Cerya

When I am not teaching seedlings how to adapt to the grove’s ever changing demands, I often find myself tasked with overseeing others as they go about more delicate work.

Normally it would be a delight to watch as the plantings I have taught look out for each other.

Today is not one of those days.

Remains of corpses animated by Cinder Blighted wounds form a pile that rises to my shoulders. None of the affected wildlife will be safe for consumption. Not when the smallest traces of Cinder Blighted stone can survive for countless eclipses beneath the ground without need for air or water.

It is already midday and we are still finding living pieces of the crystalline infestation embedded in stonework or hidden in the underbrush.

Seven whole plantings of young and capable seedlings have been assigned to this task. Anyone with experience hunting, gathering, or handling corpses is eligible to receive assignment of Cinder Blight corpse disposal. Each corpse demands great care in being subdued or otherwise being rendered incapable of inflicting further harm. Only then will it be safe to transport the blighted remains to a kiln.

With this many bodies at risk of being cut by blighted stone, an abundance of careful oversight is required.

Standing apart from the hard working Seedlings, the watchful eyes of Mel’Viora’s many elder Seers stand poised to identify and address any problems. Most of them range from Sprouts to Blossoms in age.

This leaves me with the least amount of authority.

Under the scrutiny of my most distant and elderly sisters, things are being run differently.

The moment a Seedling slows or shows signs of strain, they are promptly called out and replaced. There is little doubt in my mind that they are being thoroughly examined for signs of Cinder Blight. But no one gets closure when no one returns from being called away. Even removing the blighted stone demands a recovery time measured in the passing of a sun or moon.

Entire other plantings that finish other tasks are eventually called in to reinforce any plantings that lose too many members to remain effective. Being forced to cooperate with strangers on the same task is a source of stress for many.

Most of the Seedlings are young enough that they turn to me for support or lodge their complaints. I can see it in their eyes, the hope that I will show leniency where my elder sisters would not.

But there can be no room for mistakes or dissent. That I am a Seedling is secondary to my role as a Seer. I am bound to carry out the unpleasant task of enforcing stricter demands on those I would prefer to be lenient.

Each harsh word I am expected to deliver is a wedge between the divide between teacher and student.

With each averted look, I feel the sting of becoming just another Seer in the eyes of these young plantings. They will turn instead to the rest of their plantings for support.

Maybe I should have departed when the First Thorned Watcher did. We are long past the point where her memory of the night’s events will find us the bulk of the remnants.

The task of scouring the area for every last trace of Cinder Blight now demands we cast a much wider net. Risking any surviving Blight is unacceptable. Which means I can’t risk squeezing out more Resonance to fill the opal for Ayre.

I am just left to watch and call attention to those who are beginning to tire. It is thankless work.

Between this and what resonance extraction I have already done, the emotional drain is starting to get to me. But seeing as the task is not all that physically or mentally demanding, I am left to stew over regretting how little I can do here.

It is a shame.

For the Lunarian seedlings, yes.

But the Cinder Blights do not deserve extermination to this degree.

Just in case, I drain any trace of emotion from my expression, lest my distant sisters turn on me for showing sympathy to an enemy.

The dark opal is useful in making my dour expression more than just convincing. How can I be upset when I can freely consign every thought of gloom towards the purpose of keeping Ayre alive?

I turn over the well worn remains of a memory.

Hopelessness numbs into indifference as a memory of me thumbs through a collection of books on the topic of Mel’Viora’s most recent ban. Every record of the grove’s interaction and studies covering a species of living crystalline entities was to be rededicated to kindling for the season of snowfall.

Not a ten-moon later the rich and fascinating entities contained within those books would be reduced to the classification of pest that would come to be known as Cinder Blights.

Teachings had to be adapted. My understanding of what justified the change came in the form of needing to teach how to identify and treat wounds caused by a new behavior in these fascinating entities that eventually led to taking over a body’s ability to move. Martially inclined plantings had been assigned extermination tasks. Whispers spread throughout the Seedlings that someone lost the ability to move their arm, demanding it be removed.

