"Shouldn't we wait for Miss Lulu?" Nesrine questioned her as the other guards gathered around the palanquin. All males except her in this case.

"There is no need for her, Nesrine." The scribe of commoners stated dryly. "I intend to leave Sadina for a few days on the day after tomorrow, so I would like to stop by my house at least once before that. There is no need for Lulu's assistance in such a short walk, especially when she is currently indisposed."

Whether it was because of the scribe's stern gaze or the guard's own suppositions, Nesrine didn't protest again.

Today, as they lacked a pair of hands, four male guards carried the palanquin whilst the wheelchair was left for Nesrine. Funnily enough, Aloe could notice how the woman was at least stronger – speaking in muscle mass – than at least two of the guards. Not that the task required a lot of strength as most people would be able to carry Aloe on their backs without much effort. The palanquin was overkill, but so were the flights of stairs leading to the palace of Sadina.

Soon enough they made it down the hill. Aloe didn't risk it and donned toughness all the way there. It was already growing dark, twilight threatening to become night by the moment when the two women reached the scribe's house. The house was already quite the walk away from the palace, and the wheelchair pace certainly didn't help with the dwindling sun.

Perhaps it was her cloudy mind, but Aloe didn't offer Nesrine the keys like before and instead unlocked the door herself. Her house was no longer blooming with dust and death, but it was far from clean. It had been a few days since Lulu had cleaned it for the last time, and the maid didn't have enough time to perform a thorough cleaning. Yet it was in an infinitely better state than Aloe had left it.

"Carry me upstairs," Aloe ordered once they were inside. As the guard didn't comply instantly, she turned to face her. "What is wrong?"

"Uhm… well," Nesrine's eyes diverted to said stairs, "how am I to carry you upstairs? Should I do it with the wheelchair? Though that may be a bit dangerous…"

"I see." It took Aloe a few seconds to understand what the guard meant by that. "Leave me on the ground then. You will carry the wheelchair behind later."

"Em, are you sure about that?" The guard stated doubtfully.

"Quite. A bit of dust is not going kill me, is it now?" The scribe groaned. "You are quite indecisive today, Nesrine."

"Sorry, sorry." Nesrine apologized and carried her upstairs, leaving her on the ground before going for the wheelchair.

It didn't escape Aloe's attention the wry expression the muscle woman was performing, but she didn't dwell on it. Once Nesrine carried the nince-damned contraption up, the guard lifted the scribe and placed her on it.

"I need space, please leave the floor and do not return until I say otherwise. Understood?" Aloe's tone was commanding enough that Nesrine didn't question her, instead taking a military salute out of the woman and she went downstairs. Where to was beyond Aloe's knowledge and will to care.

The petite woman took the keys of her office out and painfully pushed her wheelchair forward. Just in case, she carried water in the wheelchair to replenish the amphora that was watering the Blossomflame, but the whole trip would have been useless if the evolved flower had yet to bloom.

With much suspense cursing through her blood, Aloe slowly opened the office's door.

Fleeting light peered into the room through the window. Aloe had given a lot of thought to the pot's placement so as to not let anyone see it. Not only the office was on the first floor, but the windowsill was placed slightly lower than the actual window, meaning the plant couldn't be easily seen from the sight whilst it received all the sunlight that it needed.

But that wasn't what mattered right now, but the growth of the evolved flower.

"Uhm…" Aloe slowly pushed her wheelchair forward, and whilst she could see the hints of red looming over the pot and the watering contraption, the lack of such color made her lose hope. "Come on, come on."

She impatiently removed the near-empty water ceramic and grabbed the pot. The scribe didn't dare to look directly at it, instead opting to take a solid gaze at the ceiling and a deep breath. Once her heart was set, she turned her head down. Her emerald eyes were met with fire red.

Yet her visage didn't boast any happiness.

"I… guessed as much." Aloe groaned crestfallen. "Even with accelerated growth, it hasn't had enough time to fully bloom."

The Blossomflame wasn't exactly a bud, the flower had grown from its stem, and some hints of orange petals could be seen on its base, but the actual flower – the one that boasted the might of fire – remained closed, its unique red color far from materialized.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"Come on, give me something." She begged to the evolved plant putting the pot at the level of her forehead, her temples kissing the ceramic. "I can do with anything. An ember, a spark, whatever fire you can kindle." The scribe forced the pot in her temples, pushing hard against it. "Please. P-please."

She almost sobbed, but even in the solitude of her office, Aloe didn't allow herself to show that weakness. Her father used to say that weakness began by oneself, and she believed that.

"I…" In desperation, Aloe placed the potted plant again on the windowsill and began undressing. Last time she had placed her wound next to the fully grown plant, so maybe if she got the Blossomflame close to her hips, it would react. Removing her clothing was just the last drop of her sanity telling her that the evolved plant's flame may burn her clothing, and there would be no explaining nor justifying that.

Aloe tried not to think about it, but undressing made her feel weak, and exposed. That had always been the case, but since that night… it had never been truer. If it weren't because maids were the ones who had freed her from her clothing even during her stay at Asina, she doubted she could have done it herself. Flimsy as fabric may be, they gave her strength.

