The ground heaved like a living thing, throwing Seraphina to her knees. Jagged fissures split the courtyard, exhaling gusts of air that reeked of wet stone and something older—the musk of deep places untouched by sun or wind.
Lysandra stood immobile at the epicenter, the split fruit still cradled in her hands. Its pulsing red flesh had darkened to near-black, veins of gold threading through it like cracks in drying paint. The juice dripping from her fingers no longer looked like liquid, but like roots—microscopic tendrils that burrowed into her bark-like skin wherever they touched.
Riven grabbed Seraphina's arm, hauling her upright. His root-woven hair lashed wildly, several strands snapping off as the wind intensified. "We need to get under the tree!" he shouted over the rising tumult.
Above them, the raining teeth intensified, clattering against the stones like hail. Where they struck the exposed roots of the great tree, they stuck fast, their sharp tips embedding deep before dissolving into black ichor. The roots recoiled at first, then—horrifyingly—began to absorb the corruption, their golden surfaces mottling with spreading stains.
Lysandra's head snapped up, her luminous eyes widening. "No." The word was barely audible, but it carried the weight of a death knell. "They're poisoning it."
A sound like grinding stone echoed from the largest fissure. Then—
A hand.
Not of flesh or root, but of something in between—skeletal fingers sheathed in bark-like skin, their tips ending in thorns longer than Seraphina's dagger. It gripped the fissure's edge, heaving upward with terrifying strength as the thing beneath pulled itself into the open.
Seraphina's breath caught in her throat.
It stood nearly twice Riven's height, its emaciated frame composed of twisted wood and exposed bone. Where a face should have been, there was only a gaping maw lined with rows of those same glistening teeth still falling from the sky. Its hollow chest cavity pulsed with a single, grotesque fruit—a distorted mirror of the one Lysandra held—its surface writhing with maggot-like roots.
The First Hunger had arrived.
The creature's emergence sent a shockwave through the ruined courtyard, the very air vibrating with its terrible presence. Seraphina's bones hummed with the resonance, her teeth rattling in her skull as she struggled to keep her footing. The thing that had clawed its way from the depths stood motionless for a heartbeat—its thorned fingers flexing, its hollow chest cavity pulsing with that grotesque, writhing fruit—before its head tilted slowly toward Lysandra.
Or rather, toward the golden fruit she still clutched in her hands.
A sound emerged from its gaping maw—not a growl, not a hiss, but something far worse. The wet, guttural clicking of countless teeth grinding together in anticipation.
Lysandra took an involuntary step back, her bark-like skin darkening where the fruit's juices had seeped into her. The luminous glow beneath her surface flickered erratically, as if whatever power sustained her new form was being drained away by the corrupted liquid.
Riven moved before Seraphina could react. His root-like hair lashed forward, the golden strands elongating into whip-like tendrils that struck the creature across its chest. The impact sent it staggering back a step, black ichor oozing from the wounds—but the creature barely seemed to notice. Its maw stretched wider, rows of teeth glistening as it exhaled a breath that reeked of rotting vegetation and spoiled fruit.
The ground between them erupted.
Dozens of skeletal hands burst through the broken stones, their thorned fingers scrabbling for purchase. The raining teeth intensified, striking Seraphina's arms and shoulders like tiny daggers, each impact leaving behind stinging welts that burned with unnatural heat.
"Lys!" Seraphina shouted over the cacophony. "The fruit—you have to—"
But Lysandra wasn't listening. Her attention was fixed on the golden fruit in her hands, her luminous eyes wide with dawning horror. The once-vibrant flesh had darkened further, the veins of gold now tarnished and blackened. Tiny rootlets had begun to sprout from its surface, their tips questing toward her wrists like seeking tongues.
"It's changing," she whispered.
The First Hunger took another step forward, its movements jerky yet deliberate. The other creatures—smaller, twisted versions of their progenitor—were pulling themselves free of the earth now, their hollow chest cavities pulsing with smaller, malformed fruits.
