The rain eased by dawn, but the sect's courtyards still glistened like polished obsidian. Mo Lianyin had not slept, though her body lay in her quarters as still as carved jade.
She dreamed.
The catacombs stretched endlessly before her, the black pool mirror-smooth. Across it, her own face smiled in the dark — the "root," as it called itself. This time its voice was softer, almost tender.
You ran before. But you'll come to me again.
She tried to speak, to deny it, but in the dream her voice belonged to the root. The words came out wrong.
We are already the same bloom. We share the same stem. Why fight the hand that feeds you?
Petals drifted upward from the water, settling in her hair, on her shoulders. They were warm, pulsing faintly like living things. The scent of them was intoxicating — sandalwood overlaid with something sharper, metallic.
One heart, the root whispered. That is all we need. Anchor us, and we will make you untouchable.
---
Her eyes snapped open. The first light of morning filtered through the paper windows. Her pillow was damp — not with sweat, but with the faint red stain of lotus petals that crumbled to dust under her fingers.
She sat up too quickly, the movement sending a spike of pain through her temples. Her heartbeat was wrong — off-rhythm, as if the lotus inside her had taken over the pacing.
Before she could steady herself, the door slid open.
Zevian stepped inside without ceremony. His eyes took her in, lingering on her trembling hands.
"You dreamed," he said flatly.
She didn't deny it.
"It's pulling harder," she admitted. "Last night… it felt like I could hear it in my own voice."
His jaw tightened. "That's the beginning of soul entanglement. If it finishes binding itself to you, there won't be a difference between you and the root."
---
She looked away. "And what then? You kill me?"
"If that's what it takes."
The silence that followed was sharper than any blade. She met his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation, but his expression was unreadable.
"Then maybe you should do it now," she said, her voice more bitter than she'd intended.
Instead of drawing his sword, he stepped closer. "I've seen anchors fail before, Lianyin. The root will feed on you until there's nothing left of the person you think you are. I'm not ready to kill you. But I'm not going to let it win, either."
---
Before she could answer, a gong sounded from the main courtyard — three deep strikes in quick succession. The signal for an intruder inside the inner gates.
Zevian's expression shifted instantly, his voice low but urgent. "Stay here. I'll deal with—"
"I'm not staying behind," she interrupted, already reaching for her sword.
"Lianyin—"
"If it's the Crimson Lotus Court, they'll be after the Moon's Shadow Seal again. I'm the one they want. Hiding won't change that."
For a moment, they locked eyes. Then he gave a short, frustrated nod. "Fine. But you stay within arm's reach."
---
They moved together through the rain-slick corridors toward the courtyard. The smell of wet earth and steel was already in the air.
When they emerged into the open, the scene was chaos. Four masked intruders stood in a loose formation, their black robes marked with the crimson lotus emblem. Sect disciples lay scattered — some unconscious, others groaning, a few unmoving.
One of the intruders turned toward them. In his hand was a strip of paper, soaked but still glowing faintly with talismanic light. The same curling script from the catacomb petals.
The root pulsed hard in her chest.
---
Come to me, the whisper slid through her mind, threading between the sound of rain and steel.
Her sword felt heavier in her hand. For a heartbeat, she almost lowered it.
Then Zevian's voice cut through, harsh and grounding. "Focus!"
The fight broke in a flash of motion. Zevian was already inside the first attacker's guard, his blade sliding between ribs. Lianyin caught the strike of another, steel screaming against steel, and shoved him back into the path of a sect disciple's spear.
But the man with the talisman didn't engage. He was watching her — waiting.
---
When their eyes met, he smiled under the mask and whispered something she couldn't hear over the rain.
The talisman flared.
Pain lanced through her chest. Her knees hit the wet stone before she realized she'd fallen. The world blurred at the edges, the courtyard dissolving into shadow.
---
She was in the catacombs again. The pool. The petals.
The root stood on the water's surface, extending a hand.
One heart, it said. Anchor us. You already know whose.
Her hand twitched upward before she could stop it. She thought of Zevian — not of killing him, but of what it would mean if she bound him to her. The bond would hold her steady. The Severance would be hers to command.
The root smiled wider. He would be beautiful, wouldn't he?
---
A shout pierced the dream. Her name — raw, furious. She turned, and for a heartbeat, the root's face rippled into Zevian's.
Her eyes snapped open again. She was on the ground in the courtyard, Zevian crouched beside her, one hand gripping her shoulder, the other still holding his sword.
The intruders were gone.
"You were gone for nearly a minute," he said, his voice low but sharp. "I couldn't reach you."
She swallowed hard. "It wanted me to take your heart."
His grip tightened just slightly. "Then it's getting desperate. Which means we're running out of time."
---
Far from them, down in the catacombs, the root opened its eyes.
Soon, it thought. She'll come soon.