The wind that carried them down the mountain was colder than the rain.
By the time Mo Lianyin and Zevian reached the mouth of the catacombs, the air smelled of stone and something older — a dryness that clung to the back of the tongue.
The entrance was nothing more than a break in the cliff face, half-hidden by thorn vines and wet moss. To anyone else it looked like the scar of a collapsed cave. But the lotus inside her pulsed harder with every step closer, as though it had been waiting for this exact path to be taken.
"Whatever's down here," Zevian murmured, scanning the dark opening, "it doesn't want to be found. Which means it's dangerous enough to matter."
Lianyin said nothing. Her hand brushed the hilt of her sword, the familiar texture of the wrapping grounding her, if only barely.
---
They lit no torches. Both had trained their eyes for darkness, and in these tunnels, fire would only choke them with smoke. The path sloped downward, the stone narrowing until they had to walk single file. Water dripped somewhere far ahead — slow, patient drops that marked the silence like a clock.
The walls were carved, though crudely — spirals, petals, and roots etched in relief. At first, they seemed merely ornamental. But as they moved deeper, the spirals twisted into shapes that were less like flowers and more like mouths, open and screaming.
"The root waits in the dark," Lianyin whispered, the words from the talisman curling cold in her chest.
Zevian glanced back at her, his voice low. "I think we're walking through its dream."
---
They reached the first chamber without warning — a round cavern whose ceiling vanished into shadow. The center was dominated by a pool of still water, black as obsidian.
But it was what floated on the water that stopped her breath.
Lotus petals.
Hundreds of them.
All the same deep red as the bloom in her heart.
They did not rot. They did not move. Yet the air in the chamber vibrated faintly, as if the petals themselves were humming.
Lianyin stepped forward, but Zevian's hand shot out to bar her way.
"Look closer," he said.
She did — and saw that each petal bore writing. Tiny, curling script. Not prayers. Not blessings. Names.
She scanned the nearest one. Elder Hanxiu.
Another. Xuanming Yao.
Her chest tightened. These were the names of Xuanming Sect disciples… all ones who had died in the last decade.
---
"Blood anchors," Zevian said quietly. "Every one of them bound to the lotus here before their death. This… is where the Severance feeds."
Her hand went to her chest. The lotus throbbed once in recognition.
"Why my name isn't here?" she murmured.
Zevian's voice was unreadable. "Maybe it's waiting."
---
A faint sound broke the silence — not water, not stone. Something like a breath, slow and drawn out, coming from the far side of the pool.
They turned in unison. From the darkness beyond the petals, a shape emerged. It was not fully human — its limbs too long, its skin like pressed parchment stretched over bones. But its face…
Her knees almost buckled.
It was her own face.
Not a reflection. Not a mirror. The same eyes, the same mouth — but the irises glowed crimson, and the expression twisted into a knowing smile.
"Mo Lianyin," it said in a voice that was hers and yet not. "You've finally come home."
---
Zevian's blade was half out of its sheath, but Lianyin lifted a hand to stop him. Her heart was hammering, but not entirely from fear.
"What are you?" she asked.
The thing tilted its head. "The root beneath your bloom. The first Severance ever made. Every heart you take feeds me… and every breath you draw brings us closer."
Its gaze dropped to her chest. "The bloom is beautiful now. But you'll find the root has thorns."
The lotus inside her pulsed so hard she staggered. Images flickered in her mind — her sword cutting down enemies she didn't remember fighting, petals falling in slow arcs through air thick with the scent of iron, her own hands opening chests to free the hearts within.
None of these memories were hers.
Were they?
---
She swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady. "You've been inside me since—"
"Since you were born," it finished. "You've never been alone, child. You've always been mine."
Her hand tightened on her sword, but she couldn't draw it. Some part of her chest felt anchored to the thing across the water.
Zevian's voice cut through the pull. "Lianyin. Step back."
She didn't. Couldn't.
The root's smile widened, petals beginning to drift from the pool to hover in the air between them. They rotated slowly, forming a path from the water's edge to its feet.
"Come to me," it whispered. "Finish the Severance. You won't have to fear losing anyone again."
Her boots shifted forward without her willing them.
---
Zevian moved then — the whisper of steel followed by the ring of impact. His blade slashed through the air, severing the first petal in the chain. It dissolved instantly into black ash.
The root shrieked — a sound that shook the water in the pool and rattled the carvings on the walls.
"Go!" Zevian barked, grabbing her arm and dragging her back toward the tunnel.
The petals erupted into motion, spinning like razors. Stone cracked where they struck. The pool boiled. The smell of blood filled the chamber.
---
They ran. The tunnels twisted like a living thing, narrowing, widening, forcing them to choose turns without knowing if they led upward or deeper still. The lotus in her chest writhed, torn between rage and hunger.
By the time they burst into the night air again, the rain felt like a blessing. Both of them were soaked, breathing hard.
Zevian turned to her, eyes sharp. "You can't go back there alone. That thing—"
"—is me," she finished.
He didn't argue. He only said, "Then we need to figure out which of you is in control."
Far below, in the catacombs, the black pool stilled again. But one petal — the one that had been severed — drifted down the mountain stream, heading toward the sect gates.