I was reminded that one of the more recent banned records that Theriya had confiscated suggested these crystalline entities might respond well to Emotional Resonance.

It was not difficult to imagine why these entities would take issue with being turned into living weapons. Now they were attempting to do the same to us.

I lost count of how many books I had been tasked with destroying.

The memory itself begins to fray in my mind.

I release the dark opal, returning it to a pocket.

Already the memory feels like it is from another life.

Or am I becoming a stranger to those exposed to far more than what few lessons I have been allowed to teach? This is not the environment for seeds of a brighter future to find nourishment or sprout.

No. I suspect my troubles run far deeper than that. There are moments where I suspect I am a stranger to even myself. That I can only dimly remember attempts being made at purging those crystalline entities has remained a source of concern.

I am too invested in trying to preserve the history of these crystalline entities to not stay up to date on the progress of their extermination.

My memories grow weaker right around the time the Twelfth Vylian Prince led a campaign to assist in exterminating Cinder Blights in the vicinity of our grove. It was a period of around thirty moons where I can recall only the most basic of details.

Snapdragon and I were not close at that time.

Which leaves only my dearest sister Theriya.

She tells me not to worry about it but I know when my sister is hiding something from me. I also suspect that it hurts her to keep it from me.

Lies and coercion are my specialties, not hers.

It is curious that she immediately resorted to preparing a crude binding of her own the moment Ayre arrived at our spire.

It is almost like she is worried about me getting hurt.

For the first time?

Or the second?

I know that the Vylian blood hunger drains more than the blood for which it is named. Were it not for the Cinder Blight demanding my attention, I had been hoping to spend the day contriving opportunities to study the perception altering effects on the one called Selescia.

How much will she remember from last night?

Will her memories have hard edges to them that sting to recall before tapering off entirely?

Or will I need Ayre to feed on me in order to be sure?

Speaking of my future bound-to-be, where is Ayre?

I expected them to turn up long before now.

Surely Astraea and the vulpine girl with the flowery speech would bring Ayre here like I asked.

The first explanation that occurs to me is that I have been misreading Astraea. Has she merely been humoring me with a passionate dedication on account of what I represent?

I am desperate to know what went into sculpting the perfect features of her form. Where does she come from that they allow so much time for honing a body like hers?

By comparison, I feel like a fresh Seedling on my first attempt at working with clay. I even briefly entertain the naive thought that Ayre prefers girls with violet shades of skin.

As lovely as it is to indulge in such notions, it is far more likely that Ayre got involved in a situation or misunderstanding that my presence could help alleviate.

Maybe it is time I excuse myself.

But that presents a problem. It would be unwise to leave any room for doubt of my commitment to this particular cause.

I will need to be convincing.

Four spiral horns crown the head of Sapling Seer Eluned. Unlike most Lunarians cultivated to conform to the grove’s needs, she and I have been allowed to play a hand in our own making. Knowing how to cultivate changes in ourselves and others is an important skill for anyone with dreams of starting a grove of their own. All Seers stand apart from standardized plantings in that way, but Eluned stands out more than most.

Where I am all curves and pliable violet flesh, she is dense muscle packed into a hulking auburn frame. While I sharpened my ears, she sharpened her teeth and tastes. Four deep chestnut eyes of a Seer who willingly bound herself to the previous Fourteenth Vylian Prince turn to affix me with a hard glare.

Two of her four arms beckon me closer. “Little Cerya. You look troubled. Open your heart to me.”

I cast a hesitant look in the direction of the nearest plantings of Lunarian Seedlings. No one would risk slacking off in front of Eluned.

But I’m putting on a show.

I grimace with very real pain before stepping closer to Eluned. Pulling back the sleeve of my robe, I reveal two bright red stones embedded in my bleeding forearm. “You have the steadiest hands.”

Eluned’s eyes widen at the sight of Cinder Blight burning its way into my arm.

