:

"By the Blood of Life, by Silverbloom Sworn."

From the ashes, silver sprouts erupted. In seconds they bloomed, petals spraying pearlescent spores.

Where the spores touched the Corrupted, they burst into flame.

The apostle screamed in a shrill, insectile screech, its tendrils melting in the silver light."Now!" the old hunter shouted, grabbing a fallen spear and hurling it.

It struck true. The spear pierced the apostle's heart—

But it was the silverbloom vines wrapped around the shaft that delivered the deathblow.

They grew like wildfire, cocooning the beast in moments. The remaining Corrupted fled, burning in the silver glow.

Renn cradled the infant, noticing the green shard in its chest turning clear.

Then he saw it—burned into his mind: a vision of a point deep within the Rotbone Marsh—the elven ruins.

"To the ruins," he said, voice hoarse and inhuman. "It's the only way to stop the Council."