Chapter 15: The Seed's Claim

Roots of Desire

Chapter 15: The Seed’s Claim

The manor lay in ruins; yet something ancient stirred beneath the rubble. Life crept back to the broken earth, drawn by the magic Woodward had poured into the seed. The air was thick with the scent of fresh soil and wild growth, a reminder that the land had not yet surrendered.

At the heart of the destruction, Iveyna stood with Woodward, his full humanoid form as fierce and striking as the forest itself. The rough-hewn warmth of his hand still lingered on hers, even as he released her to kneel beside the seed.

The Steward hung suspended in tangled vines, pale and helpless; an echo of the power binding him. But Iveyna’s attention kept returning to the seed; a sphere of dark, knotted wood thrumming with latent energy. She felt it pulling at her senses, an ache deep in her bones.

She swallowed against the strange warmth building in her chest. “You called it a Heartwood Seed,” she said, voice low. “What is it, really?”

Woodward’s gaze didn’t leave the seed as his fingers curled against the earth. “This,” he said, his voice rough with power, “is a Heartwood Leech Seed; a rare and ancient magic from the era of the World Tree and Qliphoth. It draws poison from the land; feeds on it; and punishes those who bring the corruption.”

His words held a weight she could feel vibrating through her core. “And the Steward?” She glanced at the broken man, still bound tight. “Is it… feeding on him?” Woodward nodded, unmoved by the horror of it. “The seed takes what it needs. His greed tainted the land, and the seed will cleanse it; one way or another.”

Iveyna’s stomach twisted; not from fear, but from something far more dangerous. The truth of his power unsettled her… and fascinated her. “And if it doesn’t stop?” she asked quietly. Woodward’s lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. “Then there will be nothing left of him but roots and memory.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t flinch away. Instead, she stepped closer, the curiosity burning in her chest overtaking caution. "Why can I feel it?" she whispered. "Why does it feel like it's… calling to me?"

He stood and faced her fully, the towering strength of his humanoid form casting a shadow over the trembling vines. His dark eyes burned into hers; searching. “Because there is something inside you,” he said, his voice low, as though he feared what truth might escape if he spoke too loud. “Something the seed recognizes.”

Iveyna’s heart pounded harder. “What does it see?”

“I do not know,” he admitted, brushing his fingers lightly against her wrist; a gesture that sent warmth spiraling up her arm and deep into the core of her being. “But I feel it, too.”

Before she could respond, the Steward stirred. At first, just a ragged breath. Then; a cough, wet and broken. The vines creaked as his body twitched against their hold. His head lolled forward before snapping upright, wild eyes blinking through the pain. His once-pristine robes were torn and bloodied where the tendrils pierced his flesh. “P-please,” he rasped, his voice raw and desperate. “I’ll… give you anything. Gold. Land. Just; stop this.”

Woodward did not move.

The Steward’s breathing quickened. “The Prince,” he gasped, panic creeping into his tone. “He won’t… let this go unpunished.” Iveyna froze, the weight of those words hanging thick in the air. “Prince?” she echoed.

The Steward’s lips curled into a cruel smile despite his pain. “You think I act alone?” His voice trembled, but there was venom beneath the fear. “You’ve crossed the Crown. When he finds out, he’ll; "

The vines tightened around his neck, cutting his words short. Almost to the point of the Steward losing his head. “Enough.” Woodward’s voice was quiet, but the power beneath it was unyielding. “No prince rules the land beneath my roots.”

The Steward choked out a laugh, weak but defiant. “You don’t know what you’ve done,” he spat. “He’ll take everything from you. From her.”

Iveyna’s blood ran cold at the threat. Woodward shifted closer; his presence like a storm rolling over the earth. With a touch, the vines burrowed deeper, and the Steward gasped in agony.

“No one,” he said softly, dangerously, “will take her from me.” A tremor passed through Iveyna; not from fear, but something far more consuming. Possession. He hadn’t said her name, but in those words was a promise she felt sink into her bones.

