Rootbound Rebellion
The Circle no longer resembled the sanctuary it once was.
Its walls bore scorch marks, its ancient wards crackled with uncertainty, and the people within—Dreamers bound once by purpose—now stood divided, their unity unraveling like frayed thread.
At the center of the council chamber, Isabela stood her ground. Her gaze was unwavering, her voice calm but taut with strain.
"He's still Cuco," she said. "He saved our lives."
Nox's arms crossed tightly over her chest. "He also gave his blood to the Tome. Freely. And now he carries a blade that feeds on pain."
Echo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the long, scorched table. His voice was a rasp, barely above a whisper. "The Hollow Ones can sense him now. He's a beacon in the dark. If they feel him—so does what they serve."
Tariq said nothing.
His eyes lingered on the empty chair where Cuco once sat.
---
Cuco wasn't hiding.
He stood in the moonlit courtyard, half-drawn blade at his side, his gaze fixed on the fractured sky.
He didn't need to hear their words to know.
He felt them—like static in the air. Conversations that ended when he entered a room. Glances that lingered too long. And even Lira, finally free of the darkness that once possessed her, recoiled slightly when their paths crossed.
He didn't blame them.
Truth be told, he was no longer sure he trusted himself either.
The blade spoke now—whenever it wished.
> "They'll never accept what you're becoming.
Let them go. Let them crumble.
Let you remain."
---
The meeting was held after nightfall.
Not announced. Not recorded.
Only the trusted were invited.
Tariq found out by accident—an overheard whisper in the stacks, a hasty departure, a glance exchanged.
He followed. Quiet. Careful.
Now, he stood cloaked in shadow behind a tall shelf of crumbling tomes, listening as voices rose and fell beyond the hidden door.
Nox. Echo. A few others. Familiar silhouettes drawn by fear.
"We bind the blade," Nox said. "Separate him from the Tome. Contain him until we understand the risk."
"Or until we know what he really is," someone muttered.
"He might not even be human anymore."
Tariq's hands curled into fists.
A sound—soft as breath—behind him.
He spun around.
Cuco stood there, eyes faintly aglow in the dark, his expression unreadable.
"They're not wrong," he said quietly.
Tariq's heart lurched. "Cuco—"
"I can feel it too," Cuco said, stepping closer. His voice was raw, cracked like old stone. "Something's changing. Inside me. I don't know what it is… or what it wants."
The blade pulsed once at his hip.
Silent.
"For now," he added.
Tariq struggled to find the right words. "You're still you. I know you are."
Cuco looked toward the glow of the chamber beyond, where decisions were being made without him.
"If they come for me—if they try to bind me…" He paused. "I won't run."
His eyes met Tariq's.
"But I won't let them win either."