Chapter 537: Heart of the Seed
The root that had opened before them descended like a spiral corridor, and as they passed through it, the group entered a space that no longer seemed part of a forest, but rather the interior of a living being that had breathed for millennia. The ceiling was formed by translucent ribs, like the belly of a colossal creature; each pulse caused light to run in bluish and silvery waves across the walls, illuminating the way.
The air was dense, laden with resin, memories, and something approaching the smell of freshly forged iron. There was no silence: the entire space vibrated with a subterranean sound, low and constant, like the beating of a heart.
The floor was uneven. It was formed by intertwined roots that, when stepped on, gave slightly, emitting muffled cracks. Between them ran thin rivers of glistening sap, their colors changing from amber to violet as they reflected the touch of the light. Occasionally, drops fell from the walls and collected in small, luminescent pools that pulsed like half-open eyes.
In the center of the vast chamber rose a formation impossible to ignore: a spiraling column, like a dragon’s bone fused with living wood. Thin roots spread from it and climbed to the ceiling, connecting to the walls like nerves. The column emitted heat—not searing, but the heat of a furnace kept burning only by habit.
Naberius walked to the edge of the column and extended his fingers, feeling the vibration ripple through his bones. “It’s like touching a corpse that still dreams,” he murmured with a strange reverence.
Sapphire snorted, her fists burning. “Corpse or not, I feel fire hidden within. Just peel back the skin.”
Vergil, who until then had only smiled at the growing pulse, lifted the black gem in his hand. As she brought it closer to the column, the crystal glowed brighter, responding to the call of the place. The nearby roots retreated, as if recognizing it as both an invader and an heir.
Ada squeezed her mother’s arm, her eyes wide. “Mother… it seems alive. It’s looking at us.”
Raphaeline gripped the scythe tightly and stared at the column. “Of course it is. We just don’t know if it sees us as guests… or as food.”
The protector in the white kimono stood at the threshold of the chamber, still as a statue. Her voice echoed through the space with authority, but also with weariness. “This is the Atrium of Roots. The outer heart. Here, the Tree weighs intentions. Every desire you carry will be tested. If you lie to yourselves, it will devour you without having to move a leaf.”
The walls reacted to her speech: half-hidden runes lit up, streamers of light circling. The air grew heavier, and everyone felt their own thoughts grow louder, almost audible. Memories began to emerge like reflections in sap: Raphaeline’s battles, Sapphire’s armies, Naberius’s broken pacts, Sepphirothy’s silent burden, Ada’s fears, Rize’s scars.
And above them all, a shadow loomed within the column—no precise form, just a massive presence. It seemed to bend the space, as if an eye were opening within the wood.
Vergil lifted his chin, his smile widening, the gem pulsing like a second heart. “So… the real game begins here.”
The Tree breathed—and the breath swept through the space like an internal gale, carrying with it a chorus of ancient voices. They were not ordinary words, but fragments, echoes of a thousand dead throats whispering simultaneously. The sound penetrated everyone’s bones, sending a shiver down their spines, not from the cold, but from the recognition: life itself being judged.
The spiral corridor continued downward, and with each step the space became narrower and more oppressive. The roots, once merely twisted, began to pulse with symbols that formed and faded like breaths. Ancient runes dripped down the wood like liquid iron blood, igniting with each beat of that colossal heart.
Naberius chuckled softly, licking his lips. “It’s like descending the throat of a dead god. I love it.” His blade vibrated on its own, as if it, too, felt the call.
Sapphire walked with firm steps, the heat of her aura making the sap glow orange whenever she approached. “A dead god can still be torn to shreds. I will reach the core, and I will take it.” —
Sepphirothy, unlike the others, touched the walls with her fingertips, her eyes fixed, serious. “It’s not dead.” Her voice sounded firm, like a diagnosis. “It’s a sleeping heart. If it wakes up completely, we won’t be predators. We’ll be prey.”
Ada trembled, but she stayed close to Raphaeline. Her gaze was drawn to the luminescent pools on the floor. Within them she saw reflections that weren’t her own—sometimes her mother’s face, sometimes Vergil’s, sometimes people she’d never met, but who stared at her with accusing eyes. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.
Rize, further back, sent strands of her web against the roots, trying to decipher the vibration. The fibers trembled, but they didn’t resist; they were sucked into the wood as if the Tree itself were hungry. She backed away quickly, startled. “It doesn’t like intruders,” she murmured. “It doesn’t like tricks.”
Raphaeline raised her scythe, slamming the blade against the ground. The sound echoed like thunder in the enclosed space. “Then don’t play tricks. If we’re going to clear a path, we’ll break through. But don’t let her decide who we are. That’s for us to decide.”
Vergil advanced in front, growing more and more excited. The black gem in his hand seemed to guide him, pulsing in sync with the beating of that giant heart. His eyes glowed an intense blue, and he chuckled softly each time the walls recoiled slightly at his touch. “Do you feel it?” he said, his voice almost feverish. “It’s as if she recognizes me.” As if it knew I was the intruder who would take what it never wanted to give.
The space suddenly opened. The narrow corridor opened into an immense room, an organic cathedral. The walls were arches of petrified roots, the ceiling rose like the mouth of an infinite cavern. In the center was a lake of liquid sap, golden and thick, which bubbled at intervals, exhaling phosphorescent vapor.
Above the lake, suspended by roots that curved like fingers, sat a single fruit—black and gold, pulsating as if breathing. Each pulse sent ripples across the surface of the lake.
Everyone stopped. Even the most arrogant felt the gravity of the sight.
The protector in the white kimono stepped forward, her serious gaze fixed on the fruit. Her voice was low but clear:
“This is the Heart of the Seed. I am following this thing’s orders, so do whatever you want. Do you want to challenge this place? Place your hand there and you will have everything you desire. Well, you will die instantly.” It doesn’t matter to me, I don’t know why this thing wants to see you.
She said, looking directly at Vergil.