The seed pulsed again; a slow, ancient rhythm, echoing the thrum in her chest. “What happens if it takes too much?” she asked quietly, watching the way the vines crept beneath the Steward’s skin.

Woodward’s hand brushed against hers again; deliberate and grounding. “It will take only what the land demands,” he said. Then, after a pause: “Unless you command otherwise.”

Her heart stuttered. “Me?” she breathed. He nodded. “The seed knows you. If you willed it to stop, it would.” His gaze lingered on her face. “Do you want to stop it?”

The question hung heavy in the air.

Iveyna hesitated, torn between the weight of mercy and the darker thrill curling at the edges of her thoughts. The Steward had hurt so many; and would do so again if left unchecked. But if she let the seed finish, what would that make her?

Her fingers twitched at her side. “If I don’t stop it…” she murmured, almost to herself, “will it change me?”

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Woodward’s face softened; a rare flicker of something almost gentle beneath the ruthless edge. He reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering against her skin. A small flower emerged from his fingertips, the core of it glowing green unbeknownst to her as he tucked it into her hair, behind her ear.

“You are already changing,” he said, and there was no warning in his tone; only truth. Iveyna let herself lean into his touch for the briefest moment before speaking again. “And you?” Her voice lowered, thick with something unspoken. “What will you do when I change?”

His fingers curled against her jaw; gentle, but sure. “I will be there,” he promised, “no matter what you become.” The words wrapped around her like roots sinking into soil, and something deep inside her stirred; a craving for more, a seed planted.

The Steward groaned again, but Iveyna barely heard him. All she felt was the warmth of Woodward’s touch and the dangerous promise buried beneath his words.

The air hung heavy with the scent of earth and magic; the pulse of the Heartwood Leech Seed still vibrating beneath the shattered remains of the Steward’s manor. The Steward’s gasps faded into quiet whimpers, his body twitching against the vines. The land, once poisoned by greed, now pulsed with a strange and feral life.

But it was not quiet for long.

A distant murmur drifted on the breeze; the sound of voices approaching. The snap of twigs underfoot. The clink of tools. Someone was coming. Woodward’s posture shifted immediately; broad shoulders stiffening as his gaze turned toward the sound. He did not release Iveyna’s hand. His thumb brushed once against her skin, a silent promise of protection. She felt the warmth of his magic still humming through her veins. It should have unnerved her; the sheer power he held; but instead, it anchored her. Made her feel safe.

Vesper remained where she was at. She had not moved since Woodward cast his magic. Even as the approaching voices grew louder, she remained still; waiting. Through the tangled remains of the manor’s outer wall, the first figures emerged; townsfolk, wide-eyed and cautious.

A stout man with a soot-smeared face and a heavy mallet clutched in one hand led the group. Beside him, a woman wrapped in a threadbare shawl clutched a basket to her chest. Others followed; men and women alike; all staring at the ruins in disbelief.

And then, their gazes found Iveyna.

A ripple of recognition passed through them; relief, then fear. Their eyes flicked quickly from her face to Woodward, whose imposing, wooden-skinned frame was impossible to miss. He stood like a guardian at her side, the rough-hewn texture of his full humanoid form humming with latent power.

The stout man stepped forward first, clearing his throat. “Iveyna?” he asked hesitantly, as though he wasn’t sure if she was real. “Is… is that you?” Iveyna straightened her shoulders, squaring herself against their wide-eyed stares. “It’s me,” she said firmly, voice cutting through the uneasy silence. “The Steward is finished.” At her words, the seed let out a subtle gleam and buried itself deep into the Steward’s chest.

A murmur swept through the group. Fear. Uncertainty. Curiosity. The woman with the basket clutched it tighter. “We… we saw the fire; green fire. What happened here?” Iveyna glanced at the twisting vines still tethering the Steward. Part of her wanted to tell them everything. Another part… wanted to keep this close to her chest.

