The night after the Seed awakened, the valley did not sleep. The air felt thick — alive — and every breath carried a faint taste of ash. The black heart in the clearing pulsed like a drum, each throb echoing through the earth. Dawnspire's fires burned low, their light swallowed by the strange, golden veins spreading quietly beneath the soil.
Kairo hadn't moved in hours. He stood at the edge of the clearing; eyes fixed on the Seed as if trying to will it still. Reika and Taro watched from nearby, unsure whether to approach or stay silent.
Finally, Reika spoke. "You said it's a seed. What happens when it grows?"
Kairo's voice was low. "Then Amaranth stops being a world — and becomes a weapon."
Taro exhaled sharply. "Yeah, that's not ominous at all."
Kairo ignored him. He could feel it — the hum beneath his feet, the same rhythm that had once pulsed through his veins when he was king. The world was remembering him, piece by piece, drawing his forgotten fury out of the ground.
He turned to Noel, who stood a few paces away, arms wrapped around himself. "You're linked to it too," Kairo said quietly. "You feel it."
Noel hesitated. "It calls to me. Not like a voice — more like… recognition. Like the world's trying to finish something I started."
Kairo nodded grimly. "That's because it is."
By midday, Mira gathered the group. The veins of gold were spreading faster now, reaching the edges of the valley. Plants that touched them withered; stones cracked and hummed.
"We can't stay here," she said firmly. "If it reaches the river, the Rift energy will spread for miles. Every living thing could turn."
Reika nodded. "Then we destroy it before it takes root."
But Kairo didn't move. "You can't destroy what's part of the land. If you burn it, the world burns with it."
"Then what do we do?"
He looked toward the horizon, where the mountains glowed faintly with Riftlight veins of their own. "We go to where it began. The First Rift — the place where the Tyrant fell."
Taro frowned. "You mean your grave?"
"Yes," Kairo said quietly. "If this is my legacy rising again, then it ends where I first died."
The group prepared to leave at dawn. But as night fell, the Seed pulsed faster — frantic, alive. The ground trembled. Birds scattered into the dark.
Noel clutched his head, gasping. "It's waking— It's speaking!"
Kairo reached for him, but it was too late.
The ground split open. Roots of molten gold burst upward, tearing through the soil like serpents. They coiled around the huts, cracking wood and stone, glowing brighter with every heartbeat. The Seed's rhythm turned violent — furious — as if something deep within the world had found its voice.
Reika drew her blades. "Everyone, move!"
Mira shouted orders, her team scattering to defend the villagers. But the roots didn't attack — they formed. Rising, spiraling, shaping themselves into the faint outline of a crown — enormous, jagged, pulsing with light.
Kairo stared, frozen. He recognized it instantly.
"The Crown of Soil," he whispered. "The mark of the Tyrant's dominion."
The golden roots shimmered, forming an arch that reached toward the heavens. And then, from the heart of the Seed, a figure began to take shape — tall, featureless, burning like the memory of a god.
It wasn't the Tyrant King reborn.
It was his will, finally given form.
Noel fell to his knees, eyes wide and glowing. The light around him matched the apparition's pulse.
Reika turned to Kairo. "What do we do!?"
Kairo's expression hardened, his aura igniting in brilliant flame. "We run. We gather what's left of this world's light. And then—"
He looked up at the glowing figure towering above the valley.
"—we burn the god that won't die."