AS YOU SOW, SO YOU REAP

chapter 20: two Roots below, shadow above

The crack beneath Dharan’s boots widened with a sound like ripping cloth.

Before he could leap aside, the ground gave way, and he plunged into darkness.

“Father!” Aric’s shout was swallowed by the roar of shifting soil.

The fall wasn’t far—maybe twice his height—but it was enough to knock the breath from Dharan’s chest. He landed in a chamber of roots, each thick as a man’s arm, slick with sap that glistened like oil. The air was warm and damp, smelling of rot and something metallic.

Above, he could see Aric leaning over the edge, Maelis gripping his arm to stop him from jumping in.

“Stay there!” Dharan called. “If you fall—”

He didn’t finish. Something moved in the roots.

Not the Harvester.

Something smaller. Faster.

The tangle shivered, and then two pale, humanlike hands pushed through the roots in front of him. A face followed—gaunt, eyes milky white, mouth opening in a hiss. Dharan stumbled back as another one emerged from the wall, then another, each one wearing rags soaked black at the hem.

“Seed-bound…” Dharan muttered, remembering the stories his father told of those claimed by the Heartseed and buried alive. Their bodies were gone, but the roots kept their shells moving, whispering commands only they could hear.

One lurched forward, fingers tipped with splinters of bone. Dharan swung the pitchfork in a wide arc, catching it in the ribs. It didn’t scream—it simply twisted free and kept coming.

Above, Aric shouted, “Hold on! I’m getting you out!”

“No!” Maelis’s voice cut through, sharp with fear. “Look!”

Dharan risked a glance upward. The Harvester had emerged again, its scythe raised, its ember-eyes locked not on him now—but on Aric.

“Run!” Dharan bellowed.

Aric hesitated just long enough to see the truth in his father’s face, then darted into the wheat. The Harvester followed, moving with terrible grace, scythes slicing through stalks as if they were nothing.

That left Dharan alone.

The Seed-bound closed in, their hands reaching, their breath rasping.

One lunged. He sidestepped, jabbing the pitchfork deep into the roots behind it. Sap burst out in a spray, and the creature convulsed before collapsing into stillness. Two more took its place instantly.

He couldn’t fight them all.

His eyes darted across the chamber and landed on a narrow tunnel where the roots thinned, a faint green glow beckoning from beyond. It was barely wider than his shoulders—but it was away from here.

With a grunt, Dharan shoved past the creatures, tearing free from grasping hands and ducking into the tunnel. The walls were alive, roots pulsing under his palms as he crawled. Behind him, the Seed-bound hissed in frustration, their scraping nails echoing in the dark.

Ahead, the glow grew brighter, shifting from green to gold. The tunnel sloped upward, and fresh air touched his face.

When he finally pulled himself into the open, he found himself standing in a part of the valley he didn’t recognize. The wheat here was different—shorter, greener, untouched by the Harvester’s corruption.

And standing in the middle of it was a figure in a white cloak, their face hidden.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Dharan,” the figure said, voice soft yet carrying easily across the field.