“Justice,” she said, her tone colder than she’d intended.

More whispers. Someone shifted nervously. They couldn’t stop staring at Woodward; at the way his wooden skin seemed to ripple, as though the forest itself bent to his will. Iveyna felt the weight of his protective gaze lingering on her; an unspoken warning that he would not tolerate a threat against her.

One of the younger men, barely older than a boy, raised his hand as if seeking permission to speak. “Who… who is he?” His voice cracked slightly as he gestured to Woodward. Iveyna opened her mouth to speak, but the words tangled on her tongue. “He’s my, um… my uhh…”

The flush crept up her neck; hot and sudden. Her what?

A gush of warmth pooled low in her belly at the memory of his vines wrapping around her; protecting her, freeing her from the bitter iron cells. The sensation lingered, even now. An echo of possession, winding through her like the roots he so effortlessly commanded.

“A Druid,” she finally managed, her voice an octave higher than she meant it to be.

Woodward shifted slightly beside her, and though his expression remained calm, there was a hint of something else in his eyes; something that made the heat flooding her body burn hotter. His vines brushed against her wrist; subtle, possessive; like a reminder that he had been inside the darkest part of her pain and pulled her free.

A flicker of amusement curved the corner of his mouth, but he said nothing.

Iveyna shifted her attention to Vesper, who remained silent, her body still bowed in silence. “Vesper,” she asked softly, “do you recognize anyone here?” Vesper lifted her head only slightly; enough for her dark eyes to sweep across the gathering crowd.

“No, Miss Iveyna,” she said, her voice smooth and without hesitation. The words struck something deep in Iveyna’s chest. Miss. She hadn’t asked for the deference; but Vesper offered it freely, without question.

Iveyna took a step forward. Vesper smoothly followed a pace behind her, silent and watchful. She scanned the gathering, and then; she saw him.

Lyric.

A sharp spike of anger flared hot in her chest. He stood at the edge of the crowd; half-hidden behind a few others, as though he hoped to escape notice. But Iveyna’s gaze found him with ease. Lyric’s face was pale, his dark hair falling into his eyes as his hands twisted nervously at his sides. Guilt clung to him like a shadow. Iveyna did not hesitate. She closed the distance between them in three swift strides.

“You,” she said coldly.

Lyric flinched but did not retreat. “I; ”

“You helped them.” The words felt bitter on her tongue. “You gave me to the Steward and the foreman. You betrayed me.” Lyric’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. “I… I didn’t have a choice,” he finally choked out. “They threatened my family; my sister; if I didn’t cooperate.”

“Don’t.” Iveyna’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving. “You could’ve warned me. You could’ve fought back.” His jaw trembled. “You think I didn’t want to?” His voice cracked. “You think I haven’t hated myself ever since they took you?”

Iveyna’s heart pounded in her chest, torn between rage and the echo of what they had once shared. Lyric had been her closest friend; someone she had trusted with her life. And he had still given her away. “You didn’t stop them,” she said, quieter now but no less cold. “You let them take me.” Lyric’s knees buckled, and he dropped into a half-kneel, his voice hoarse. “Iveyna, please… I never wanted this. I’m sorry.”

A part of her wanted to let the fury consume her; to strike him down with the same ruthless energy burning in her veins. Another part knew that his guilt was a prison of its own. But mercy did not come easily. Not anymore. “If you ever betray me again,” she said softly, but with the weight of power behind it, “I will burn everything you love to the ground.” Lyric bowed his head. “I understand.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue.

Without another glance, Iveyna turned her back on him. Vesper trailed close behind as she walked back toward Woodward. His expression was unreadable, but the moment she stood beside him, he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear; a silent reassurance. “They fear you,” she murmured. Woodward’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile. “Good.”

A shiver of something dark and electric coiled through her blood. And when he extended his hand again, she took it without hesitation.