Chapter 396: Victory Tastes Like Broken Ribs
Silence stretched between us.
Then, without another word, the old man raised his hand. Golden light pooled in his palm. He gestured toward Cel, and the light flowed across the chamber floor, gentle as water, climbing across her skin.
The translucent quality faded. Color returned to her cheeks. Her breathing deepened, steadied.
The freezing sickness reversed itself.
"There," the Arborist said. "I have honored your request. Now you must honor mine."
I didn’t like the sound of that.
"What request?"
"Kill ." He spread his arms wide, exposing his chest. "The Great Root has rejected . The Garden has turned against its Keeper. My form fails. My purpose ends. Grant
the rcy of final death rather than slow rot."
I stared at him. At the knife in my hand.
Nel had been silent since we entered this place. Apollo had vanished. The System sat broken in the corner of my vision.
But I didn’t need divine guidance to recognize a trap when I saw one.
"What happens if I kill you?" I asked. "What happens to the Garden? To everyone you’ve preserved?"
The old man’s smile turned sad.
"The Garden collapses. The Black Gate closes. All the preserved souls trapped within my collection return to their native dinsions, scattered across ti and space." He paused. "Including you and your companion. You will wake in your world as though from a dream, with only fragnts of mory remaining."
"And if I don’t kill you?"
"Then I linger. The Garden remains. And eventually, soone stronger than you will arrive and finish what you began." He gestured at the chamber around us. "This place exists outside normal ti. What feels like hours here becos re minutes in your world. You could stay. Learn from . Master the preservation arts. Beco the next Keeper when my form finally fails completely."
There it was. The real offer.
Not imprisonnt in a collection, but apprenticeship. A chance to inherit an ancient cosmic power.
The worst part? A piece of
actually considered it.
Imagine controlling every plant across multiple dinsions. Being able to preserve monts forever. Having access to knowledge accumulated across ten thousand cycles.
The empire I could build with that power would make everything I’d accomplished so far look like child’s play.
But.
I looked at Cel. At the girl who’d chosen to stay with
despite knowing I was using her. Who’d trusted
enough to cross a nightmare river and fight impossible battles.
Cel had already spent her entire life being soone’s tool. Her sister’s political asset. The VHC’s symbol. A breeding prospect for elite Hunter families.
If I stayed here, if I accepted the Arborist’s offer, I’d be doing the sa thing. Preserving her perfectly in this mont. Beautiful and powerful and completely frozen.
No growth. No choice. No future.
Just eternal preservation.
I raised the knife.
The Arborist’s eyes tracked the movent. "You choose poorly. Power such as mine appears once in a cosmic age."
"Yeah, well." I stepped forward, closing the distance. "I’ve got a dinner reservation next week. And I really hate being late."
I drove the blade into his chest.
The knife sank deep. The old man gasped, his eyes widening. Golden sap flowed around the wound, but this ti it didn’t heal. The First Tree’s weapon did its job, severing the connection between the Arborist and the Great Root.
He looked down at the knife. Up at .
"Thank you," he whispered. "I have been so tired. For so long."
Then he dissolved. Not violently. Gently. Like snow lting in spring.
His form collapsed into golden particles that spread across the chamber floor. The massive tree behind him began shrinking, its trunk returning to normal proportions. The heart stopped pulsing.
And the Garden itself began to sing.
Not a sound I heard with my ears. This was sothing felt in my bones, my blood, the core of whatever made
human. Every plant the Arborist had collected sang together. Joy. Relief. Freedom.
The silver light from the knife spread across every surface. The chamber walls cracked and peeled away, revealing actual sky beyond. Not the artificial darkness with its twin moons, but a real dawn, pink and gold and beautiful.
The Black Gate was opening. Collapsing. Returning us ho.
I stumbled over to Cel and dropped beside her. Her eyes fluttered open, periwinkle irises focusing on my face.
"Did we win?"
"Yeah." I laughed, the sound more exhausted than triumphant. "We won. You can stop being a hero now."
She smiled. Then punched
in the shoulder.
"Ow! What the hell?"
"That’s for almost dying."
"It’s not like I was trying to—"
Cel didn’t let
finish the sentence.
Her hand fisted in my shirt, yanked
forward, and her lips crashed against mine.
The kiss was nothing like the calculated ones I’d shared with the others. No strategy. No technique. Just raw, desperate relief that we were both still breathing.
Her tongue pushed past my teeth, demanding rather than asking. I responded without thinking, one hand tangling in her silver-white hair while the other found her waist.
Bad idea. Terrible idea.
My burned arms scread in protest at the movent. My ribs gave an ominous creak that suggested they were about three seconds from giving out entirely.
Didn’t stop .
Cel tasted like frost and sothing sweeter underneath. The Nectar flooded between us, humming through the connection our lips created. Her entire body shuddered against mine.
"Fuck," she gasped into my mouth, her nails digging into my shoulders through the tattered remains of my shirt. "What is that? Why does it—"
I kissed her harder, swallowing whatever question she’d been about to ask. Her response was imdiate and overwhelming, a soft sound vibrating in her throat as she pressed closer.
Too close.
My ribs reminded
they existed by sending a fresh wave of white-hot agony racing across my chest. I broke the kiss with a sharp hiss, my vision tunneling.
Cel pulled back imdiately, her eyes wide. The white streaks in her hair glowed faintly in the golden dawn light now filtering through the collapsing chamber.
"Your ribs." She touched my chest, feather-light, clinical despite the flush still burning across her cheeks.
"I forgot. I’m sorry, I just—"
"Don’t apologize for kissing . That’s a terrible precedent to set."
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