Rootbound Rebellion
The Circle no longer resembled the sanctuary it once was.
Its walls bore scorch marks.
Ancient wards crackled with unease.
And the Dreamers—once bound by a single purpose—now stood fractured, unity unraveling like frayed thread.
At the center of the council chamber, Isabela stood alone.
Her stance was firm.
Her voice calm—but taut with strain.
"He's still Cuco," she said. "He saved our lives."
Nox crossed her arms tightly, jaw clenched.
"He also gave his blood to the Tome. Willingly. And now he carries a weapon that feeds on pain."
Echo leaned forward, elbows resting on the scorched table. His voice was a rasp, barely more than breath.
"The Hollow Ones can feel him now. He's not cloaked—he's a flare. And if they feel him…"
He looked up.
"…so does whatever they serve."
Tariq said nothing.
His gaze drifted to the empty seat at the far end of the table.
Where Cuco used to sit.
---
Cuco wasn't hiding.
He stood alone in the moonlit courtyard, the bark-blade half-drawn at his side, eyes fixed on the fractured sky.
He didn't need to hear their whispers to know.
He felt them—like static in the air.
The silences when he entered a room.
The way conversations shifted, eyes averted.
Even Lira, newly freed from the shadows that once possessed her, flinched slightly when they passed.
He didn't blame them.
Truth be told—he wasn't sure he trusted himself anymore.
The blade spoke now, whenever it pleased.
> "They'll never accept what you're becoming.
Let them go. Let them splinter.
Let you remain."
---
The meeting was held after nightfall.
Unannounced. Unrecorded.
Only the trusted invited.
Tariq found out by accident—a whispered name in the stacks, a hurried departure, a glance that lingered too long.
He followed. Quiet. Careful.
Now he stood hidden behind a crumbling wall of tomes, the voices beyond the hidden door rising and falling like a tide.
Nox. Echo. Others.
Familiar silhouettes drawn by fear.
> "We bind the blade," Nox said. "Separate him from the Tome. Contain him—before it's too late."
> "Or until we know what he really is," someone muttered.
"He might not even be human anymore."
Tariq's hands curled into fists.
Then—
A sound behind him.
Soft. Like breath against glass.
He spun.
Cuco stood in the dark.
Eyes faintly aglow.
Expression unreadable.
"They're not wrong," he said quietly.
Tariq's chest tightened. "Cuco—"
"I can feel it too," Cuco murmured. He stepped closer, voice raw—like stone cracking under weight.
"Something's changing. Inside me. I don't know what it is… or what it wants."
The blade at his hip pulsed once.
Then fell still.
"For now," he added.
Tariq searched his face for some glimmer of the boy he'd grown beside. "You're still you. I know you are."
Cuco turned slightly—toward the faint, flickering glow spilling from the chamber ahead.
Where decisions were being made without him.
"If they come for me—if they try to bind me…"
He paused.
"I won't run."
His gaze met Tariq's.
But his voice dropped lower. Sharper.
"…And I won't let them win either."