Bloodline Plant Lord: Rise of the World Sovereign

Yueying came home from the night shift at first light, and Ren was waiting on the Terrace steps.

She sat down next to him. She looked like she hadn’t slept, and had been thinking the whole time.

”I want one day,” she said. ”There’s a second record I need to pull before I say it out loud. If I’m wrong, I don’t want to have said it.”

”Take it,” Ren said.

She nodded once and went inside. That was all. It was enough to sit in his chest all through breakfast.

— • —

The Guild runner came while the bread was still warm.

He stopped at the Terrace gate and held up a sealed slip. Grey paper. The Guild’s compass crest pressed into the wax. ”Kaelen Voss.”

The table went quiet. Everyone knew that crest. Ren had carried that crest in his pocket for a month.

Kaelen got up, took the slip, and broke the seal standing right there in the doorway. He read it once. Then he folded it, put it in his jacket, came back to the table, and finished his food.

Nobody asked. Yuelan opened her mouth twice and closed it both times, which for Yuelan was a medical event.

Ren didn’t ask either. He watched Kaelen eat, and he thought about the Guild’s restricted listings, and a lit window on the fourth floor of Tower Nine, and a line Kaelen had said to him once, a long time ago: I said I’d catch up.

He had a good guess. He hoped he was wrong.

— • —

Dinner.

Cassian was there the only way he could be this week — his face on a slate propped against the fruit bowl, calling in from the cradle in the treatment wing, the day-passes cancelled until the torn seat closed. He was in the middle of a story about the healer’s handwriting when Kaelen stood up.

Kaelen didn’t stand up at dinner. He leaned on walls. Standing was already a speech.

”I applied to the Furnace Road,” he said. ”They accepted. I leave tomorrow.”

Yuelan’s spoon stopped halfway.

”I thought about not telling you,” Kaelen said. ”Then I thought this might be the last time we all sit at this table. So.”

He sat down.

The Furnace Road. Ren knew the listing — everyone who’d ever opened the Guild’s restricted section knew it. A gauntlet realm. You went in at one end and walked out the other, or you didn’t. No contracts, no rescue, no normal way out. The Guild called its advancement unmatched among Tier One training grounds. Its gate opened once every few years, and it was open now.

And under all of that, the one line nobody could pretend not to see.

Yuelan got there first, and loud. ”The — the EIGHTY-FIVE one? The one where they make you sign a—”

”Yes.”

”WHY?”

Kaelen looked at her. ”I said I’d catch up.”

The loud went out of the room all at once, and what came in after it was the wrong kind of quiet. The kind from the night they’d told Ren about Kest, when the air had a hole in it.

Iris held out her hand. Kaelen took the slip from his jacket and gave it to her without a word. She unfolded it, found the line, and read it out in a flat, even voice, the way she read anything with numbers in it.

”’Applicants are advised: the historical casualty rate of the Furnace Road stands near eighty-five percent.’”

She folded the slip and gave it back.

”Eighty-five,” she said. Then she took out her own slate and wrote down his gate time.

From the fruit bowl, Cassian said one word.

”Adequate.”

Kaelen almost smiled. Almost.

— • —

Ren waited until the room could hear again.

”Come train inside my world,” he said. ”The planar energy in there is denser than any secret realm a Stage Four can enter. One season. Then go, if you still want to.”

It was the best offer he had. He’d thought about it all day.

Kaelen looked at him across the food.

”No,” he said.

Nobody argued. Yuelan started to, and Lyra’s hand found her wrist under the table, and she didn’t.

Ren nodded. He’d known. Kaelen was peak Seedling — one step under Stage Five, a step that was a wall, and a wall that was years wide at the pace of one lit window a night. Ren could have made the climb faster. That wasn’t what Kaelen wanted.

”Does your family know?” Iris asked.

”The Guild tells the house after the gate closes,” Kaelen said. ”That’s how I filed it.”

That was the end of dinner. Nobody cleared the table. Eira stood up without a word, went to her room, and did not come out for the rest of the night.

— • —

They rode up to the orbital ring at dawn, all eight of them, in a sky-sled meant for six.

The transfer platform was the same one Ren had used for the Meridian — a long stone deck under a dark sky, with gates hanging in the black at the far end like doors with nothing behind them. The Furnace Road’s gate was the smallest. Red at the edges. It didn’t hum. It waited.

A Guild clerk in a booth took Kaelen’s writ, read it, looked up at him, and stamped it, and held the stamp down a second longer than stamps need.

”Entries close soon,” she said. ”Exit is wherever the Road decides. Good luck, Mr. Voss.”

The cohort stood at the rail. Kaelen came down the line.

Eira first. She had a field kit in both hands — not her own, a spare, packed overnight, every vial labeled in her small square writing, a list taped inside the lid. She put it in his hands and told him what each vial did, in order, and nothing else. When she got to the end of the list she stopped talking and stepped back.

Yuelan hit him with the hug — sudden, silent, hard, over in a second — and everyone politely looked at the gate. Then she stepped back and pointed at his face. ”You come out the other end. You hear me? You COME OUT.”

”Loud,” Kaelen said.

”YES.”

Lyra said, ”Come back.” Just that. Plainly.

Vesper opened her notebook to a fresh page, wrote his name at the top of it, and closed it again. She didn’t show anyone.

Yueying gave him the Azure bow — the formal one, the one with the new iron in it — and held it a beat longer than the form required.

Iris said nothing. She’d said her number already. She held out her hand and he shook it once, like a contract.

Then Kaelen came to Ren.

Ren had died seventeen times. He had come back from every one of them into the same field of flowers. Not once, in all of them, had he needed to say goodbye first. He’d never learned how. He stood at the rail with his hands in his pockets, because they had nothing to do, and he could not think of a single thing to say that would be true and also help.

Kaelen didn’t wait for him to find one.

”Don’t lose to anyone else before I get back,” he said.

The last time he’d said something like that, they’d been two first-years in a training hall on Edius, a long time before either of them had a world or a wall.

”Yeah,” Ren said. ”Okay.”

Kaelen picked up Eira’s kit, turned, and walked to the small red gate without looking back once. The gate took his writ, and the Road took him.

The platform was very quiet after that. Eight people, one rail, and a door with nothing behind it.

— • —

That night, in his world, Ren sat on the rise above the beach and didn’t watch anything.

”He walked in on his own feet,” Kaia said, from the heart of the tree. ”Let him.”

He let him.

— • —

The group chat looked like a normal night.

Yuelan posted in capitals about the sky-sled being built for six. Eira posted a photo of new cuttings. Iris corrected somebody’s spelling. Past midnight, from the cradle, Cassian sent one line with an honest timestamp on it: He’ll be adequate.

Ren read all of it. He always did.

At the top of the chat, where the nine names were listed, Kaelen’s sat exactly where it always had. It just wasn’t going to read anything for a while. Inside a realm, nothing reached you — no chat, no Guild, no voice. Ren had lived a whole month inside that silence himself. He knew exactly how quiet it was in there.

Eight people typed into it anyway.