Chapter 104 ‒ Roots of Rot
Chapter 104 ‒ Roots of Rot
A pale morning light slipped into the room, illuminating swirling dust and the gentle creak of old wood. Anne sat on a low stool by the window, knees drawn up to her chest, her knife scraping over a rough block of wood.
Her fingers moved with stiff focus, carving long, awkward lines into the shape of a horse. Each stroke left deep gouges, uneven and jagged.
Tyler, sitting nearby, watched her in silence for a while. Then, a crooked smile tugged at his lips.
“Is that supposed to be a horse?” he drawled, leaning forward slightly. “It looks like it just crawled out of a swamp after getting trampled by rhinos.”
Anne’s knife stopped mid-slice. She turned to glare at him, her eyes sharp and cold.
Tyler shrugged dramatically, pointing to the elegantly carved horse statue on the small shelf beside her. “Look at that one over there! It actually looks like a horse. Maybe you should take some lessons from whoever made that masterpiece before you start terrorizing wood blocks like this.”
Anne’s eyes snapped to the statue on the shelf. Her gaze softened for half a heartbeat, then turned even sharper, almost wounded.
“That one…” she said, voice low but shaking slightly. “That was my mother’s.”
Tyler’s smirk faltered. His words tumbled out, stumbling over each other. “I—I didn’t know. I wasn’t—”
Anne slammed the half-carved horse into his lap and stood abruptly. “Just shut up!” she snapped, her voice splintering between rage and something deeper. “Why are you even here? How long do you plan to hang around like an idiot? You should leave!”
She threw her knife onto the table, its blade rattling against the wood. With an angry stomp, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.
Tyler looked down at the crude horse in his lap, running his gloved fingers along the deep, shaky grooves. His chest tightened.
I… really messed that up.
Frank stepped in from the hallway, a small sigh slipping from his lips. He glanced at the doorway Anne had disappeared through, then at the horse in Tyler’s hands.
“She’s… complicated,” he said quietly, pulling up a chair and sitting across from Tyler. “She might act cold, but… she’s more fragile than what she wants you to know.”
Tyler set the wooden figure aside carefully, his shoulders sagging. “I didn’t mean to—”
Frank waved him off. “No need to explain. Now then…”
He folded his hands together, eyes darkening. “I suppose you have more questions. About… this place. About the Blightspawns.”
Tyler swallowed, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah. The Blightspawns… how did all this start?”
Frank’s eyes drifted toward the window again, as if peering back through layers of time.
“Long ago… after humanity’s fall, after they lost their final war against the hybrids they had created, the survivors fled. They scattered across the continent, hiding wherever they could. A few stumbled into a vast wasteland — a place so dead that the earth itself seemed to grieve. No trees. No animals. Just grey ash stretching to the horizon like an ocean of dust.”
He paused, shoulders sinking.
“But in the centre of that desolation… they found it. A single, enormous tree standing tall against the void. Around it, a circle of green life spread like an oasis: grass, wildflowers, small fruit-bearing shrubs. Water that flowed through the area turned clear and sweet, even if it started as black sludge. To those first refugees, it must have seemed divine.”
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Frank’s voice softened, almost reverent. “They built Ashborough around it. The World Tree became their saviour and their silent guardian. Over the centuries, it grew taller, its domain expanding outward. What was once dead land turned into rolling meadows and groves. People farmed, they raised children, they rebuilt what little they could of their shattered civilization. For thousands of years, they lived under its embrace. Stories passed down from parents to children — of a world lost, and the new sanctuary they had found.”
Tyler leaned forward, imagining that fragile hope — a green island in an endless grey sea.
“But nothing lasts forever,” Frank continued, his hands curling into fists on his knees. “A few years ago… we began to notice it. The green border of the tree’s domain started to shrink. Grass turned grey again at the edges. Crops in the far fields wilted overnight. Our fruit trees bore shrivelled, bitter fruit. The water… it began to taste of ash once more.”