Immediately her grip tightens around my wrist and shoulder. A glass knife is drawn by a third hand.

The Sapling Seer adopts a hard matronly tone as she makes this a teachable moment. “You consign yourself overly much to stone. It is making you careless.”

I lower my own horned head. “You know how behind we are. And now there’s a Vylian Prince I’m supposed to bind myself to.”

Eluned tenses up, but only for a moment.

Glass digs into my forearm.

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The first blighted stone’s removal only causes me to grit my teeth. It is the second that buried itself deep enough in my flesh to spread roots.

I scream, clinging to my sister in a moment of weakness.

While I catch my breath, Eluned cauterizes and binds the wound before letting me go. “Little Cerya. Your duties must magnify to reflect your ever growing sense of self worth.”

It is a familiar refrain.

I turn away from her dismissively. “This Prince is a stitched together mess. I don’t feel like Theirya and I are being taken seriously.”

Predictably, her grip tightens at my shoulder. “Vylian Nobility are creatures of passion and impulse. They will require much patience on your part before they settle into more agreeable patterns.” Her nails dig into my flesh, signaling her real point. “You, on the other hand, have no such excuse.”

I turn to face her, taking a long moment to visibly drain the emotion from my features. “Apologies Sapling Sister. You’re right.”

Eluned eases up on her grip before tucking my hair back behind my ears. “Why do I distinctly get the feeling that you are pushing yourself beyond what you are capable of? No. I think you need time to center yourself.”

I narrow my eyes.

She shows off her sharpened canines, daring me to argue with her.

I give her at least a taste of malicious compliance. “I’ll be sure to keep you in mind when I regrow the flesh you carved out of me.”

“Spite does not become you, little sister.” Eluned says with a derisive chortle. “You must know yourself well enough to act in response to even emotions that no longer resonate.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Are you really about to lecture me on reason and principles?”

“If I have to.” Elune’s expression and voice softens. “No one should be able to hurt you. Not in any lasting capacity.”

I flick at one of Eluned’s thick arms. “Are you going to tell me that I should be unmoved unless I permit myself to be moved?”

“For now, little Seed Seer, it is enough that you know your limits.” Her eyes drift to the side.

I recognize the look.

One of the other seedlings has made themselves a target.

“Harden your heart, little Cerya. You will master how to handle this Vylian Prince before long.” She releases me. “I look forward to the day that I can call you a Sapling Sister.”

“And I eagerly await the day you blossom, Eluned.” I say, excusing myself.

When I again turn away from Eluned, two Watchers stand poised to escort me back to the tree spire dedicated to Seed Seers.

They do not even need me to dismiss them.

And why should they? No one knows about Cinder Blight’s effects more than the Seers who are tasked with confiscating any and all information on the topic.

My blood stained hands reach out to touch a door already stained with blood.

With mounting trepidation, I set foot in my home while taking great care to not make a sound.

Ayre’s voice greets me with words not meant for me. “Which brings me to my last question. How much did you overhear, Amari?”

Amari responds with a playful lilt. “Who me? Oh I heard every word.”

“She’s lying.” Ayre hurriedly cuts in to say between the sounds of pacing boots.

Astraea’s voice sounds next, carrying with it an emotional investment. “I don’t think she is.”

Ayre’s groan causes me to form a sympathetic smile. “I don’t suppose you can also explain why you two are both… intimate all of a sudden.”

It is everything I can do to cover my mouth and not make a sound.

Oh Ayre.

I was worried for a moment.

“If you’ll allow me to speak.” Amari starts. When no one stops her, I hear the creak of a table shift. “I think Astraea’s needs should be a priority conversation between the two of you. One best kept private.”

“Astraea?” Ayre asks with hesitation.

“I promise I will explain.” Astraea says as the striding of boots come to a halt. “But not here. Not now. My needs cannot come before your own.”

A silence falls over the room.

“I want to trust you.” Ayre says, their voice low.

