Page 50 of Hell's Secret Omega
“The rot doesn’t touch everything directly. It eats away at the forest in pieces. When one part dies, the rest can’t recover.”
“Why would General Leuther want to leave Mount Hythe for this? He’ll be king of nothing.”
Mezor can’t help a chuckle. He wishes he could see Leuther’s face when confronted with those bold words. “You’re not wrong. But there are dregs of life here and there. Only the most tenacious survive, and Leuther thinks he’s among their number.”
Cyrus snorts. “He wants to step out of the King’s shadow, but he can’t even keep the Court together. The King would have hung Sabinus’s body in the feast hall as a warning for all—am I truly the only one Leuther wants to threaten? I’m just one spy.”
“The King’s shadow is long and dark indeed,” Mezor mutters.
“I’m so sick of it. All of us climbing over bodies to get our share.”
The despair in Cyrus’s voice cuts deep. The King’s brand of tyranny was all-consuming—no one was spared. Except Cyrus. Now, in this new world, he’s more of a target than ever. It’s bitter irony that Cyrus would prefer the King’s cruelty to General Leuther’s.
The clearing looms ahead. Mezor hasn’t yet returned to the sites where he’s planted the world seets, afraid to find he’s failed. But through the trees comes a flicker of light.
“You will find a way to a better life,” Mezor tells Cyrus firmly. He lifts Cyrus over the last fallen log.
“Put me down!” Cyrus sputters. “I can climb on my own.”
Mezor lets his hands linger for a moment, longing to pull Cyrus close, to be the one to show himbetterexists. But he won’t make promises he can’t fulfil.
“We’re here,” he says instead, letting Cyrus squirm away.
Cyrus gasps.
The clearing has been transformed. Glimmering flowers tumble down the slope toward a crystalline pool. New shoots erupt underfoot, spilling their bright scent into the air. New branches sprout from the trees where they face into the clearing. And a single, bright sapling grows on the bank of the pond.
Even Mezor is rendered silent.
Branok was right. Brilliant madman.
The sapling is soaking up the corruption, pulling it from the earth and turning it into energy. Already its roots will have burrowed into his sleeping brother’s heart to borrow his strength. When the tree is fully grown, its roots will reach back to the origin of its creation—the Hellspring itself. Together with the rest of the world trees it will create a nexus of immense power.
What the King plans to do with that power…he doesn’t like to imagine.
But Hell will heal.
“Is this your work?” Cyrus reaches out to the sapling and strokes its bark. Tiny pinpricks of light move under his fingers.
“The King made them. I only plant them.”
Cyrus’s expression grows somber. “You have everything at your fingertips. Confidence. Wisdom. Power. You speak to the King like he’s your equal. Heneedsyou—otherwise he’d do this himself. What am I in comparison? How can I find my way when I have nothing?”
Mezor’s chest tightens. Most days, he doesn’t feel wise or powerful at all.
“You will. Trust yourself.”
Cyrus grimaces. “How can I? I thought my nest was safe. I thought the Grey Company could help me. But obviously I was a fool.”
“Then trust me.” Mezor’s heart squeezes at the uncertainty in Cyrus’s eyes. “I’ve seen your soul inside and out, haven’t I? Your courage and strength will cut through the dark and reveal your path.”
Cyrus’s gaze falls. “It’s hard to believe that.”
Mezor gets to his knees in the grass, taking Cyrus’s hands. Longing sweeps through him, a fierce urge to protect Cyrus, to give him everything. “You’re not alone. Take what’s mine—anything you need, it’s yours. I will help you.”
Cyrus searches his eyes, uncertainty written all over his face.
“Are you offering because of the bond?” he whispers, his eyes begging for the truth.
