Theriya

I am the first of the morning arrivals to set foot inside the grove’s outer walls. Seeing the Second Thorned Watcher on hand to greet me is well within expectations.

For being one of only so few on hand to guard the walls, he appears remarkably untouched. It is a good start, but best I stick to what is expected of me while the Eighth Bitterbloom remains close at hand.

“Any casualties?” I ask.

“No. Seed Seer Theriya.” Second says, keeping his report brief.

Still too early to feel like I can release a held breath.

I turn to the Eighth Bitterbloom Watcher. “I’m inclined to take Second at his word.”

“So long as you don’t make the mistake of valuing anything else of his.” Eighth says with a sneer.

Second, for his part, maintains a blank stare.

“Nothing? You Thorrns are no fun.” Eighth’s sneer fades as the Second Thorn resumes his task of wiping blood from the tips of javelins.

My accompanying Watcher rests on her spear, no longer alert to the possibility of anything hostile within the walls. A twirl of the finger through her golden locks of hair does not go unnoticed. I take it to mean she would much rather be with the rest of the Bitterblooms.

Understandable, knowing they are all outside the walls while she is stuck accompanying me to investigate the fate of the Thorns. Best I give her an out then. I’d prefer the kind of conversations that are to follow be kept private.

“I think I can take it from here, Eighth Bitterbloom.” I say, busying myself with double checking the Second Thorn’s work.

“If you are certain, Seed Seer.” Eighth says, unable to hide the light of interest returning to her eyes.

My students are so easy to read. I wonder if it is like this with Cerya and the Thorns. “If I have need of you, I will be sure to call out or send a Thorn.”

“It will be as you say, Seed Seer Theriya.” She says, sounding thankful.

And with that, the Eighth Bitterbloom departs.

The attention of most Lunarians remains split between picking through the aftermath of last night while Watchers remain on guard for stray animals still afflicted by the Moon or Cinder Blight.

Second Thorn’s shoulders shift as he sets aside his mind numbing task for something more important. Breath swells into his lungs and chest as he readies himself to give a recounting of the night.

I cut him off, turning to begin making my way towards the tower. “Astraea and I have already had words. Fill me in on everything else.”

When he does not immediately fall in step beside me, I know that something is wrong.

“Did she claim responsibility?” He asks, a suspicious hesitation creeping into his voice.

At that I turn on him. My words are pointed. “Responsibility for what, exactly?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Frustration grips the Second Thorn, but he falls in line. “My understanding of the situation is that she was Ayre’s Sworn Blade.”

“Elaborate.” I say.

He does. “I don’t know what allows Ayre and Lady Wyrmsbane to act under the moonlight, but Ayre was left to confront the bulk of the enemy force, alone. If you asked me, I would warn you that there is a dangerous amount of animosity between the two of them. Even when Lady Wyrmsbane acted to protect Ayre, I swear to you that animosity only grew.”

“She did say she was giving Ayre space.” I supply, curious as to how Second will react.

“This isn’t a training ground.” Second says with clenched fists. “I can forgive harsh teaching methods if they get results. But the utter lack of willingness to support one another on a field of battle where circumstances can change at any moment is unacceptable.”

“I will be sure to bring it up when I speak to the both of them next.”

Second relaxes a touch, seeming content to know someone else will address it. “To Ayre’s credit, they could handle what multiple plantings working together could not. None of that means they should have to. Not if Lady Wyrmsbane is half as capable as they are, if not more so.”

Impressive, especially when I doubt any combination of the Thorns, Howlers, and Bitterblooms could work together for any length of time.

What is Astraea’s angle?

Did she make the call that Ayre would work best if she stayed out of their way?

Or does she just want us desperate enough to give her Goddess a chance?

Goddess of Redemption, the stroke of Midnight. A patron to the outcast and disfavored.

If the Astraea’s Goddess found a moment of vulnerability, my capacity to help Ayre may be time sensitive. Depending on what Ayre needs, I may need to clear out the Thorns.

Or, I suppose I could bind them to our cause.

Cerya and Snapdragon would appreciate that.

I can’t make a choice if I don’t know what state everyone is in. Need to at least get eyes on everyone.

Nearing the tower, my antennae stand on end. The lingering resonance of intensely felt emotions is palpable. Every stone in my possession drinks its fill, leaving me to decide whether it is worth shooting Second a look.

Caring about the emotions of others is just a blind spot I’m going to have to accept with him, isn’t it?

I enter, finding the rest of the Thorns arranged about the tower's base.

Stepping between Snapdragon and First, my first thought is how there is not a single weapon within reach of anyone here.

Interesting, considering last night’s responsibilities.

I decide to not demand formalities, instead reaching for a gentle voice. “Does anyone need my attention?”

