The Council chamber didn't look like a chamber.
Looked like someone had carved a cathedral out of a living tree and forgot to add windows.
Ethan stood in the center of a circular room that stretched up—way up—into darkness thick enough to choke on. The walls weren't walls. Living wood. Pulsing faintly green. Veins running through bark like the whole space was breathing.
Seven chairs arranged in a semicircle.
Seven people staring down at him.
(Judges.)
(Jury.)
(Executioners if this goes wrong.)
His LE sat at 340/500. Stable. Sylvia had force-fed him three Verdant supplements before dragging him here. Said he needed to "look alive" when facing the Council.
He felt alive.
Felt like his heart was trying to punch through his ribs.
"Ethan Cross."
The voice came from the center chair.
Older man. Late sixties. Silver beard braided with—were those vines? Growing directly from his face. Eyes the color of moss after rain.
Garrick Vale.
Sylvia had warned him about Garrick.
"High Arbiter of the North American Verdant Court. Forty years integrated. Doesn't trust Seed-touched Users. Thinks you're a liability."
Great.
"You stand accused," Garrick continued, voice like gravel scraped over stone, "of negligent LE discharge resulting in three deaths. Unauthorized combat engagement with Thornbound operatives. And possession of an unregistered Primordial Seed."
Ethan's mouth went dry.
"I didn't—"
"You didn't what." Not a question. Statement. Garrick leaned forward. "Didn't kill three Thornbound agents in self-defense? Didn't absorb their LE? Didn't integrate a Class-VII Seed without Court approval?"
Class-VII.
Sylvia hadn't mentioned that part.
"What's Class-VII mean?"
"It means," a woman to Garrick's left said, "that the Seed inside you is illegal."
She looked younger. Early forties. Dark skin. Hair shaved on one side, long on the other. Eyes sharp enough to cut.
Nadia Ogun. West Coast representative.
"Primordial Seeds are classified by danger level," Nadia said. "Class-I through Class-VI are sanctioned. Regulated. Class-VII are forbidden. Confiscated on sight. Hosts are detained or—" She paused. "—neutralized."
Neutralized.
Fancy word for killed.
Ethan's LE dropped.
[LE: 340→328 (-12)]
[Emotional distress detected]
"I didn't ask for this." His voice came out steadier than expected. "I got stabbed. Woke up with this thing inside me. I didn't choose—"
"Irrelevant." Garrick's tone didn't change. "Intent doesn't matter. You're hosting a Class-VII Seed. That makes you a threat."
"To who?"
"Everyone." Garrick gestured around the chamber. "Primordial Seeds don't follow normal integration patterns. They rewrite hosts. Cellular level. Psychological level. You stop being human and start being—" He paused. "—something else."
Something else.
The words sat in Ethan's chest like stones.
He thought about the cultist in the woods. The way the vines had just—known what to do. The way draining LE had felt right.
(You enjoyed it.)
(No.)
(Yes you did.)
His hands curled into fists.
"So what. You're just going to kill me?"
Silence.
Three seconds.
Five.
Garrick's expression didn't change.
"We're here to decide that."
The vote took fourteen minutes.
Felt like fourteen hours.
Each Council member spoke. Laid out their position. Ethan stood there listening to seven people debate whether he deserved to live like he wasn't even in the room.
Nadia Ogun - West Coast:
"The Seed is dangerous but the kid's got potential. We train him. Control the integration. Use him as an asset."
Marcus Lorne - Midwest:
"Asset? He killed three people in four days. How long before he kills one of ours?"
Sylvia Tan - Northeast (Concord Grove):
"He defended himself. You want him to just die? Let Thorne take him?"
Garrick Vale - High Arbiter:
"I want him contained. Monitored. If the Seed shows signs of Class-VIII mutation, we terminate. No exceptions."
Class-VIII.
Worse than Class-VII apparently.
Ethan stopped listening after that.
His LE sat at 315/500. Dropping slowly. Stress bleed.
The Seed pulsed.
Not hungry.
Angry.
It didn't like being talked about like a disease.
(It's not a disease.)