Riven's golden roots whipped out again, this time wrapping around the First Hunger's limbs in an attempt to restrain it. But the moment they made contact, the corruption spread—black veins racing up the strands toward Riven himself. He gasped, his leaf-pupiled eyes widening as the infection took hold.
Seraphina acted on instinct.
Her dagger—the one weapon that had never failed her—flashed in the eerie half-light as she lunged forward. The blade bit deep into the First Hunger's side, releasing a gush of that same black ichor. The creature shrieked, its grinding teeth intensifying to a deafening crescendo as it rounded on her.
For the first time, Seraphina saw its eyes.
Not in its face—there was no face—but embedded in the writhing fruit within its chest cavity. Dozens of them, all different sizes, all the same terrible silver-green as the Gardener's had been.
And they were laughing.
Lysandra's voice cut through the chaos, stronger now, resonant with power that hadn't been there moments before. "Seraphina! Catch!"
The golden fruit arced through the air, its surface now glowing with renewed intensity. Seraphina barely had time to register the movement before it was in her hands—warm, pulsing, alive.
The moment her fingers closed around it, the visions struck—
A vast, interconnected web of roots spanning continents, some healthy, others corrupted.
A single point of light—the golden seed they'd planted—radiating cleansing energy.
And at the edges, where the roots grew thin, the Hungers stirring, drawn to the light like moths to flame.
The vision shattered as the First Hunger's thorned hand closed around her throat.
The First Hunger's grip was like being caught in the jaws of an ancient oak - unrelenting, merciless. Seraphina's vision swam as the thorned fingers tightened, each razor-tip puncturing her skin with deliberate precision. Warm blood trickled down her collarbone, soaking into the fabric of her tunic. The golden fruit pulsed in her hand, its light dimming as if her very life force was being siphoned away.
Across the ravaged courtyard, Lysandra let out an anguished cry. Her transformed body convulsed, bark-like skin cracking as luminous sap oozed from the fissures. "Let her go!" The command reverberated with the weight of the roots themselves, shaking the ground beneath them.
The creature only tightened its grip in response. Seraphina's dagger slipped from numb fingers, clattering against the broken stones. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision as she struggled to breathe, the fruit's warmth fading in her palm.
Riven's agonized scream cut through the haze. His corrupted roots had turned against him, the black veins now creeping up his arms, burrowing beneath his skin. He clawed at his own chest, golden eyes wide with horror as the infection spread. "It's in my mind," he gasped. "I can hear it - the hunger, the endless, gnawing -"
His words dissolved into a wet, choking sound as his mouth filled with thin, black roots. They spilled past his lips like serpents, writhing in the air before turning toward Seraphina with terrifying purpose.
Lysandra moved with sudden, desperate speed. Her bark-armored hand plunged into her own chest, fingers closing around something that glowed with blinding intensity. When she withdrew her hand, it held a pulsing core of silver light - the last remnant of her human essence.
"Remember us," she whispered.
Then she was upon the First Hunger, driving the glowing core straight into the writhing fruit within its chest cavity.
The explosion of light was blinding. Seraphina fell to the ground as the creature's grip loosened, gasping for air as she scrambled backward. The First Hunger staggered, its grotesque form convulsing as silver fire spread through its root-like veins. The smaller creatures shrieked, collapsing into piles of twitching, burning roots.
Riven's agonized form crumpled to the ground, his body convulsing as the corruption fought against Lysandra's sacrifice. Golden and black fluids oozed from his eyes, nose, and mouth, forming a terrible mosaic across his ashen face.
Through the haze of pain, Seraphina saw Lysandra's form begin to dissolve - not into nothingness, but into thousands of silver roots that wound their way into the First Hunger's body. The creature thrashed violently, its teeth shattering like glass as the cleansing fire consumed it from within.
The last thing Seraphina saw before unconsciousness took her was Lysandra's face - human again, just for a moment - smiling sadly as the silver roots pulled the First Hunger down, down, down into the waiting earth.
And Riven's hand, twitching toward hers across the bloodstained stones, before going terribly, irrevocably still.