My gaze sweeps over the First thorn before anyone else. She is halfway through swapping out fresh dressings, revealing a wound running the length of her head that has been recently shaved clean of hair.

Immediately she begins to shake her head. “I am not currently claiming responsibility for any of the Thorns.”

I turn instead to Snapdragon, seated by the stairs headed up. Her arms remained crossed in front of her legs, a curled up position typically signaling that she is not interested in talking.

And yet she speaks all the same. “Ayre probably needs you more. We’re fine here.”

Fine.

Not okay.

Before I make my way to the stairs, I spare a look at the Seedling formerly considered Nineteenth among their number. Fresh tears fall from his eyes. “I’m okay.” He says, his voice weak as he smiles in spite of himself.

Clear evidence of wounds line his arms and one leg.

Not typically what I would consider okay. But if he is comfortable expressing the kind of vulnerability typically reserved for when a seedling is only in the company of their own planting, I’m inclined to believe him.

There is a lingering tension in this room. And yet Nineteen strikes me as grateful to even be here among those who recently expelled him from their number.

I decide to pose the question I have towards the former Nineteenth Thorn. “Tell me this much at least. Has my sister largely led in taking care of things?”

He nods.

Such an answer frees me up to act as Theriya, and not as the role of Seed Seer.

“Good. I’m proud of all of you. None of you were required to be here tonight. I know how much the Thorns have bled for this grove. But Ayre asked, and the four of you answered. I want to make it clear that you have earned my favor. Rest now, but keep up the good work.” I nod, satisfied with the reactions I get from the assembled watchers.

Nineteen’s most of all. The relief that floods his features is hard to ignore. “Thank you, Seed Seer Theriya. Your words are kind. Gentle even.”

I shake my head. “To be gentle is a privilege reserved for those who have already secured a place within circumstances of secured abundance.” I remark, careful to not show my hand too quickly. “That we can rest easy is something purchased with the time spent and blood shed by those who watch the walls. If you were not already aware, I am to be elevated to Sapling Seer soon. It is long overdue that I begin to consider which Seedlings I most wish to serve the grove at my side as my personal branches of authority.”

My words earn me looks of surprise and interest from the First and Second Thorns.

Only a Sapling Seer can declare other Seedlings worthy of rising to the rank of Sapling by laying claim to them. If Ayre is to be mine, then it is expected that I will claim a planting of the Watchers.

Most would likely assume I would claim the Bitterblooms for myself, having been the one to shape their understanding of their place in the grove. It is only those few who know me who would be confident that I am more likely to claim the Thorns on Cerya’s behalf.

Twenty eclipses is a long time for Cerya to wait before her own promotion. It is far more likely that any Seeds I do not claim will feel a need to try their luck at finding another grove where they are more needed.

Better that than wait for an entire planting of new Seed Seers to survive to the point of being entrusted with any real power or responsibilities.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

All of this only earns me a shrug of Nineteenth’s shoulders. “Ayre asked no more of me than I am used to giving. Thir-, I mean Snapdragon, took on any animosity that might have otherwise been directed at me. Really, I was just happy to help.”

Interesting.

A name kept to the privacy of our tree spire so openly shared in front of the rest of the Thorns without any hint of hesitation.

Mel’Viora is right.

I’ve missed too much of how this situation has changed.

The tension in the room earns a reassessment.

I’ve seen the side of First’s face. Blood has already been shed, and yet a decision has been made to remove weapons from the room.

Not that they will be likely to need them at short notice anymore.

Snapdragon is probably right. Things are likely to be fine for the short term. Any potential for a growing rift within the Thorns will have to be considered. If it is something that they themselves can mend, they will definitely be my first choice.

I don’t need the best.

I need Watchers who are willing to work alongside Ayre. And so far the Thorns are the only ones who have. Between last night and the altercations with the Howling Watchers, I suppose there is no hiding what Ayre is capable of now.

But what does Ayre think?

Especially now that they have shed blood alongside their number.

I ascend the stairs.

One does not just kill the likes of an adult drake and have others stop considering them an unproven Seedling.

Last night’s body count is the kind of moment that secures Ayre a title and affords them more than mere privileges.

It is growing ever more likely in my mind that our binding is going to end with Ayre and I having power and expectations thrust upon us in the hopes that we continue to take lives in the name of Vylia and Lunaria.

The ever present weight of lingering resonance grows more intense as I cross the second floor of the tower and near the third.

Barrels upon barrels of Cinder Blighted gemstones cast the third floor of the tower in a wide palette of glimmering colors.

My gaze is immediately drawn to movement.

A blighted gemstone cast to the side with impatience by a hand I barely recognize.