(It's part of you now.)
Ethan closed his eyes.
Tried to breathe.
Tried not to think about his mom tied to a chair somewhere three hundred miles away while he stood here listening to bureaucrats decide if he was worth the trouble.
(Five hours twenty minutes when you left.)
(How much time now?)
He'd lost track.
Sylvia and Mira had gone after her. Wouldn't tell him where. Just said "stay here, let the Council decide, we'll handle it."
Like he was a kid who couldn't be trusted.
(You can't be trusted.)
(You killed three people.)
His LE dropped.
[LE: 315→298 (-17)]
"Enough."
Garrick's voice cut through the chamber.
Everyone stopped talking.
The High Arbiter stood. Vines in his beard writhing slowly like they had a mind of their own.
"We vote. Standard protocol. Majority decides." He looked at Ethan. "Ethan Cross. You will be detained pending Council decision. If the vote passes, you live under Court supervision. If it fails—" Pause. "—the Seed is extracted. By force if necessary."
Extracted.
Sylvia said extraction meant death.
Slow death.
Painful death.
Ethan's throat closed.
"You can't—"
"We can." Garrick's eyes didn't blink. "You're hosting a Class-VII Seed without authorization. Court law is explicit. Either you submit to jurisdiction or we treat you as a rogue User."
Rogue User.
Another fancy term for enemy.
Ethan's hands shook.
LE at 298/500.
The Seed pulsed.
Let me out. I can kill them. All of them. Just—
No.
Not helping.
Garrick raised his hand.
"Vote now. Detain and monitor—" He looked left. "—or terminate."
Silence.
Ethan's heart hammered.
Nadia Ogun: "Detain."
Marcus Lorne: "Terminate."
Sylvia Tan: "Detain."
Three to one.
Hector Ruiz (Southwest): "Detain. But monitored 24/7."
Jin Zhao (Pacific Northwest): "Terminate. Too dangerous."
Four to two.
Elena Vorobyova (Great Lakes): "Detain. We've handled worse."
Five to two.
One vote left.
Garrick.
The High Arbiter stared at Ethan.
Expression unreadable.
Ten seconds passed.
Fifteen.
"Garrick." Sylvia's voice sharp. "Vote."
Garrick's jaw tightened.
"Detain." The word came out like he was chewing glass. "But under my supervision. He steps out of line once, I extract the Seed myself."
Five to two.
Ethan exhaled.
Didn't realize he'd been holding his breath.
His LE ticked up:
[LE: 298→305 (+7)]
Relief.
Temporary.
Garrick wasn't done.
"Before we conclude—" The High Arbiter pulled out a tablet. Tapped the screen. "—there's the matter of Helena Cross."
Ethan's blood froze.
"What."
Garrick's eyes locked onto his.
"Your mother. Real name Helena Ashford. Former Verdant Court member. Defected twenty-three years ago after the Boston Incident."
The room tilted.
Former what—
"She changed her name. Went into hiding. Raised you under a false identity." Garrick's voice stayed flat. Clinical. "Thorne found her two weeks ago. Captured her yesterday."
Two weeks.
Two weeks they'd known.
"Why didn't you—"
"Tell you?" Garrick's expression didn't change. "Because you were unstable. Seed integration at thirty-four percent. Telling you would've triggered a Class-VIII mutation event."
Ethan's hands curled into fists.
"Where is she."
"Dead."
The word hit like a bullet.
Ethan's vision blurred.
"No—"
"Thorne executed her six hours ago." Garrick slid the tablet across the table. "Confirmed via surveillance feed. Dental records match."
Six hours ago.
While he was training.
While he was standing here listening to them vote.
His LE plummeted.
[LE: 305→267 (-38)]
[Severe emotional distress]
[⚠ Warning: Seed destabilization imminent]
"You're lying."
"I'm not." Garrick's tone didn't soften. "Helena Cross—the woman you knew as Diane—is dead. Thorne made sure of it."
The Seed screamed.
Not sound.
Feeling.
Rage compressed into a single point behind Ethan's sternum.
LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT—
"Ethan."
Sylvia's voice.
Close.
When had she moved?
"Breathe. Look at me. Breathe."
He couldn't.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Mom was—
(Dead.)
(No.)
(She's not dead she can't be dead—)
His LE dropped.
[LE: 267→241 (-26)]
Vision going dark at the edges.
The Seed pulsing so hard it felt like his chest was going to split open.
"Sedate him."
Garrick's voice.
Distant.
"No—" Sylvia snapped. "He's integrating. Sedation will make it worse—"
"Then restrain him before he loses control—"
Something cold pressed against Ethan's neck.
Hiss of compressed air.
His LE spiked.
[LE: 241→198 (-43)]
[Forced sedation detected]
[Seed Integration: 34%→41%]
[⚠ CRITICAL: Mutation threshold approaching]
The room spun.
Voices overlapping.
Sylvia shouting.
Garrick barking orders.
Someone's hands on his shoulders pushing him down—
Ethan's knees hit the floor.
Vision tunneling.
Last thing he saw:
Garrick's face.
Cold.
Unmoved.
"Get him to a containment cell. Now."
Then nothing.
[LE: 198/500]
[Seed Integration: 41%]
[Status: UNCONSCIOUS]
[Time elapsed: 8 hours, 34 minutes]
[LOCATION: Unknown][THREE HUNDRED MILES SOUTH]
The room smelled like rust and old blood.
A woman sat on the floor in the corner.
Hands tied behind her back. Duct tape across her mouth.
Left eye swollen shut.
Right eye staring at the door.
Waiting.
She'd been waiting for nine hours.
(He'll come.)
(He has to come.)
The door opened.
Man in a grey suit. Corporate. Clean-shaven. Looked like an accountant.
Held a gun like he'd done this before.
"Helena Ashford." The man's voice was polite. Friendly even. "Or do you prefer Diane these days?"
She didn't answer.
Couldn't with the tape.
The man smiled.
"Doesn't matter. Your son's not coming. Verdant Court took him. Locked him up." He raised the gun. "Which means you're no longer useful."
Her heart stopped.
(Ethan.)
(No.)
(Please no—)
The man's finger moved to the trigger.
Behind him, the door exploded.
Not opened.
Exploded.
Vines erupted through the frame. Thick as fire hoses. Moving faster than anything living should move.
One wrapped around the man's wrist.
Snapped it.
Bone cracked like a gunshot.
The gun clattered to the floor.
The man screamed.
The vines squeezed.
His scream cut off.
Wet sound.
Then silence.
A figure stepped through the doorway.
Woman. Early thirties. Short black hair. Tactical gear covered in blood that wasn't hers.
Mira Chen.
Behind her: Sylvia. Moving slower. Breathing hard.
Mira's eyes scanned the room.
Landed on the woman in the corner.
"Helena Ashford?"
The woman nodded.
Mira crossed the room. Pulled a knife. Cut the zip ties.
Peeled off the tape.
"Where's my son." Helena's voice cracked. "Where's Ethan—"
"Alive." Mira's tone stayed flat. "Verdant Council has him. He's safe."
Helena's breath shuddered.
"Take me to him."
"Not yet." Sylvia stepped forward. "Thorne thinks you're dead. We need to keep it that way."
"I don't care what Thorne—"
"Your son is hosting a Class-VII Seed." Sylvia's voice hardened. "If Thorne finds out you're alive, they'll use you as leverage. Force him to surrender. Extract the Seed. Kill him."
Helena stared.
"Class-VII."
"Yes."
"How—"
"Later." Mira grabbed her arm. Hauled her up. "We move. Now. Thorne response team is three minutes out."
Helena stood.
Legs shaking.
Vision blurred.
(Ethan.)
(My baby has a Class-VII Seed.)
(He's going to die.)
Mira pushed her toward the door.
"Move or we all die."
Helena moved.
Behind them, the man's body lay crumpled in the corner.
Neck bent at an angle that wasn't possible.
Vines still wrapped around his throat.
Still squeezing.
The room smelled like copper and crushed flowers.