Chapter 11: The Second Generation
On the fortieth day, Maren returned to Arin.
The old fungus cultivator walked with firm steps, his chest puffed out, an energy he hadn't had in cycles. The Threnaal graft had integrated perfectly. His body had accepted the new symbiote as if it had always been waiting.
- "I brought something - said Maren, handing Kael a small ceramic pot."
Inside, a tiny fungus, almost transparent blue, glowed softly.
- "It's a new variety. I managed to cultivate it after... well, after I got the breath to work longer."
Kael held the pot with both hands.
- "Does it have a name?"
- "Not yet. I thought you might give it one."
Kael looked at the fungus. Small. Fragile. But glowing with its own light.
- "Thren - he said."
Maren smiled.
- "In honor of the symbiote?"
- "In honor of what it taught me."
That night, Kael placed the pot on the windowsill of his quarters. The bluish light illuminated the chamber with a softness that reminded him of the moss in the unregistered space.
Ser'kaum coiled near the pot, as if protecting something precious.
Threnaal pulsed in the rhythm that meant "I am here."
And Kael-Zhur, for the first time since he had renounced being correction, felt exactly where he should be.