Pointed nails extend from pallid fingers. Gaunt flesh clings tightly to pronounced bones of a hand that has changed in more ways than one.

The dark scales at the back of the hand that catch the light is what my gaze lingers on the longest.

A more familiar pair of hands belonging to a younger Seer busies themselves bundling it up the caught stone in a handful of rags. It is gently aside, before a new strip of cloth is torn and reaches out to catch the next.

I find myself rooted in place as I watch, transfixed upon the unfolding scene.

Three stones later, I hear a growl more bestial in quality than anything else.

Cerya’s hands reach out. Tender caresses against rough scales that glint in the light of the most Cinder Blighted gemstones I have ever seen in one place.

Her fingers linger on blackened scales.

So unlike the brown ones adorning the Quill-tailed Drake.

Now that I know to look for them, I can’t stop seeing them. They are small, but very noticeable in how they catch the light. It certainly helps that Ayre has stripped down to the waist to clean off the worst of the blood and gore.

I am left with a clear view of how the back of the hands, outer arms, and upper back have the tightest concentration of growths. Even if many of the scales have not begun to break through the flesh, I can already make out the ridged texture of where they will next sprout.

Oh Ayre.

Am I too late?

Cerya turns toward her Princess. She reaches out to cup Ayre’s face in hand and draw them away from their grim task. Carefully, their foreheads touch as the two of them find comfort in each other’s presence.

Eventually, Cerya’s lips begin to move. “Whenever you’re ready, I think Theriya would like to speak with you.”

Ayre’s eyes snap open, pupils no longer perfectly round but slightly pointed at the top and bottom. They turn to me, revealing scales that frame the entirety of their face in the space between hair and flesh.

There will be no hiding those beneath clothing.

Ayre’s gaze snaps to my side, breaking my focus.

It seems I have failed to realize that we are not the only three in the room.

Snapdragon closes the door behind me without another word. She offers me an apologetic smile for distracting me from the moment.

At the far end of the room, Fia looks up from various clothing turned into makeshift bedding.

Ayre’s first words are delicate. “I know which cave they’re coming from.”

I shake my head, not caring about the Cinder Blights. “That can wait. How are you feeling?”

They pause, not expecting the change of topic.

It takes Ayre a moment, but their response comes in the form of a need to clutch at their own arms. This prompts Cerya to pull them into an embrace.

Ayre leans into it, but their focus remains on me. “As well as can be expected. Which is to say not well at all. But I’m trying to make the best of it.”

I fumble for words. What can I even say to that?

Snapdragon and I put them in this situation. Not that we should blame ourselves for everything. How much can I really be expected to foresee?

“Full Moons tend to be the roughest.” I say, deciding to test the waters by spelling out for the obvious.

“Yeah.” Ayre says in somber agreement. “The girls have helped me ground myself at least. Although Cerya assured me you’re better at this than she is.”

Ah.

No pressure.

Looking around the room only serves to provide more uncomfortable topics to raise.

I very pointedly avoid asking about the bloody scales that lay on the floor beside Fia, gathered up into a small pile.

Everything that feels natural for me to want to say in this moment dies before it can reach my throat. There is no experience that would prepare me for this better than anyone else.

Only an accumulation of wounds that linger long after any physical scar would fade supply me with the words that taste right on my lips.

“I cannot promise you this will ever get easier.” I say, my four hands fretting uselessly in the direction of the many Cinder Blighted stones, despite the gloves that would protect me from direct contact. “I’m not someone who has the answers that will fix anything. Truthfully? I’m just the Seer among my peers who is left.”

Cerya shrinks ever so slightly behind Ayre. “Please. I don’t think either of you will be served by being hard on yourselves.”

Meanwhile Ayre just laughs. It is a sickly thing that ends in a coughing fit unpleasant enough for Snapdragon to reach for one of my hands.

“I can offer comfort.” I say, taking Snapdrragon’s hand by lacing my fingers between hers and squeezing tightly. “But everyone here has comfort to spare.”

Eventually Ayre can reliably will enough air into their lungs to voice a reply. “Comfort and reassurance are one thing. But every time I think I am certain of my place, I get a reminder of how little I know. I can’t fix everything, no matter how hard I try.”

I offer a stiff smile as my gaze wanders to little Fia. “Is that really so bad? Is the time spent not made all the more precious knowing our most precious bonds might never last?” I turn back to Ayre, their expression resonating with my own as remorse burns to fuel a fearsome determination. “You and I know that things can be better. And not just for us, but those we care about.”

Fia finds her voice, taking on its own kind of fierceness. “This one doesn’t ask for much. What if this one makes the mistake of asking for unnecessary risks? The kinds of futures on offer are always bargains that cannot be trusted or are arranged without our knowledge or input.”

