Barris’s words, devoid of their usual warmth, hung in the pollen-thick air. Korin, still rubbing his eyes, finally pieced together the scene: Magnar Veldross, collapsed, and Barris, radiating a cold fury that would have frozen a Desert Bloom in its tracks. The marshals, bewildered, exchanged uneasy glances, their stunners forgotten. One took a half-step toward Barris. “Kid, step away from him now,” the guard barked, leveling his stunner. Barris didn’t flinch. Instead, the Razor-Vines, previously lashing, now coiled protectively around him, their thorned tips quivering with suppressed aggression. The Snap-Dragons let out low, guttural growls from the edges of the golden haze, their jaws snapping toward the squad. Jessa stepped between Barris and the squad. “This is a violation of private property and a direct assault on a legal resident. You have no authority here. Get out.” Magnar, his breath still ragged, pushed himself up, leaning heavily on Barris’s leg. “She’s right,” he rasped, his voice strained but firm. “This entire conservatorship claim is baseless. My lawyers will have your badges.” Korin, finally seeing his chance slipping, straightened. “Barris, don’t listen to them! They’re manipulating you! These specimens are lethal! Come home, it’s not safe here!” Barris slowly looked down at Magnar, then back at Korin. The stillness in his demeanor was more unsettling than any outburst. “Manipulating me?” he echoed, a mirthless sound. He gently disentangled himself from the Razor-Vines, stepping towards Korin. “You think *they’re* the problem?” He paused, his eyes, usually soft and brimming with wonder, now held a sharp, unyielding glint. “You want to know who the real genius is, Korin? Let’s prove it. At the Grand Flora-Conclave next week. A sanctioned Floracraft Duel. Winner takes all.” The silence that followed was absolute. Korin parted his lips in disbelief. A Floracraft Duel was a brutal, high-stakes competition, a public spectacle where master floracrafters pitted their most complex, hybridized creations against each other to demonstrate skill, control, and innovation. It was a career-defining, or career-ending, event. Magnar pushed his torso upright against the stone. “Barris, no! That’s insane!” “It’s the only way to make them leave us alone,” Barris said, his voice flat. He turned to the lead officer. “Inform the Conclave Registry. Barris Trelon challenges Korin Trelon. The charges against Mr. Veldross and Ms. Morlin will be dropped if the challenge is accepted.” The officers, seeing a clean exit from a volatile dispute, quickly agreed. Korin, caught completely off guard, could only nod dumbly, his face a mixture of shock and dawning horror. He had never considered Barris a rival, much less a public challenger. *** The Grand Flora-Conclave Gala shimmered under the city’s largest, most intricate glass dome, a dizzying array of bioluminescent flora casting a rainbow glow over Ostrum’s elite. The air hummed with anticipation, cameras flashing as Magnar, Barris, and Jessa entered. Barris, looking utterly out of place in a tailored suit, was immediately swarmed by curious nursery cultivars brought in for display, cooing at a particularly fluffy, iridescent moss-beast. Magnar, adjusting his cufflinks, sighed. “Barris, try not to get sap on your suit before the duel starts.” “But he’s so lonely!” Barris whispered, gently scratching the moss-beast under its chittering chin. Jessa suppressed a smile, linking her arm through Barris’s. “He’ll be fine, Magnar. He’s just making friends.” Suddenly, Barris's parents materialized, their expressions blending rehearsed grief with smooth entitlement. His father reached out, clasping Barris's shoulder, a contact Barris twitched away from. “Barris, my dear boy! We were so worried!” his mother cooed, her tone drenched in honey. “Korin told us you’d fallen in with… undesirable company. It’s so good to see you’re unharmed. Come, your father and I have missed you dreadfully. We’ve even prepared your old room, just as you like it.” Barris blinked, the moss-beast now nestled in his arms. “My old room? But I’ve got new plants now. Bigger ones. And they need a lot of space. Are you saying you made a whole new wing?” His father's smile faltered. “Well, no, not exactly a new wing, son, but we can make adjustments. You know how much we cherish your… talents.” Jessa stepped forward, her expression glacial. “Talents you chose to ignore for a decade, Mr. Trelon? Talents you permitted Korin to claim as his own for five years?” She tapped a discreet device on her wrist. The enormous holographic screen above the dueling arena, intended for showcasing the combatant flora, suddenly flickered. Images of Barris’s detailed, distinctive blueprints, complete with his unique watermarks, scrolled across it. Then, side-by-side, it displayed Korin’s ‘original’ research – a clumsy, barely disguised photocopy of Barris’s work. A collective gasp rippled through the high-society crowd. Whispers erupted, escalating into a cacophony. His parents turned chalky, their groomed composure cracking before Ostrum’s most influential patrons. Korin, who had been preening by his dueling plant, a menacingly thorny, crimson bush dubbed the ‘Sanguine Bell,’ spun around, blood draining from his features. “Jessa! What have you done?!” he yelled, spit flying over his collar. He saw the disdainful looks, the pointing fingers, the furious glares of investors who had poured millions into his ‘genius.’ Desperation seized him. He fumbled in his jacket, pulling out a small, glowing vial of viscous, emerald liquid. With a wild, desperate look, he plunged the needle into the Sanguine Shrieker’s root system. The foliage pulsed violently, its spines lengthening into black needles as the crimson drained to bruised purple. A low, guttural thrum resonated through the arena. The glass dome above them began to crack, thin fissures spiderwebbing across the polished surface as the mutated shrub swelled, cracking its planter and flinging barbed boughs toward the front rows.

The Floracraft Duel