Clumsily, the scribe freed herself from the clothing, leaving it hanging on her windowsill. She even removed her undergarments, an action she quickly regretted as the uncushioned seat of the wheelchair wasn't thought for riding it commando.

Discomfort notwithstanding, Aloe reached for the pot and prayed and begged for the Blossomflame to give her some of its warmth.

"An ember is more than enough, please." She begged at the evolved plant placed between her thighs. "I am your ally." The cultivator said after remembering the description of the Aloe Veritas on the plant. "Please."

Alas, the Blossomflame – or the heavens – failed to respond to her cry for help.

Even as she lay still and alone in the office muttering her unanswered prayers, Aloe wasn't cold. The Blossomflame may have not been fully grown, but even in its budding stage, it presented its characteristic warmth.

"No." Aloe raised her head. "I won't surrender here. If there's heat, it means the magic of the Blossomflame is working. I need to tap into it."

Her trail of thought was simple and foundationless. If there was heat, there had to be fire.

Aloe shifted into strength, mainly to remove toughness, and then she bit her finger. She had miscalculated her conviction and current vitality levels, for she removed a decent patch of skin from her finger, but she didn't care about such wounds.

"Come on, Blossomflame. Come on. Your ally is wounded." She swayed her bleeding finger in front of the evolved flower as if she were feeding a piece of jerky to a starving stray cat. "Please, help me. Help your ally." Her tone became more desperate as time passed, the Blossomflame still not showing a response. "Ple… please." It was hard for her to keep the tears at bay. "Heal m-me, please."

No intervention, whether natural or mystical, took place in the office.

As her desperation reached her maximum and hope her lowest point, Aloe led her bleeding finger in the Blossomflame. Directly inside the close bud.

It happened fast, but the scribe felt the faintest of embers in her fingertip and the pistils of the flower caressed her finger. She snatched the hurt finger from the Blossomflame, not out of fear, but conviction. She didn't want the faint sparks to be wasted on her finger. Without giving as much as a first thought, Aloe led the half-open Blossomflame bud to her crotch, placing the evolved flower where she herself had been deflowered.

Her mind didn't work correctly, regardless of whether it was out of bewilderment or desperation, but she knew there was warmth and vitality flowing on the plant, and that was enough for her. She waited for a minute, but as embers caressed her lower body, instead she caressed the flower with her bloodied finger along the yet-to-flourish petals.

The movements were shallow and wobbly, her psyche as unstable as her body, but as traces of her already-drying blood spread along the surface of the petals, Aloe felt the warmth sprouting out of the Blossomflame.

Again, the fire threatened to appear.

This time, Aloe didn't snatch her finger away, but instead led it to her crotch, with the hopes that the fires of the Blossomflame directed there.

And they did.

The hot flower jerked slightly, its unripe bud opening, and flames gushed out of it in trails of faint embers. It was far from the fire she remembered from the Blossomflame of her greenhouse, but it was a magical fire, nonetheless. The embers collided against her skin as they spurted in little sparks and landed harmlessly on her lower body.

Aloe groaned as the pathetic attempts of fire kindled her uncovered hips, her crotch warming up to the Blossomflame's mystical touch. A few seconds later, a hideous itch assaulted her.

"Ah!" The cultivator writhed in pain and discomfort, rocking the wheelchair back and forth and making some of the dirt from the pot fall out and soil her. Though that was of no importance to her as she gritted her teeth and felt a thousand needles scratch her insides piercing her. "Ugh!"

It wasn't a painful feeling or not one she despised, at least. The sensation was eerily reminiscent of snapping bones in place, whether it was a shoulder or the neck. There was a morbid and soothing comfort to it.

"Aaaaaaah!" Still, her fingers twitched like crazy at not being able to scratch the itch inside her as she furiously scratched the skin in her hip area.

The embers died as soon as they had lit up, but the itch remained for longer. Uncomfortably longer.

Her pain lapsed for an instant as she heard the creaking of the staircase. "Aloe? Are you alright?" She heard Nesrine shouting. "I heard screams."

"I am fine!" Aloe instantly responded, suddenly becoming aware of her indisposed state. "You can go back. Do not enter! Hear me? Do not enter the office!"

"A-alright." The guard faintly responded; her voice overwhelmed by the scribe's shouts.

Once she heard the guard's steps on the ground floor Aloe focused back on her itch, only that now it had faded into a memory. The petite woman took a deep breath and gathered her courage, putting her hands on the windowsill, and raising her discovered bottom from the wheelchair seat. She placed her feet on the floor and deposited her body weight on them and her hips.

A bad idea.

"Son of a who-" Aloe instinctively bit her lips, cutting her cursing short, and slumped onto the wheelchair in pain. She lay there, with her breathing ragged, for a few seconds. "Okay, okay. That was some progress."

For the first time in months, Aloe had stood in her legs, even if it hurt as much as getting beaten to near death. But progress was progress, and the faded embers of the Blossomflame had awakened her own fire back.