What I half expect to make Ayre wince only causes them to look upon their doll with a hesitant sense of pride. “But you know I intend to keep living, right? No matter how much it hurts. Or how much things are going to have to change.”

How long ago was it when I convinced myself that four hands would let me achieve more at once?

Surely antennae would grant me the capacity to be sensitive to threats while Snapdragon dulls her own senses.

But what of the times I spent too much of myself and could offer nothing?

As if sensing my thoughts, Snapdragon squeezes my hand to draw my attention. “Overburdening one’s self can deal with short term problems, but no single one of us can be relied upon to handle everything. Not Ayre. Certainly not you, no matter how many implements you bleed emotions and press into the hands of the willing.”

I find myself responding with a smile that does little to hide my guilt.

Individuals can only do so much.

Even Mel’Viora needs to tend a grove to achieve her vision.

The Castellan herself spawns far more broodlings than are needed to manage her conquered territories.

Why should Ayre and Lenore feel compelled to shoulder all our burdens alone?

Even if it does endear me to them in some small ways…

I am bound to them either way.

Ayre pulls away from Cerya’s embrace.

It does not excuse my first impulse upon meeting them being to bind them against their will for merely being something that frightened me.

Nor does it excuse my first attempt at assisting them in the form of crafting implements that could harm them as much as it would help them without their knowledge or approval.

After draining an entire drake and assessing the state of over a hundred corpses broken by their hands, I worry for them. Ayre has changed in ways both distressingly tangible and unpredictable.

What little I offered last night is made meager by comparison. The kinds of bodily transformation known to me tend to be slow, familiar, and unlike whatever Ayre is going through.

Nothing about this is ideal, but we are who we have to rely on.

Better to take the time I have and make the most of it.

“Let’s head home.” I say. “Together.”

Ayre winces as they begin to redress, expressing discomfort as clothes begin to weigh down on what must be sensitive scales, newly growing breasts, and who knows how many tender wounds?

Ayre’s voice is oh so delicate as they give a voice to thoughts I hope they are comfortable expressing. “It is… Deeply moving to know that I am bound to those who can see me at my most vulnerable, most uncertain, and just know that I am still desired.”

For a moment, they look like they want to say something else.

Instead I just get to see a fang filled smile of someone who looks at ease in spite of everything.

In spite of all my sister Seed Seers I could not save.

In spite of my prior actions making me feel like I should be the last Lunarian they should trust.

I extend to Ayre what comforts and assurances I have to offer. “To live is to change. So what if you are changing more than most? Better you do it on your terms.” I pause, making time to assess whether any of my words give them pause.

“I’m not going to apologize or regret anything I’ve done last night. Just ask that you help me see it through.” There is a blind confidence in their words. Although Snapdragon would call it something else.

Hope?

Trust?

I squeeze her hand in mine for my own benefit.

Smothering an urge to ask what they mean, I trust that Cerya has already heard them out and play out the role demanded of me in this moment. I recognize Ayre’s willingness to cast aside a Blighted gemstone for the next for what it is. After all of this, they’re willing to keep pushing forward in whatever it is they have gotten themselves into.

And I’m going to help them.

I knew it within moments of entering the room.

Whatever it is they are becoming, I will try to play a more active and careful hand in shaping it. Better that than accept that I am a cruel mistress made in the image of Mel’Viora.

I do not look at Ayre and see a monster made in the Castellan’s image.

It would be naive of us to think no amount of careful thought and intention was placed in joining us and Cerya together. That I cannot yet see the plot does not mean one exists or not.

But suspicions are no excuse to treat Ayre and Cerya as willing tools in need of redemption or saving.

We are each and every one of us responsible for the means and ends we bring about. Whether or not we decided on either, the three of us have chosen to bind ourselves to each other emotionally.

If there is hope to be found in the circumstances forced upon us, it will most be found in attempting to help each other find the blind spots we cannot see for ourselves.

And take the time necessary to remind each other that none of us are alone in this.

It is in those we surround ourselves that we will have to rely upon.

Last night will not be the first or last time our relationships are tested. However unpleasant it may be to hear, none of us can escape our place in this empire or the roles assigned to us.

Nothing about our future together is guaranteed.

Not for us.

If I can promise anything, it is that I will turn my experience towards being mindful of everyone’s limits.

There is only so much that any one of us is capable of.

Physically, emotionally, we are going to need to strike a balance if we wish to survive any meaningful length of time.

For now, we will just have to make peace with knowing there is only so much we can do to fight against the ends our roles drive us towards.

But it is no excuse to resign ourselves to not taking responsibility for what we do.

Even in the most unpleasant of circumstances, a few thoughtful words and caring enough to fight for changes both big and small can mean the world to those we share our lives with.