The moment hung in the air as Kairo opened his mouth to declare his choice. He struggled against the invisible weight pressing him down—until the Elderblossoms erupted in sudden, violent motion. Their tendrils snaked out with inhuman speed, wrapping around him with a cold, unyielding grip. In an instant, Jorin was forced to his knees, his voice choked as he cried out, "I choose… the Abyssal Root Path!"
But his words fell on deaf petals. The Elderblossoms paid no heed to his declaration. Instead, they writhed and surged forward, their glow intensifying as they sought to claim their due. One vine shot toward his left arm, another snaked around his left leg, and a third coiled around his waist. Jorin's eyes widened in terror as the flowers began to anchor themselves to his flesh, their roots burrowing into his skin with relentless determination.
A chorus of gasps and cries erupted among the students. Panic rippled through the hall as some fled while others stood frozen in disbelief. The room, already dim and tense, now pulsed with a dreadful energy that no one could ignore.
Without hesitation, Soren sprang into action. With a speed that belied his calm exterior, he rushed forward, positioning himself between Kairo and the encroaching vines. He extended his arms, using his own strengths. Soren moved with an urgency that drew both awe and concern; his face was etched with focus, his eyes never leaving the writhing tendrils.
"Hold still, Kairo" Soren commanded, his voice both gentle and insistent. He attempted to redirect the invasive roots, trying to steer them away from vital parts of Kairo's body. Yet even as he intervened, the flowers have a will of their own. Slowly, inexorably, they burrowed deeper—one settling into Kairo's left arm, another clinging tightly to his left leg, and the third wrapping around his waist with crushing force.
At that moment, the door to the classroom burst open. Other professors had arrived, their faces stricken with alarm at the unfolding scene. One professor, his expression fierce, charged at Soren, while another unleashed his own power, summoning a countering vine of his own to restrain Soren's movements. The room erupted into chaos as faculty and students alike scrambled, their voices overlapping in shouts of concern and disbelief.
Kairo's body convulsed as the invasive roots sank deeper into his flesh, eliciting anguished cries. His eyes rolled back in momentary shock, and his limbs twitched uncontrollably. The pain was excruciating—a constant, searing reminder of the curse that had now become real.
Desperation etched itself onto the faces of his peers as several professors converged on Kairo. Their combined powers created a healing aura, a shimmering field of light meant to ease his torment. But the damage was done; the three roots had already marked him, and the healing only slowed the inevitable spread of the flowers.
In the midst of the turmoil, Soren's gaze remained locked on Kairo. There was malice in his eyes—only a haunting determination.
The room was filled with a dissonant symphony of cries, murmurs, and the rustling of invasive vines. In that moment, the true cost of power was laid bare: the path chosen by the Elderblossoms was not one of triumph, but a painful decree of sacrifice and suffering.
Kairo's fate now hung in a delicate balance, teetering between the mercy of healing arts and the inexorable pull of the Abyssal Root—a choice made for him by forces far beyond mortal will. And the healing powers of his professors surged around him.
Kairo's body gradually stopped twitching, his limbs going slack as the violent convulsions ebbed. His breaths came in shallow gasps before, at last, his consciousness slipped away. The last thing he registered was the dull hum of voices, the blurred outlines of people moving around him, and the suffocating weight of something foreign now embedded within him.
A hush fell over the room as his body stilled. Though his pain had momentarily subsided, the eerie presence of the three rooted flowers remained. A lingering unease hung in the air. The students, still frozen in fear and disbelief, barely dared to move as the professors swiftly took control of the situation.
The Elderblossoms, their tendrils still faintly pulsing, were carefully extracted from the scene, secured by two senior professors who whispered urgent incantations to subdue them. Their petals trembled as if resisting containment, but the professors' mastery ensured they were subdued—for now. The other professors turned their attention to Soren, who, despite being restrained, remained eerily composed. His expression betrayed no surprise, nothing. Only calm.
"This will require a full investigation," one of the professors murmured.
"We must take him to the headmaster's room," another agreed, eyeing Soren warily.
Without resistance, Soren was led away, his hands still bound by the conjured restraints of a fellow professor. He walked with an unshaken stride, offering no plea nor explanation. His eyes, however, flickered with something unreadable—perhaps amusement at how events had unfolded.
Meanwhile, Kairo's unconscious body was carefully lifted and carried toward the infirmary. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his pale skin, his breathing still unsteady. Even in his unconscious state, faint traces of residual energy radiated from the three places where the flowers had taken root. His left arm, left leg, and waist bore faint, pulsing marks, almost like brands seared into his very being. The healers walking beside him exchanged uneasy glances, knowing that even their best efforts might not be able to undo whatever had just taken place.
The remaining students, still visibly shaken, were gathered by a senior professor. "No one is to leave the academy grounds until further notice," he announced gravely. "You were all witnesses to this event, and we will need your accounts to understand what has transpired."
A murmur of apprehension rippled through the students. Some were relieved—grateful to remain within the safety of the academy rather than be sent home with more questions than answers. Others felt trapped, the weight of the situation pressing down on them as they realized that whatever had just happened to Soren was no ordinary occurrence.
Soren, meanwhile, was led to the headmaster's room, where several professors stood guard around him. The air in the room was thick with tension. He remained seated, his movements restricted by layers of binding magic, though it was unclear whether such measures were truly necessary.
The headmaster had yet to arrive.
And as the waiting began, so too did the questions.
What had truly happened within that classroom?
What was the significance of the Elderblossoms' actions?
And most importantly—
Had Kairo truly made a choice, or had the choice been made for him?
