Lucas couldn't sleep. Not anymore.
The Seed inside him had begun growing—roots threading through muscle, veins like glowing branches. Corin watched as he flinched through spasms, teeth gritted, skin cracking along his arms like charred bark.
"You're changing," she said, worry in her voice.
"I know."
"Can you stop it?"
Lucas didn't answer.
Because he didn't want to.
For the first time since summoning Malgros, he felt like he could match the gods that haunted Eastbridge. Ephraal, the Choir, the Breach—they were predators. But now, he was becoming something they feared.
That night, he walked into a trap.
A Veil remnant, twisted by Ephraal's influence, had been waiting for him—a man with three faces and no spine. The thing spoke in backwards prophecy.
"You are not Lucas. You are what's left of him."
Lucas let the fire out.
Not Malgros's fire.
His own.
When the smoke cleared, the building was gone. So was the remnant. But etched into the concrete below was a symbol:
A tree growing from an eye.
Corin found him hours later, sitting in the crater, shaking.
"I can't tell if I'm winning," he whispered. "Or just becoming something worse."
She didn't answer. She just sat with him, until dawn.