Astraea’s voice catches in her throat. “Princess.”

I pause mid stride, not wanting to miss another word.

It is Amari’s voice that breaks the tense silence that follows. “As touching as all of this is. Allow me the opportunity to make myself useful.”

Ayre hisses at her.

“Hear me out. Send Astraea to confirm if you must.” I barely even know this Amari but I can already picture the smugness in her self assurance. “Your darling little Fia has been awake this entire time. She set at once down the stairs to investigate our arrival, but has since retreated to her bedding.Judging by the amount of positions she shifted through while we have been talking, she’s still deciding what position will most convince you that she is asleep.”

“Amari.” It is Astraea’s turn to harden her voice. I do not quite register it as a threat, but there is an intensity in her voice too difficult for me to read.

“Fine! Fine. Don’t disturb the pretty little blood doll whose sketches focus on how to cut into every animal that captures her fancy.” Amari’s voice is interrupted by boots crossing the room.

Those footfalls are intercepted right around where I imagine Astraea to be, a guarded position leaning against the entrance to the dining room.

Amari continues unchallenged. “How about you put your bound-to-be Seed Seer out of her misery and clue her into the parts of this conversation that no amount of overhearing will explain?”

“What?” Astraea barks, snapping to attention.

“Leave us.” Is all Ayre says. “Make yourselves useful and fetch Fia. I’ll… I’ll explain everything. We have a lot of planning to discuss once Snapdragon arrives.”

“Good luck, Princess.” Amari’s voice is cut off by a heavier set of boots storming in her direction. She is quickly ushered out of the room and upstairs.

But there’s that word again.

Princess.

I swore I had misheard.

I take that as my cue to finish ascending the stairs.

Bloody rags hang from a bowl of water.

Two chairs lay discarded on the floor. I missed more than one argument, it seems.

And at the center of this scene stands someone I have chosen to care for dressed in the blood stained attire of someone I have failed.

My Ayre, wearing the garb of the Nineteenth Thorn.

What has happened to you?

How can you smile with a face still wet with tears and a face half covered in blood?

“Sit.” I say, lifting up a chair.

They do so.

“Good.” I offer praise before gesturing to the rags.

Ayre nods.

I make sure to again get their confirmation before sitting opposite them and applying damp cloth to bloody flesh.

“At your own pace.” Are the words I offer Ayre.

They pull away thrice. Each is accompanied by a wince or a cry of pain.

Each time I stop, Ayre invites me to continue. By the third time, they begin to gesture with impatience.

It is not gentleness they crave, but to press through the pain.

The words come eventually.

An admission here.

An explanation there.

It is not until Ayre’s shirt comes off that I understand the scope of what has been done.

I shout for Astraea to find me tools for stitching.

Amari is directed elsewhere for thread.

Ayre assures Fia that they do not need to feed before dismissing her.

Snapdragon and the formerly Nineteenth Thorn’s arrival becomes an excuse to fetch me more clean water and rags I do not need.

The more Ayre talks, the more I realize that Ayre is struggling to process what has happened to them. Twice I catch them trying to convince themselves and I that something didn’t happen.

Beyond the gemstones, their wounds, and the stress of everything that has happened, it eventually becomes clear that Ayre is avoiding one topic in particular.

I don’t want to push them.

Not if they are unready or unwilling to share.

Astraea alone brings a basket containing everything I asked for.

It only takes a shake of the head between Astraea and I to communicate that Ayre and I are not to be disturbed.

I get to work on wiping the blood away from Ayre’s chest when something demands I stop.

In the silence between us, I realize that Ayre is holding their breath.

“Your body is healing.” I say, not making it a question.

I watch as their eyes knit themselves shut instead of looking down. “Yeah.”

I’ve seen the scars.

Counted them to steady my nerves when they lay across from me last night.

Where I expected to find fresh scars beneath the blood, I arrived at a count of five fewer than there were last night. I hesitate pointing out the detail that caused me to initially stop. “Your chest.”

