The battle had scarred the city's quiet morning.
Dust and shadows clung to broken walls, mingling with the sharp scent of burnt earth.
He stood amidst the ruins, chest pounding, roots glowing faintly beneath his skin.
The seed inside whispered—a rhythm both alien and deeply familiar.
The Keepers had retreated—for now.
But their words echoed, haunting the spaces between his breaths.
"The fracture will consume you."
Lira wiped blood from her blade, her eyes scanning the horizon.
"They'll be back. Stronger. Smarter. Deadlier."
He swallowed the ache in his throat.
"Then we need to be ready."
***
The city groaned—a low, resonant sound that felt like a warning.
Beneath their feet, the earth pulsed with uneasy life.
He pressed his palm to the cracked pavement, feeling a faint vibration.
"The seed… it's more than power. It's connected to everything here."
Lira nodded, stepping closer.
"The fracture isn't just a wound in the sky. It's a wound in the city's soul."
He looked up.
The fracture remained—an ominous tear, jagged and alive.
Light spilled unevenly through it, casting strange shadows.
"If the fracture is the wound," he said, "then what is the seed?"
"The cure.
Or the disease.
Depending on who holds it."
They moved through the city's ruined heart—a labyrinth of forgotten dreams and tangled roots. Fragments of the past whispered in the wind—ghostly echoes of lives long gone.
Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath them.
A deep rumble shook the walls, dust falling like snow.
From the shadows emerged a figure—a woman cloaked in vines, her eyes glowing emerald.
"You carry the seed," she said, voice like rustling leaves.
"I am Sylva, the last of the Root Whisperers."
He stared, heart pounding.
"Root Whisperers?"
Sylva nodded.
"Guardians of the city's ancient balance.
Long before the fracture, before the Keepers."
She stepped forward, roots unfurling from the ground, weaving around her like a living cloak.
"The seed chose you for a reason," she said.
"But wielding it requires more than strength.
You must listen—to the roots, the city, and the fracture itself."
He clenched his fists.
"Then teach me."
Sylva smiled—a sad, knowing smile.
"First, you must understand the cost."
***
She led them into a hidden grove—an oasis of green hidden beneath the city's decay.
The air shimmered with ancient magic.
"This city was once whole," Sylva said, touching a twisted root.
"But greed and fear shattered its core.
The fracture is the city's cry for help—and its curse."
He knelt, placing his hands on the earth.
The seed pulsed, syncing with the grove's heartbeat.
Visions flooded his mind:
Towering forests razed to ash.
Rivers poisoned black.
Faces of those who tried to save the city, only to be swallowed by despair.
"The fracture isn't just a wound," he whispered.
"It's a memory."
Sylva nodded.
"And memories can heal… or haunt forever."
A sudden sharp cry pierced the grove.
They turned to see shadows creeping through the trees—the Keepers, relentless.
"They'll never stop," Lira said, drawing her blade.
He rose, feeling the seed flare.
Roots erupted from the ground, twisting and writhing like serpents.
The grove became a battlefield, light clashing with shadow.
He fought with a newfound purpose—not just to survive, but to reclaim the city's soul.
***
As the last Keeper fell, a whisper echoed in his mind.
"You are the fracture's heart now.
But can the heart choose its own path?"
He looked to the sky.
The fracture pulsed—less jagged, but still alive.
He knew the battle was far from over.
"I will choose," he said, voice steady.
"And I will heal what was broken."
End of Chapter 13.