The heavy wooden doors of the chamber creaked open, and silence fell upon the room as Headmaster Lezzaki entered. His towering frame cast an imposing presence over the gathering of professors. Standing at a staggering two and half meters, he was a figure of undeniable authority, his very existence a testament to the academy's legacy. The flower blooming from his shoulder, an ethereal violet with faintly pulsing veins, marked him as someone deeply entwined with the very essence of this world's mysteries.
All the professors bowed in unison as a sign of respect, including Soren, who inclined his head slightly. Though restrained, his demeanor remained eerily composed, his sharp eyes watching every movement with quiet amusement.
Lezzaki settled into his chair, which had been specially crafted to accommodate his unusual height. The weight of his presence alone made the air in the chamber grow heavy. Without hesitation, he signaled for the investigation to begin.
Professor Jumei, she is known for her sharp intellect and unwavering discipline, stepped forward, her gaze locked onto Soren with unwavering intensity. She wasted no time.
"Soren, explain what happened in the classroom," she demanded.
Soren's response was immediate, spoken in a tone as calm as if he were delivering a lecture. "The Elderblossoms moved on their own, restraining Kairo and forcing the selection upon him. I attempted to intervene, preventing them from rooting in vitals parts of his body. That is all there is to it."
A murmur of disbelief spread through the gathered professors. This was not what they had expected to hear. The Elderblossoms had never acted with such autonomy. Their influence had always been studied, controlled. This revelation shattered their understanding.
Lezzaki's brows furrowed, though he remained silent, listening.
Jumei took a step closer, eyes narrowing. "If you saw such an event unfolding, why did you not immediately alert the academy? Why did you not prevent it from happening?"
For the first time, Soren's expression shifted. He met Jumei's gaze steadily, pausing as if carefully considering his words. Then, in an even tone, he responded, "Because such a thing cannot be stopped."
A tense silence filled the room.
Soren continued, "This has never happened before. Therefore, we must study it. The Elderblossoms made a choice outside of our control. If we had interrupted it, we would have learned nothing. Knowledge is paramount, and in this case, there was nothing I could do to prevent it. The process had already begun."
Gasps echoed around the chamber. This was beyond reckless—it was heretical.
Lezzaki's fist slammed onto the table as he abruptly rose to his full height, his voice reverberating through the room like a thunderclap.
"How can you justify putting students in danger for the sake of research?!" he roared.
For the first time, a flicker of something unreadable passed through Soren's eyes. And then, with unnerving composure, he responded with a question of his own.
"Would you truly halt this event for the sake of one student," Soren asked, his voice soft yet cutting, "when this situation has never occurred in the entire history of humanity?"
A heavy pause followed his words.
"We have spent years researching and creating the Elderblossoms. Yet, in all that time, we have never once seen them act of their own will. Are you truly willing to discard this opportunity—to suppress the truth—for the sake of a single life, Headmaster?"
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
Jumei's hands clenched into fists. Other professors exchanged nervous glances. Soren's words, as heartless as they seemed, were not without weight.
Lezzaki stood frozen, his imposing figure cast in the dim light of the chamber. The headmaster, for all his rage, did not respond immediately. Because deep down, he knew Soren had asked the one question no scholar could ignore.
The question of whether discovery was worth the cost.
Lezzaki's glare did not waver as his voice thundered once more, shaking the room with its sheer intensity.
"Even so, putting the life of a student in danger is unacceptable! We are not reckless scholars or madmen willing to sacrifice lives for the sake of knowledge. What you've done today, Soren, makes you no different from the illegal organizations that conduct inhuman experiments in the shadows!"
A ripple of agreement spread through the gathered professors. Many of them, though shaken by Soren's logic, still could not condone his actions.
Yet, in the face of such accusations, Soren remained composed.
His eyes, always distant and unreadable, held something peculiar—an expression so subtle that no one could quite decipher it. It was neither amusement nor defiance, but something stranger. Disappointment. Curiosity. And yet, a strange calm.
Then, he spoke, his voice carrying an eerie weight despite its softness.
"Does aging affect your thoughts, Headmaster?"
The entire room stiffened.
Soren continued, his tone measured but carrying an unmistakable undertone of something almost nostalgic. "I still remember your speech at the academy ceremony ten years ago. And I am certain that one of your words was: 'Some research is worth the sacrifice, if necessary.'"
Silence.
"I'm quite sure," Soren said, tilting his head slightly, "that this situation fits your words perfectly, Headmaster. But you wouldn't say those things anymore, would you? You've grown old."
A sharp inhale could be heard from one of the professors. Others stood frozen, unable to believe what they had just heard.
Soren sat there, still restrained, but he seemed utterly at ease, as if he had already accepted whatever consequences would follow. Despite being under investigation, despite the weight of the situation, he remained entirely unbothered.
The room held its breath.
Then, a sudden sound—wood scraping against stone—as Professor Mino, the man who had restrained Soren, abruptly stood up. His expression was one of open fury.
"Even in this situation, you have the nerve to disrespect the Headmaster like this?!" Mino's voice was sharp with rage.
Soren merely nodded, his gaze never leaving Lezzaki. "Yes," he admitted plainly. "That is correct."
Lezzaki, however, did not respond. He remained still, his expression unreadable. Was he hesitating? Calculating his next words? Or perhaps—was there something deeper in his silence?
Mino, seeing the Headmaster's lack of immediate response, took matters into his own hands. His fingers curled, and the veins that bound Soren pulsed, tightening around him. The restraints dug deeper into Soren's arms, chest, and legs, restricting any possible movement.
Soren finally shifted his gaze.
For the first time since the interrogation began, he turned to face Mino.
His expression remained neutral, his tone calm—but something about it sent a chill through the room.
"You are crossing the line right now"
And for a moment, the temperature in the room seemed to drop.