“It’s softer.” Ayre whispers in reply.

Their hand explores what their eyes dare not. It is a subtle thing considering the uneven pattern of how Ayre’s body fits together. But Ayre’s chest has always largely been theirs. Or at least, until now.

When Ayre goes still, it is only after their shoulders fall and a tension bleeds out of them.

Ayre holds their breath for longer than I am comfortable with, releasing it with a gasp and a fresh torrent of raw words and emotions. “Is it weird to admit that I’m kind of scared?”

I want to offer Ayre a smile, but their body is changing on them. And I don’t get the impression that it is their doing.

“No. Never.” I say, offering Ayre my hand.

They take it, squeezing hard.

“I thought I figured everything out. But now that I’m free to just fall apart from the day’s events, I’m worried I got it all wrong.” Their breath hitches. “I worry the person I was before today is going to disappear.”

My mind blanks at Ayre’s words.

It is a sudden and disarming feeling.

It takes an effort of will to pull the pale violet hand that I logically know to be mine away from Ayre’s chest.

When I reach for words, I find myself reaching for something as true as it is harsh. Is this what Ayre wants to hear? Or do I crave connection in this moment of familiar vulnerability?

“We are, as beings of soft flesh and not of hardened stone, forever growing and changing.” I keep my delivery cold and impartial until Ayre opens their eyes.

Something about seeing their eyes opening to emerge from pools of black sclera in search of my gaze tugs at tender memories of Snapdragon struggling to deal with her sensory issues.

I make it a point to favor Ayre with a softer expression and voice. “It is not always for the best. Wounds don’t always heal right. The scars we don’t see cannot always be relied upon to fade.”

Ayre tenses up.

I press them on this, digging my thumb into their palm. “You and I do not have the luxury of understanding one another. However much we might desire companions who understand, nothing is guaranteed for the likes of us.”

Ayre shows their fangs, and I watch them contemplate three different forms of self harm before resisting the call of each.

My thumb eases up. I move instead to slow circular massaging movements. “No amount of time or pain will help me understand what has been done to you. Theriya and I have already been hurt in ways that will forever shape how we will interpret anything you share with us.”

It takes Ayre a moment, but the tension in their grip loosens.

I want to smile, but I have only a deep and profound sadness to share. “You on the other hand, can claim our understanding for yourself.” Seeing Ayre's response, I realize that what I am asking is unfair. I would be asking Ayre to bear the burden of knowing something I do not think can be fixed.

But with it would come any number of insights that I think would make fulfilling their role easier to carry out.

At last I coax out a verbal reply. “What would you ask of me?”

It hurts me to hear them immediately spring to expressing a need to make themselves useful. Bloody, bruised, and drained in more ways than one, what more would Ayre be willing to put themselves through?

“Before anything else.” I draw out the moment with a gentle squeeze of Ayre’s hand. “I need you to tell me if you’re okay. If you need rest, time, or to feed, anything at all…”

“I’m good.” Ayre says.

And there’s that smile again.

“Ayre.” I reach out, my hand stopping inches from the scars. “Your heart and body are not stones. They need nourishment to live.”

It is with a heavy sigh that Ayre deflects away from my reasoning. “I don’t know what I need anymore. This parasite of mine, I’m starting to not see it as such. I worry that I am making a mistake I can’t come back from.”

“Please. Don’t rush this, okay?” I say, with one last squeeze of the hand.

Again I get a nod of confirmation.

I have already decided to accept them as they are.

Right now that means taking them at their word.

“I only ask, because I want you to be the one who decides what we are fighting for.” I say, releasing Ayre’s hand from my grip.

Ayre opens and closes their mouth. They do as I ask and sit with it for a few moments.

Eventually, their shoulders slump.

“Why me?”

Again my heart and mind betray me by wanting to dive headfirst into memories I can no longer reach.

It is my turn to mirror Ayre’s slumped shoulders. I at least make it a point to lean against them. “I can’t tell you. I wish I could.”

