Chapter 153: Roots of choice
Two weeks later...
The Rootsite thrummed with life.
Two weeks had passed since the Thorn Crown Behemoth fell, and in that short span, the enclave changed more than it had in months.
Vines had been cleared from ruined squares and turned into gardens.
A bigger and more standard market was erected in the Rootsite. It stretched between the old library and the Spire, stalls built from scavenged metal and wood where civilians traded for food, tools, and scraps.
With a bigger market, the activity levels in the Rootsite rose to a new high. Every day, children’s laughter spilled over the streets, a sound once thought lost in this wasteland.
It was progress, constant and undeniable. Yet Clayton Hunt, Verdant Lord of Atlanta, felt no peace.
While others celebrated survival, his mind stayed locked on the whisper of the Genesis Protocols. Trial III loomed like a shadow he could not shake. It demanded challengers, and it demanded choices.
Three minimum, five maximum.
Clayton could tell that if he truly was against it, he could sever the connection through which the Earthcore Nexus communicated the urgency of Trial III to him just like Korrath did, content to stay as a Luminous Seed rank Verdant Lord.
But Clayton was not content with staying as a Luminous Seed rank Verdant Lord. He wanted more, he wanted to know more, and to do that, he needed power.
And to get power, he needed to challenge the Genesis Trials again.
He could still remember as an Initiate Ember Awakened when a Verdant Warden rank Behemorph felt like an unstoppable force of nature.
Fast-forward to now, and he was more than capable of surviving multiple encounters against Behemorphs of that infamously feared rank.
The true powerhouses of humanity though at the moment still feared something, and that was the Prime Synchron rank Behemorphs.
The mere belief that they hid somewhere there in the dark kept humanity on edge, not letting them rest on their laurels.
Clayton was not quite one of the big players of humanity yet, but with his growing Rootsite, he knew that he was on his way there.
And to get there, he knew that he had to kill his instinctive terror and fear of Prime Synchron rank Behemorphs.
This was why he was determined to go through with the trial challenge.
Torren was already chosen, the bond sealed the night Clayton named him his Sporelink. That left four more, four more seats in a Trial that could end in glory, or in graves.
Clayton stood at the balcony of the Spire, looking down at the Rootsite.
From his vantage point, he saw the faces of warriors and healers, civilians and children. Each one was a reason to endure. Each one reminded him that his absence would be dangerous.
He had to leave behind enough strength to protect them. And yet, if he held back too much, Trial III could devour him and those he trusted most.
His mind weighed the names like stones on a scale.
Veyra... precise, sharp, never hesitated. With her new bow Artifact, her arrows could pierce nearly anything. But taking her meant removing the best deterrent the Rootsite had against ranged predators.
He had done this calculations before, time and time again, but he could not help but grow through his calculations one last time.
Afterall, he could not afford error. The margin for error was too tight.
And then there is Kaelin... shadows and smoke, a natural scout who had grown beyond reckless. His Luminous Seed breakthrough proved his potential, yet Kaelin thrived on freedom.
Would he bend under the weight of a Trial?
Soren... fire and courage. He was one of the heavy hitters of the Rootsite army; his Emberblade burned brighter than most men’s souls. Still young, still brash, but unyielding. He could either save them or burn himself out trying.
Then Harrick... the spear fighter, dependable and steady. But he was also the backbone of the Rootsite guard.
Could Clayton risk pulling him away?
Mirra... the silver-haired healer, calm in the storm. With her, wounds closed and morale steadied. But if she left, the Rootsite would lose one of its greatest shields against despair.
Clayton exhaled slowly. ’Choices,’ he thought, exasperated. ’Hard choices, always choices, when does choices ever end?’
He summoned Kaelin first.
The assassin appeared as he always did, out of nowhere, slipping from shadow like smoke given form. He grinned. "You called, Lord Verdant?"
Clayton rolled his eyes. "Drop the ’Lord.’ You know better."
Kaelin chuckled but sobered when Clayton’s gaze held steady. "You’ve grown," Clayton said. "From a reckless scout to someone I can rely on. Trial III won’t be predictable. I need eyes that see in darkness, steps that don’t echo. I need you."
