The light was blinding.
Noah staggered back, arm raised to shield his face, but the radiance wasn't painful—it was warm, alive, like standing in sunlight after endless rain. The silver sword pulsed in his hand, its blade humming with soft, melodic vibration. The ground beneath him trembled as if the very earth recognized the weapon's return.
When the brightness dimmed, gasps echoed through the plaza.
All around him, Gardenlings froze mid-battle. Their wide eyes reflected the glow of the sword—silver metal engraved with delicate vines, winding up the blade like living roots frozen in time. The pattern shimmered faintly, threads of pale light running through each curve, as though sap flowed beneath the steel.
Fern (breathless): "He… pulled it out."Thistle (hoarse whisper): "By the roots… the boy did what none of us could."
Noah felt something coursing through him—a steady rhythm that matched his heartbeat. The sword's warmth spread through his chest and down to his legs, turning fear into focus. His senses sharpened; the air felt clearer, every sound distinct, every movement slower.
He exhaled, steady. The weight of the sword felt perfect, like it had always belonged in his hand.
The Blight Kin screeched from above, breaking the stunned silence. Their mosquito mounts dove through the smoky air, black wings buzzing violently.
Fern (shouting): "Defend the heart root!"
They came for him first.
Noah spun, instincts blazing to life. The first rider lunged, spear aimed for his chest. Noah stepped sideways—the movement fluid, effortless—and the blade flashed.
Shrrk!
The spear split in two. The Blight Kin's eyes widened just before Noah's boot slammed into its chest, hurling it backward through the air.
Gasps rippled through the Gardenlings.
Flint (yelling): "He cleaved a spear like it was a twig!"Stone (awed): "The blade's singing for him…"
Noah barely heard them. Another rider charged. He ducked low, the spear whistling over his head, and swept the sword upward. A brilliant arc of silver light traced the movement, slicing clean through the mosquito's wing. The creature screeched and crashed into the ground, sending its rider tumbling.
Noah landed, turned, and parried another strike without thinking. His movements felt guided—every dodge, every counter timed by instinct rather than skill. He wasn't trained. He was simply moving with the flow of something deeper.
The sword hummed louder, the glowing vines along its surface brightening with each swing. Where the light struck, corruption burned away—the oily film on Blight Kin armor sizzled and flaked off into ash.
One enemy tried to block with a blackened halberd. Noah's sword met it and cut the weapon clean in half. The corrupted soldier shrieked, retreating into the smoke.
Narration tone:Noah didn't fight like a soldier. He fought like the storm itself—untamed, instinctive, and full of heart.
The energy of the Sword of Roots surged through him, enhancing every motion.His feet barely seemed to touch the ground; his balance was feline, his reactions faster than thought.
He pivoted to block a spear aimed for Fern. The impact sent sparks flying, but Noah didn't even flinch. He shoved back, forcing the attacker away.
Fern (in disbelief): "Noah!"Noah (panting): "I'm fine! Just… don't stop moving!"
She nodded, eyes glowing with renewed courage, and raised her arms to command the vines again.Nearby, Sprint unleashed another burst of white light, his magic combining with Noah's sword glow to create a shimmering barrier around them.
Sprint: "The light burns them! Keep it up!"
The swarm faltered, the corrupted creatures screeching as silver radiance licked at their wings. The Sword of Roots wasn't just a weapon—it was cleansing the air itself.
Thistle's deep voice cut through the chaos.
Thistle: "Push them back! For Rootvale!"
The guards rallied. Thorn-spears flew. Vines erupted from the ground. And at the center of it all, Noah charged forward—swinging, blocking, spinning. Each strike sent flashes of silver slicing through the darkness.
A Blight Kin leapt toward him, claws bared. Noah met it mid-air, swinging his sword in a smooth arc that released a wave of light. It struck the creature full force, throwing it across the plaza where it dissolved into dark mist.
The others hesitated. The sword's glow intensified, the silver veins along the blade pulsing like a heartbeat.
Thistle (muttering): "He's driving them back…"
The Blight Kin began to retreat, hissing and screeching as the light seared their twisted flesh. Their mounts beat their tattered wings and took to the sky, fleeing toward the tunnels.
Fern (yelling): "Don't let them escape!"
The Gardenlings raised their hands, chanting in unison. Vines surged upward like green waves, wrapping around the nearest Blight Kin and crushing them before they could escape.Others flung pods of flash pollen that burst into clouds of golden dust, blinding those still fighting.
Noah swung his sword one last time. The silver light flared—a blinding burst that illuminated every corner of the cavern. The corrupted fled shrieking into the dark.
And then, silence.
The battlefield glowed faintly under the sword's lingering light.
Noah stood at the center, breathing hard, his clothes torn and streaked with soot. The Sword of Roots pulsed gently in his grip, its vine patterns still alive with faint silver light.
The Gardenlings slowly approached, faces filled with awe.
Fern (whispering): "He did it."Sprint: "No… we did. But mostly him."
Thistle limped forward, armor cracked and spattered with sap. He gave a small, grudging nod.
Thistle: "You fight like no Gardenling I've ever seen. Stronger than bark. Quicker than wind. You've earned my respect, lad."
Noah sheathed the sword awkwardly against his back. "I just wanted to help."
Thistle (gruff smile): "Then the roots chose well."
All around them, healers moved quickly to mend the wounded. Vines slithered across walls, patching cracks with new growth. But wherever the Blight Kin had fallen, the ground had blackened. The moss in those areas withered, leaving behind veins of gray decay.
Fern: "The corruption's spreading already. We'll have to burn it out."Sprint: "Or heal it, if the roots still answer."
They knelt beside a dark patch, chanting softly. Golden light glowed from their hands as the withered soil began to pulse faintly again, color returning.
Hours later, Rootvale was quieter. Smoke drifted lazily toward the cavern ceiling. The glow of the mushrooms had returned, soft and steady once more.
Noah stood before the throne again, exhausted but alert. The Sword of Roots rested across his lap, the vine engravings shimmering faintly with residual light.
King Amaranthus gazed down at him with calm reverence.
Amaranthus: "The Sword of Roots has slept for countless seasons. Many have tried to lift it—warriors, captains, even kings. All failed. Until now."
Noah shifted uneasily. "I didn't plan to… It just felt like it was calling to me."
Fern: "The roots call only when they choose."Sprint: "And they've chosen you, little warrior."
The King inclined his head.
Amaranthus: "This sword is not of simple metal. It was forged from the heart of the First Tree—the root that connects all life. It grants strength to those whose hearts are pure, but burns those who seek power."
His eyes softened.
Amaranthus: "You fought not to kill, but to protect. That is why it answered you."
Noah looked down at the weapon in his hands. The silver gleam reflected his face—dirty, scratched, and small. But within the reflection, he saw something else: resolve.
Amaranthus (solemnly): "You have our gratitude, Noah Little. And perhaps, our destiny as well. Rest now. Tomorrow, the journey begins."
The King turned to his children.
Amaranthus: "Prepare the party. At dawn, they leave for the stingless hive."
Noah bowed his head, unsure how to respond. The vines around the hall glowed softly, as though bowing with him.