Ayre’s head cocks to the side.

I watch as one of their fangs rubs bloodlessly against their lower lip.

I take a deep breath.

And I really make the effort to center myself, but not for myself. Unlike what Elune intended, I allow myself to resonate with the full scope of emotions from having a chunk of my past taken from me.

I let those emotions rise to a boil. All of the anger, fury, and spite rises to my head.

“You should know that I think one of your other siblings has already fed on me. I don’t really remember it. The how or why is lost to me. All I know is that I keep running into gaps in my memory. The Cinder Blights are something I feel like I should have stronger opinions on than I do. I can’t help but think I was punished for something.”

Ayre stops me, brushing a tear from my cheeks.

“And now I’m asking you to relive all of that.” My voice cracks, demanding I take a moment to just breathe. “If I’m being honest with you, I don’t trust myself sometimes. I want someone I can rely on. Someone who really sees me like no one else can.”

I let these emotions just sit and resonate with me. I give into my emotions knowing that I am sitting opposite from someone whose depths of emotion might rival my own.

“I’m asking you to share a burden that I am uncomfortable putting into words.” I lift my arm bound in bloody bandages. Whether Ayre is willing to feed or not, this is a wound that will leave me feverish and bedridden before moonrise.

Ayre’s grip tender when they take my arm in theirs. “What happened?”

I take a deep breath before tightening my lips. “Cinder Blight.” Are the only words I offer Ayre.

Ayre’s expression darkens. “Cerya.”

I shake my head. “I need to know whether you are willing to feed on me.”

“I’m not scared of the Blight.” Ayre says. “It didn’t affect my brother. Shouldn’t affect me.” They sound like they are trying to convince themselves. It is almost enough that I threaten to pull my arm away.

Maybe it would be better for Ayre and I to be bedridden with a minor affliction than subject Ayre to a night of fighting these things.

But it’s not the affliction I’m worried about.

I need Ayre to know that these are not just some creature, but species with a long history of violent retribution against those who tried to turn them into a weapon.

I worry that Ayre will see themself in these creatures. But I want them to go into this with their eyes open to what they are doing.

A sympathetic look is all I can offer Ayre. “I know that feeding changes you. And that each drop of blood you drink from another will make you further unrecognizable to yourself.”

Ayre’s forehead lowers to rest against my arm. “You’re asking me to hurt you.”

There is nothing left for me to feel sorry for.

I know where I stand.

“You and I are already bound to each other’s ends and means. Neither of us gets to choose that. What I can offer you is the gift of knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am always going to accept you and claim you as mine.” My voice trembles as Ayre’s hands begin to tighten around my arm.

I begin to unwind the bandage, offering up the essence that flows through my veins.

Their fingers interlock with mine in a last tender little gesture. Ayre’s breath slows. “What you offer, we will accept only if you give your blessing.”

We.

Am I going to be included in that word?

How will things change between us once Ayre knows how I see the world? Will they forgive me for subjecting them to the cruelties committed by their siblings?

The truth is, Ayre had me the moment they admitted they feared losing themselves.

Already those closest to them have begun to call Ayre Princess.

The flesh over their heart is healing in a way that strikes the both of us as unambiguously feminine.

“You have our blessing Ayre.” I tenderly reach out to offer Ayre’s cheek a caress.

They linger with their head in my hand long enough for me to offer them some final words of comfort.

“Take from me only what you are comfortable with. Know that yours is the strength that will define how much we can change our shared circumstances.”

Ayre’s head twists and turns against my hand, but they do not dispute my words.

Slowly.

Thoughtfully.

Ayre explores the reddened wounds of my arm for a spot that hurts the least.

And then they take from me the promise of blood and understanding that I too carry a version of me that I have long considered dead.

Unlike Ayre or Snapdragon, I may be comfortable with the role assigned to me. But this does not exempt me from the violence exerted upon any deviation from the means and ends of what is expected of us.