The sound came again—low, groaning, like a cello being played underwater. It vibrated through the marrow of the tunnel and made Rafael's teeth ache.
Behind them, the citrus corridor had sealed shut. The zest curtain had shriveled and turned black, crumbling into fragrant dust. No going back.
Calyx touched the wall. "The tunnel's gone… It's like we were juiced out the other side."
"Delightful," Stanley muttered, shaking fruit pulp from his boot. "So. We're trapped in a sentient fruit temple with a hot, possibly evil flute witch."
Lira chuckled ahead of them. "You flatter me."
She led them through another archway of bramble-thorns and dried rind, her stride light, almost humming with each step. The air had shifted again—cooler now, tinged with mint and crushed basil.
Beyond lay a sunken grove. Trees grew sideways out of the cavern walls, their roots dangling like tangled hair above a reflective pool. Their fruit glowed faintly: star-shaped berries, translucent kiwis with moving seeds, lantern oranges that blinked open and closed like lazy eyes.
Rafael stopped at the edge of the water. It was too still.
"This isn't right," he said.
Lira turned to him. "Welcome to the Grove Beneath. It remembers."
"Remembers what?"
"Everything bitter that was ever swallowed."
Stanley scowled. "Well, that's… comforting."
Lira walked onto the surface of the water without sinking. Each footstep rippled a different flavor in the air—clove, lime, rust.
"Follow if you dare," she said, voice echoing in unnatural harmony.
They dared. They didn't want to, but they did. The water supported them, slick and tense like jelly underfoot.
Halfway across, the air changed. Words began to bubble up from below the water, spoken by unseen mouths:
"Betrayed." "Left behind." "Not enough."
Stanley stumbled. "That one sounded like my ex."
"Don't listen," Calyx said sharply. "It's echoing pain. Fruitveil feeds on it."
Rafael marched forward, jaw clenched. He wasn't about to get derailed by soggy guilt hallucinations. But something did catch his attention—a branch floating just beneath the surface. It had seven leaves, each marked with a glowing rune.
"Trap?" he asked Lira, pointing.
"Gift," she replied. "One of the Grove's tests. The Flute can't be played by someone who hasn't tasted the seven notes of sorrow."
"Sounds emo."
"It's ancient," she said with a wink. "Emo is just vintage now."
He reached down and touched the branch. The water boiled for a second—then stilled.
The runes sank into his skin like warm ink. He gasped, heart skipping a beat.
"Don't worry," Lira said. "That's normal."
"Normal for who?"
She just kept walking.
They reached the far bank where gnarled trees formed a semi-circle around a stone slab. A shadowed hole gaped beyond it—another passage.
But something was waiting.
A figure stood between them and the opening. Human-shaped. Wrapped in twisted vines and shrouded in misty pith. Its face was blank—no features, just pulp and suggestion.
Rafael instinctively stepped forward.
"Don't," Lira said. Her tone had shifted—serious, reverent. "That's one of the Grove's Keepers."
"It's guarding the way out," Rafael replied.
"Or the way in," she murmured.
The Keeper moved. Not walked—shifted, like a tree deciding it was time to grow in a new direction. Branches creaked from its back, and the air turned viscous with citrus memory.
It raised an arm.
"Will it attack?" Stanley asked.
"No," Lira said. "But it will test you."
"Great," Rafael sighed. "More tests."
The Keeper spoke—not aloud, but into their heads:
"What will you surrender to pass?"
Calyx hissed. "It wants something personal. Something costly."
Rafael clenched his fists. He already knew what he had to give.
He stepped forward.
"I give… my memory of her voice."
Silence. Then, a soft bell-like chime.
The Keeper bowed its head. The vines retracted. The passage opened.
Rafael's heart hurt—but he could no longer remember what she had sounded like. Only that it had once meant something.
Behind him, the Grove shimmered with a subtle shift. The pool they had crossed now reflected unfamiliar constellations—stars shaped like broken rings, keys, and masks. Calyx stared at them with awe.
"Those stars weren't there before," he said.
"They're not stars," Lira answered. "They're memories, sealed and drifting. The Grove collects them."
Stanley poked one with a stick. It vanished with a whisper. "Creepy."
Lira turned to Rafael, her expression unreadable. "You passed the first threshold. But the Grove has layers. Like pulp and pith. And you've only peeled the surface."
Rafael gave her a wary look. "How many more thresholds are there?"
Lira smirked. "Depends how deep you want to go."
The vines overhead twitched. A faint sound echoed in the distance—something melodic and wrong, like a flute played underwater through a cracked reed.
Stanley shivered. "I think it knows we're here."
"It always knows," Lira whispered. "The Grove doesn't forget."
They stepped into the next tunnel, the stone underfoot still sticky with ancient juice, the air dense with tension and sugar.
And somewhere deep beneath their feet, something else woke up.
***