The next morning, Yuzu woke with a sour taste on his tongue — not just the remnants of the dream-orchard, but something deeper. Unsettling. Wrong.
He sat up and blinked. His room felt colder. The mural on his ceiling had changed again.
Three fruits now.
One shimmered in hues of citrus and blood — Vesca's flavor, or what remained of it.
The second pulsed with a dull violet glow. He didn't recognize it.
The third… wasn't there.
It was trying to appear. Fading in and out like a glitch, warping the space around it. A fruit that didn't belong. Or didn't want to be known.
Yuzu stood, still in his nightclothes, and stared at it for a long moment. Then, without thinking, he summoned his inner orchard.
It responded instantly.
The air around him grew heavier, laced with scents no one else could sense — honeyed spice, charred sugar, and something old. The tree at the center of his soul had grown again. Its trunk was thicker. The roots spread further beneath the metaphysical soil.
New icons hovered at its base.
[Skill Gained: Flavor Veil — Rank F]Suppress your aura and mask your fruit signature. Duration: 5 minutes.
[Skill Gained: Partial Harvest — Rank F]Gain temporary traits from touched spirits. Lasts 10 minutes. Risk of instability: Low.
He exhaled. These weren't combat skills. They were for hiding. Spying. Manipulation.
Useful, yes — but also…
"Lying," he whispered.
The tree pulsed once, faintly amused.
All fruit lies eventually, it seemed to say.
Later that day, Yuzu sat in the back row of a theory class taught by Professor Tume, a dry, parchment-skinned scholar whose Fruit Spirit — a dried fig with golden veins — hovered beside him like a fossilized sun.
Today's topic: Forbidden Fruit Classes.
The class leaned forward with interest. Everyone knew the common categories — Citrus (shock-based), Stonefruit (endurance), Berry (illusion, speed), Seeded (defense), and so on.
But forbidden classes?
Those were myth. Folklore. Scare stories.
Tume didn't smile as he began.
"There are three types of Fruit Spirits banned by the Council," he said. "Not because of their power alone — but because of their nature."
He raised a gnarled finger.
"First: Rotborne — spirits that decay other auras. They spread spiritual mold. Consume the flavor of others and leave nothing behind. Impossible to bond with. They devour."
Another finger.
"Second: Spliced — hybrids of multiple fruit types, unnatural grafts. They offer unpredictable abilities, often unstable. Scholars suspect they result from flawed awakenings… or deliberate tampering."
He paused.
"Third: Primordial." His voice dropped. "These are theoretical. Ancient spirits that predate the Bloomstone, the Academy, even the Garden Cities. We don't know what they were. Only that they existed. Briefly. Violently."
Yuzu felt every word like a tremor in his ribs.
Tume's gaze swept the room. "If any of you ever suspect a spirit of belonging to one of these classes, you are to report it immediately to the Council."
Yuzu looked down at his hand. The bandage itched.
His sigil — always shifting — flickered beneath the wrappings, almost like it was listening.
That evening, after classes, a knock came at Yuzu's dorm.
He opened it, expecting maybe Gelmo or a nosy student.
Instead, it was a girl.
Thin. Pale. Dark rings beneath her eyes. Her uniform wasn't regulation — patched, worn, with a faded sigil of a cherry spirit barely visible on the sleeve.
"Can I come in?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Yuzu frowned. "Do I know you?"
"No," she said. "But I know you." She stepped inside before he could reply.
Yuzu closed the door behind her, warily. "Who are you?"
She turned, eyes locking onto his.
"My name is Mira. I'm what you might call… a failed splice."
Yuzu blinked. "A what?"
She lifted her sleeve. Beneath it was a scar — not a sigil — and just above her shoulder floated not one, but two miniature spirits: a cherry, and something else that shimmered with shifting stripes of lemon and plum.
"They tried to graft me," she said quietly. "My parents were Fruit Engineers. Council-approved. But the graft didn't hold. The spirits split. Now I'm unstable."
Yuzu stared. "Why are you telling me this?"
She looked at him — really looked — and said, "Because something's growing in you that doesn't belong. Same as me."
Silence.
"How do you know?" he asked finally.
She pointed to her eyes. "Splices can taste it. You reek of wrongness. And something else… old."
Yuzu's mouth went dry.
"I don't want to hurt you," Mira said quickly. "I'm not here for that. I just… I need to know if I'm alone."
He hesitated.
Then slowly, he unwrapped the bandage.
The sigil glowed — not one fruit, but many, swirling and blending like a storm in fruit form.
Mira's breath caught. "You bit something," she whispered. "Didn't you?"
Yuzu didn't reply.
Mira's expression turned grim. "Then you need to leave the Academy."
"What?"
"They'll find you. Maybe not today. Maybe not next season. But once you start absorbing, your aura won't stay hidden. The Primordials always surface."
Yuzu's heart thudded.
"Where would I go?"
She hesitated. "There's a place. Beyond the Vinewall. A village called Ashroot. Hidden. Forgotten. It's where the broken ones go."
Yuzu sat heavily on the bed. Ashroot. The name stirred something in him. A taste, maybe. Earthy. Burnt. Familiar.
"You should come," she said. "Before the Council sends the Fruitwatchers."
He looked at her.
Then at the sigil.
Then at the ceiling.
Four fruits now.
No — five.
And still growing.
Far across the continent, deep beneath a council chamber built of amberglass, the High Bloom convened.
Seven robed figures stood in a circle around a massive fruit-shaped obelisk. Its surface pulsed slowly, like a sleeping heart.
One of them spoke. "A Primordial signature has registered at Germina Academy."
Another added, "The tree has awakened. The signal is faint — masked — but undeniable."
"Do we have a name?"
A pause.
Then: "Yuzu Kaien."
Silence.
Then the oldest figure, clad in robes woven from fruit-thread and bark, leaned forward.
"Then the Orchard must prune its roots."
And the room darkened.