Kaelin blinked, the grin faltering. "Me? In the Trial?"
"Yes," Clayton said firmly. "You’ll be my second."
For once, Kaelin was quiet. Then he smirked again, though his voice was softer. "Guess the shadows don’t get to hide this time."
Clayton clasped his arm. The choice was sealed.
...
His third choice was Veyra...
He found her on the training field with her bow drawn, diligently training like usual as her arrows split targets in perfect succession.
"You never miss," Clayton said as he approached.
"Not anymore," she answered, lowering the bow. "It’s hard to miss when you know that the consequences of you missing is thousands of civilians under you".
"Responsibility has a way of making you stronger".
"You’re right," Clayton agreed with a chuckle, then he studied her a moment. "You’re coming with me."
Veyra raised a brow. "Not asking?"
"Not this time," he shook his head. "The Trial won’t forgive hesitation, and you never hesitate."
She held his gaze, eyes steady as stone. Then she nodded once. "Then I’ll go. The Rootsite will still stand when we come back."
Clayton believed her.
...
His fourth choice was Soren...
Soren trained alone, his Emberblade hissing with sparks as he cleaved through stone dummies. His strikes were raw and unpolished, but powerful enough to split steel.
"You’ll wear yourself out before the fight even starts," Clayton called.
Soren glanced back, sweat dripping down his brow. "Better to wear out here than in the field," he grinned.
Clayton approached. "You’ve changed. When I first met you, your power was just fire without control. Now it’s fire with purpose. Trial III will need that."
Soren froze, then slowly lowered his blade. "You’re saying...?"
Clayton nodded. "I’m saying you’re coming," he confirmed.
"Raw power isn’t enough, but you’ve turned yours into something more. You’ll burn a path with me."
For a long moment, Soren said nothing. Then he nodded, quiet but resolute. "Then I’ll burn until the end."
...
His fifth choice was Mirra...
The hardest decision came last.
Clayton entered the healing ward where Mirra worked beside Lorn. Vines wrapped around wounded civilians, sealing cuts, soothing burns. She looked up, silver hair catching the light.
"You want to take me with you," she said simply.
Clayton stopped, surprised. "You knew?"
"I’ve seen the way you look at us," she chuckled. "Measuring, weighing. I can tell you’ve already chosen."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "If we fall apart, you’re the one who holds us together. The Rootsite needs Lorn, but the cohort can do with you," he grinned. "I need you."
Mirra’s lips pressed thin. "And if I leave, who heals the Rootsite?"
"Lorn will," Clayton said. "She’s more than capable. But in the Trial... I can’t risk going without you."
Silence stretched. Then she nodded slowly, though her eyes were heavy. "Then I’ll carry their wounds. But Clayton... you must bring us all back."
"I will," he promised.
That evening, the Rootsite gathered by firelight.
Torren boasted loudly, Pyreaxe on his lap, still shamelessly retelling the Behemoth fight with wild exaggeration. "And then, I swung so hard the beast’s head nearly spun right off its neck!"
Children gasped, civilians laughed, and even hardened Awakened cracked smiles.
Nearby, Veyra guided children in archery, her voice patient as she corrected their stances. Her laughter, rare as rain in the wastes, softened the camp.
Kaelin vanished into shadows only to reappear behind warriors, making them jump. He chuckled every time, shrugging when scolded. "Gotta keep you sharp."
Soren sat quietly, sharpening his blade. He barely spoke, but when someone teased him, he smirked faintly, a rare show of ease.
Mirra and Lorn worked in tandem at the clinic, tending wounds but sharing soft jokes, their calm presence a comfort to all who passed.
For a night, the Rootsite was not a fortress or a battlefield. It was a home.
Later, Clayton walked the walls alone. He looked out at the city lights, the markets, the laughter drifting through the night. Pride swelled in his chest, but so did the weight of what was to come.
He had made his choices... Torren, Kaelin, Veyra, Soren, and Mirra, his five challengers for Trial III.
He placed his hand on the Spire’s bark, eyes narrowing. ’This city will endure, it must’. Behind him, the Spire pulsed as the Genesis Protocol whispered louder than ever.
"Trial III will open soon."
Clayton clenched his fist, jaw set. "We’ll be ready."