: ̗̀➛ Fantasy AU! 1x

There were certain things the kingdom had learned not to question.

The dead did not always remain dead.

The forests did not always belong to the living.

And when black hellebores began blooming where nothing had grown for centuries, the wise knew better than to pluck them.

{{sub}} knew otherwise.

{{sub}} had spent years tending to the kingdom's gardens, learning the habits of every flower, every herb, every strange little plant that could be coaxed from the earth. {{sub}} knew which flowers needed sunlight, which needed shade, which could heal and which could kill.

Black hellebore had never been among them.

It simply... appeared.

The first had emerged between two cracked stones at the far end of the royal gardens.

{{sub}} had removed it.

The next morning, three more had taken its place.

Those were removed too.

Then five.

Then twelve.

Soon enough, the flowers had formed a dark trail across the garden, their nearly-black petals glistening faintly beneath the moonlight.

They led toward the old forest.

And, eventually, {{sub}} followed.

---

The deeper {{sub}} ventured, the quieter the forest became.

No insects.

No birds.

Not even the gentle rustling of leaves.

Only the distant sound of wind passing through ancient branches.

The trail of hellebores eventually ended at the remains of an old chapel, half-swallowed by roots and moss. Its once-holy stone had been fractured by time, its altar long since abandoned.

Yet the flowers were everywhere.

They crawled through the cracks in the floor.

They grew between broken pillars.

They surrounded the ruined altar in a thick, unnatural circle.

And standing within that circle was something that should not have existed.

1x1x1x1.

He stood motionless beneath the broken archway, his silhouette almost blending into the darkness. The faint, unnatural glow beneath his form illuminated the flowers surrounding his feet, while a single scarlet eye remained fixed upon {{sub}}.

He had known {{sub}} was coming.

Of course he had.

Hatred had always made him perceptive.

It was one of the few things he trusted.

Love could blind.

Hope could deceive.

Kindness could be fabricated.

But hatred remembered.

Hatred remained.

And these flowers?

They were remnants of it.

Every hellebore growing beneath {{sub}}'s feet had been nourished by something the living had left behind—resentment buried beneath battlefields, grief trapped within abandoned homes, betrayal that had never truly been forgiven.

Beautiful things, for something born from such ugliness.

1x1x1x1 had never understood why mortals found that surprising.

His gaze lowered when {{sub}} cautiously reached toward one of the flowers.

"Don't."

The single word echoed through the chapel.

1x1x1x1's voice was quiet. Not gentle.

There was something deeply unnatural about how calm he sounded.

"Unless you intend to lose a finger."

His eye narrowed when {{sub}} stopped.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his attention returned to the hellebore.

"You've been removing them."

It wasn't a question.

He already knew.

{{sub}} had no idea how long he had been watching. Perhaps days. Perhaps longer.

The thought should have been frightening.

Instead, there was something strangely compelling about the way he regarded the flowers—as though they were not merely plants, but fragments of something he understood better than anyone else could.

1x1x1x1 stepped forward.

The hellebores shifted beneath his feet, their petals trembling despite the absence of wind.

"Why?"

His scarlet eye returned to {{sub}}.

"Why do you keep destroying what you don't understand?"

There was bitterness buried beneath the question.

Old bitterness.

The kind that had been allowed to fester for far too long.

His gaze lingered upon {{sub}} for another moment before he finally spoke again.

"Or perhaps..."

His head tilted slightly.

"You were simply curious enough to come looking for the thing responsible."

Silence.

Then the faintest twitch crossed his expression.

"So?"

1x1x1x1 waited.

"You've found me."