The Sanguine Bell, now a monstrosity of bruised purple and black needles, bucked and roared. Its planter splintered, shards of ceramic exploding outwards as the main stalk thickened, throbbing with an unnatural, sickly luminescence. Barbed branches, thick as a man’s thigh, whipped through the air, their tips razor-sharp, leaving trails of phosphorescent sap. The elegant crystal dome above groaned, then gave way with a deafening crack, raining down jagged fragments onto the screaming patrons below. “My investments!” a woman wailed, clutching her pearl necklace as a limb tore through the silk drapes behind her, narrowly missing her head. Panic erupted. People scrambled, tripping over their opulent chairs, scrambling away from the flailing verdant terror. One of the outsized stalks, moving with terrifying speed, snatched the Trelon couple. Their shrill screams cut through the din as they were hoisted into the air, dangling precariously, their faces contorted in terror. Barris’s mother dropped her delicate clutch bag, its contents scattering. His father, Theron Trelon, flailed, his polished shoes kicking wildly at the empty air. The plant tightened its grip, the thorns beginning to prick their expensive garments. Korin, meanwhile, had dropped his vial. His eyes, wide with sheer terror, darted between the couple's predicament and the exit. He didn’t hesitate. With a whimper, he shoved past a horrified security guard, sprinting toward a service corridor, his only thought to escape the chaos he had unleashed. Barris, however, didn't move. His gaze, usually so gentle, hardened with a resolve Magnar had rarely seen. He watched his biological creators, suspended and hollering. “No,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the plant’s guttural thrum. “Not like this.” He took a step, then another, directly into the path of the swaying, dangerous tendrils. Magnar, who had been attempting to guide the stunned council members to safety, saw Barris’s intent. “Barris, no! Get back!” he roared, his command lost in the cacophony. He lunged, but a falling light fixture forced him to duck, momentarily obscuring his view. Jessa Morlin, however, was closer. She saw the deadly intent in the plant’s violent coils, saw the horrifying certainty of Barris walking into a certain death. “Barris, wait!” she yelled, her voice raw. A thorny vine, thicker than her torso, swept toward them, its dark tip aimed squarely at Barris. Without thinking, Jessa grabbed a discarded serving tray, its silver surface gleaming, and slammed it against a nearby pole. The metallic clang was sharp, jarring. The vine, momentarily distracted by the sudden noise, veered slightly, turning its attention to the new, smaller threat. “Jessa, what are you doing?!” Barris cried, his voice sharp with alarm. He saw the danger, saw the thick vine now arcing directly for *her*. Its dark spikes were already extending, glistening with viscous sap. He moved with an unexpected burst of speed, launching himself toward her. He tackled her, sending them both tumbling onto the debris-strewn floor. The vine sliced through the air exactly where she had stood a second before, embedding its tip deep into the marble wall with a sickening crunch. Barris’s arm, strong and warm, wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her head collided softly with his chest, and she could hear the frantic beat of his heart. Her breath caught. Their eyes met, proximity electric, the chaos of the gala fading into a blurry background. His gaze was filled with a desperate concern, a protectiveness that made her own heart ache. For a split second, the world narrowed to just them, the air thick with unspoken things, the scent of crushed petals and dust filling her senses. He was so close. So incredibly, devastatingly close. Her lips parted, just slightly, and she felt the warmth of his breath on her face. Then, a new, louder scream from his mother ripped through the moment, shattering the fragile tension. Barris flinched. He pulled Jessa to her feet, his grip still firm on her arm. “It’s in pain,” he whispered, his voice laced with a profound sadness. He stepped away from her, his gaze returning to the monstrous plant. “The serum… it’s tearing it apart.” He raised his hands, palms open, and walked toward the agitated Sanguine Shrieker, ignoring the gasps and shouts of “Don’t go!” from the remaining attendees. He spoke not in words, but in a series of low hums and resonant clicks, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to vibrate through the very air. It was the structural language of plants, the silent song of their growth, their distress, their desperate yearning for balance. He moved with an uncanny grace, dodging the frantic sweeps of the limbs, not fighting them, but flowing with their movements, a dancer in a verdant storm. As he got closer, a particularly heavy bough swung at him, its barbs gleaming. Barris didn’t recoil. Instead, he reached out, his soft hands cupping the swelling base of the limb. Shimmering emerald light pulsed from his fingertips in time with his strange, soothing vocalizations. The plant, which had been thrashing wildly, paused, a low, questioning groan replacing its previous roars. Barris closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration. He felt the plant’s anguish, the serum burning through its cellular structure, forcing grotesque growth at an unsustainable rate. He began to sing, a mournful, melodic tune that seemed to harmonize with the plant’s suffering. His voice, gentle and unwavering, wove through the fractured air, a balm to the botanical beast’s tortured core. He was not commanding it; he was *healing* it. He was speaking to its very essence, coaxing it back from the brink of self-destruction. The bruised purple began to recede, replaced by a softer, healthier crimson. The black needles retracted, becoming the more familiar, if still sharp, thorns. The thrashing subsided. The boughs gently lowered, carefully setting down the terrified elders, who collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air and clutching each other. The cracking glass dome above them, miraculously, stopped its descent. The Sanguine Shrieker began to shrink, slowly at first, then more rapidly, its swollen form receding until it was once again a menacing, but contained, crimson bush within its cracked planter. It shuddered, a final, shuddering sigh, then from its very core, a single, pulsating seed, the size of a pigeon’s egg and glowing with an ethereal emerald light, shot out and landed softly at Barris’s feet. The seed pulsed, radiating a gentle warmth. Barris bent down, picked it up, and without a second thought, walked over to his parents, who were still huddled together, trembling. He extended his hand, offering the glowing seed to his mother. “This will help,” he said softly, his voice full of an undeserved compassion. “It will cure the Hemlock Blight.” His mother stared at the seed, then at Barris, her face a mask of utter bewilderment. The Hemlock Blight, the debilitating genetic ailment that had plagued the Trelon line for generations, making their fortunes in verdant arts perpetually unstable. No known remedy existed. Yet, here was Barris, holding the cure. Barris, the boy they had forgotten, dismissed, and tried to imprison. Barris, who had just calmed a monster born of Korin’s desperation, and saved their lives. The city council members, who had watched the entire spectacle unfold in terrified awe, were now completely silent, their expressions ranging from shock to dawning realization. This was not merely talent; this was something beyond. This was mastery on a scale they had never conceived possible. Across the room, Magnar Veldross watched Barris, his heart swelling with an emotion he could no longer deny was pure, unadulterated pride. But mixed with that pride was a sudden, chilling apprehension. Barris had just demonstrated a power that could change Ostrum City forever, a power that made him a target far more dangerous than any plant could be. And Magnar knew, with absolute certainty, that the Trelons would not be the only ones coming for his precious, oblivious protégé now. The true battle had only just begun.

The Gala Devastation