He took a long, shaky breath. “At first, we told ourselves it was just a bad season. That it would pass. But each year, the withering crept closer. We tried everything — soil enrichments, purified water channels, planting new saplings in healthy patches. Some even prayed day and night, offering handmade charms and songs. But it was no use. We were powerless, forced to watch our sanctuary crumble.”
Frank’s voice dropped lower. “That despair ate away at us. Every child’s cough felt like a funeral bell. Every empty harvest… a death knell.”
A brittle silence stretched, and then Frank lifted his eyes to Tyler’s, shimmering with an old, hollow exhaustion.
“Then… about a year ago, Jumo Racoon — our supply runner — returned with a vial. He claimed it came from a great wizard, a potion to restore vitality to dying lands. Sylvia… she believed in it. She always wanted to see the good in everything… And me? I hesitated. But when you see your people starving, coughing blood, it gnaws at your resolve. You grasp at any light, however dim.”
His hands trembled slightly as he gestured, as if holding an invisible vial even now.
“We first tested the murky black liquid on a small potted plant. Just a weak sprout we had nearly given up on. When we poured it, it sprang upright instantly, its leaves shining, greener than any I had ever seen in my life. We thought… we thought we had found salvation.”
Frank’s mouth twitched into a crooked, broken smile. “We repeated the test. Each time it worked. It was like a miracle each morning — we would wake and check the pots, watch them stretch higher, stronger.”
He shook his head slowly. “I wanted to wait longer, to study it more… but Sylvia insisted. ‘If we wait, the tree might be lost forever,’ she said. I gave in.”
His fingers dug into the fabric of his coat.
“We prepared a larger solution and carried it to the World Tree. Its bark glowed faintly when it absorbed it — we thought it was a sign of recovery. We returned home that night… smiling for the first time in years.”
A strangled laugh burst from him, dry and sharp. “That night… it turned into a nightmare. Sylvia screamed from the laboratory. I found her surrounded by the test plants. They had ripped themselves out of their pots, crawling across the floor like starved beasts. Vines lashed at her, thorns tearing into her arms. She grabbed chemicals and flung them, setting some on fire, while I fought them off with a shovel.”
Frank’s eyes glazed, drifting far beyond the room.
“It hit me then. If that liquid did this to small plants… what would it do to the World Tree? Sylvia and I grabbed what little inflammable reagents we had left and rushed out. We ran through the streets, praying we were wrong.”
He fell silent, swallowing hard.
“When we reached the World Tree… it looked calm. Still towering, still serene… We dared to hope it hadn’t changed yet. But then… a branch shot forward, faster than an arrow. Sylvia… she… she pushed me aside and took the blow straight through her chest.”
Frank’s voice cracked. “She had a gaping hole in her chest, but… she didn’t die… She rose again… her eyes empty… vines writhing out of her mouth and ears. My Sylvia… no longer human.”
His hands clawed at his hair, shaking.
“I saw Anne, who had followed us, standing behind me, frozen in horror. Another branch whipped toward her — she ducked — grabbing the last burning vial. She looked at her mother… at what she had become. And then she threw it.”
A shudder ran down Frank’s entire frame.
“She screamed as she set her own mother on fire. Then she dragged me back, away from the Corrupted World Tree’s reach. Sylvia’s burning figure staggered toward us before collapsing. That… was the first Blightspawn. The beginning of all this.”
Frank’s voice grew small, almost childlike. “After that… people ignored Anne’s warnings. They approached the World Tree, thinking they could purify it, reason with it. Each time, they vanished and returned as monsters — hollow, vine-infested husks. The infection spread until we were alone.”
The room felt unbearably still, as if the walls themselves held their breath.
Tyler’s throat closed. He felt each word like a knife sliding into him, slow and merciless.
Frank wiped his eyes, exhaling shakily. “And so… here we are. Just Anne and me. And the Corrupted World Tree out there, laughing at us in silence.”