They ascended slowly from the Vein Pool chamber, guided by Sylva through a narrow staircase carved into the roots of the earth.
The walls shimmered with pulse-like veins, faintly glowing, like the city's lifeblood.
"This stair," Sylva said, voice quiet but tense, "was only meant for the Keepers."
He paused mid-step.
"Then why bring us here?"
She didn't turn around.
"Because it's time the seed remembers where it came from."
The tunnel opened into a vast cavern — a hollow beneath the city that seemed to breathe.
And in the center stood the Sleepless Tree.
It was massive — its roots tangled into the rock like a web, its branches clawing toward the cavern's ceiling.
The bark was blackened and cracked, yet glowing with threads of gold and green.
The leaves shimmered like metal, rustling even though there was no wind.
It was alive, but not in any way they had ever known.
"That's not a tree," Lira whispered.
"It's… watching us."
He stepped forward, drawn by something inside him.
The seed under his skin vibrated violently, almost painfully, as if trying to leap toward its source.
Sylva walked slowly to the base of the Sleepless Tree and knelt.
Her hand touched the soil — soft, dark, humming with energy.
"This is where the first fracture formed," she said.
"When the balance broke, the tree stopped dreaming.
Now, it watches.
It judges."
He stepped closer.
"And what does it see?"
The tree creaked, its bark splitting slightly. From the fracture, a low pulse echoed — not a sound, but a feeling.
Guilt.
Memory.
Pain.
Suddenly, the space shifted.
His vision blurred, and the chamber twisted.
He was no longer standing by the tree.
He was inside it.
A memory. Not his.
The city was whole again — tall spires entwined with green, laughter in the air, the sky wide and soft with light.
But beneath it, a man knelt at the roots of the Sleepless Tree.
Dark-robed. Hands shaking.
He wept as he poured something into the soil — a piece of himself.
Then came the screams.
A tear split through the sky, and from it spilled shadows, eating light and flesh.
The man did not move.
He let it happen.
"What did you do?" he whispered aloud.
The man turned — eyes identical to his own.
"I gave it a heart."
He gasped as the vision shattered.
He was back beneath the Sleepless Tree, panting, knees weak.
Lira caught him before he collapsed.
"What did you see?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"A memory… or a warning.
Someone gave the tree its heart — and then let the world burn."
Sylva's face had gone pale.
"You saw the Seeder."
He froze.
"The Seeder? That's…?"
Sylva nodded slowly.
"The one who first bonded with the city.
The first Guardian.
The one who planted the seed."
"And I look like him," he whispered.
The tree groaned again — this time a deep, sorrowful moan, and from its upper branches, a fruit formed.
No, not a fruit.
A heart.
Pulsing. Beating.
It detached and floated downward, stopping just before him, suspended in light.
Sylva stared in awe.
"It's offering you a trial."
*A trial for what?" Lira asked, reaching for her blade.
"To finish what the Seeder began.
Or to destroy what he couldn't."
He reached toward the heart, but before his fingers touched it—
the light collapsed, and they were flung backward.
Roots erupted from the ground like spears.
The cavern shook as something stirred within the Sleepless Tree.
A guardian emerged — bark-skinned, ten feet tall, with glowing cracks across its chest, and eyes like molten amber.
Its voice thundered without sound.
"Only those who carry the guilt may walk beyond."
Lira stepped in front of him, sword raised.
"We don't have time for riddles. Let us through."
But the guardian didn't even look at her.
It locked eyes with him.
"Guilt," it said again.
"Show me yours."
He hesitated, then stepped forward.
"You want guilt?
Fine."
He touched the seed beneath his chest — and opened it.
Flashes erupted around him:
His mother's lifeless face.
The orphanage burned to ash.
The other children, left behind while he survived.
The silence of running. Always running.
The Sleepless Tree went still.
The guardian lowered its head.
"You carry the fracture well."
The vines retracted.
The heart lowered itself again, waiting.
"What happens if I take it?" he asked.
Sylva's voice trembled.
"Then the city wakes up.
And so do its nightmares."
He closed his fingers around the heart.
It didn't burn.
It pulsed.
With him.
For the first time, the seed and the tree and his soul felt like one thing.
And in that moment, the Sleepless Tree whispered.
Not in words, but in warning.
"The Seeder's sin is not yours to carry. But you will carry it anyway."
The chamber dimmed. The trial was over. But amidst all of this, he finally remembered.
"Ahh...!" He says with his hand on his chest.
"I finally remember..."
Lira and Sylva stared with confused faces.
"What exactly?" Sylva asked scratching her lush green hair.
"M–My name..."
He turned to Lira and Sylva, eyes almost teary.
"Lira, Sylva, nice to meet you, my name is Lanz.
Both Lira and Sylva smiled. "Nice to meet you, Lanz"
Now with Lanz knowing a secret — he didn't know was messing — something changed in his eyes.
"It's time we go to the Surface.
We've been beneath long enough."
But far above, in the streets of the city, shadows had begun to twist again.
The fracture had felt the stirrings.
And it would not let go without a fight.
End of Chapter 16.