“Kaelren was the one experiencing the parallels.”
The distinction lands heavily between us.
“But Iteration Nine held,” I say, knowing I have a dozen questions I need answered.
“Iteration Nine held.” Thalia replies as she steps forward.
“Iteration Nine didn’t just survive the collapse,” Thalia says. “The people there refused to accept defeat. They have been able to hold the line long enough to stabilize what was left and build something new.”
She looks at me, and those green eyes are full of things I’m only beginning to understand.
“They call it the Verdance.”
I glance at Kaelren to see if he recognizes the name, but he is simply staring at Thalia like he’s waiting for an explanation himself.
“It’s a city,” Thalia continues. “Built from free Bloom magic. Not the controlled, corrupted version Auradelle weaponized, but the raw source. After the crack, the people of Iteration Nine learned to work with it. They grew walls that heal themselves. Streets that shift around threats. An entire infrastructure that responds to the people living inside it.”
A city that grows.
I think of Jo’s garden. The way the roses always seemed to know where the sunlight would fall. The way the soil shifted and settled around whatever she planted next.
Verdance sounds like that.
Just…scaled up to something enormous.
“Thalia governs the Verdance,” the Sage says. “She and a council. They have held it together through conditions that would have broken most civilizations many times over.”
Thalia’s jaw tightens at the word held, like it’s doing a lot of work to cover what it actually costs. “The Verdance is still standing,” she says. “But it’s strained. Every time a parallelbranch collapses, the shockwave hits us. Partial resets. Walls we rebuilt last week are rubble again. We patch and repair and brace for the next one, and the next one always comes.”
Kaelren pulls me against him, arms tightening, as if the threat were here in front of us.
“And the collapses are accelerating,” Kaelren says. It isn’t a question.
“Yes,” Thalia’s voice is level, but her hands are clenched at her sides. “When I left to find you, we would experience the shock every few months. Now it’s weeks, sometimes days.”
I take that in. A city held together by living magic and stubborn determination, getting hit by shockwaves from collapsing realities more and more often.
“But the branches aren’t the only threat,” I say. I can feel it in the way Thalia is choosing her words. Like there’s something bigger sitting underneath everything she’s told us.
Thalia and the Sage exchange a look. It’s brief. The kind that passes between people who have already had the conversation and are making sure they still agree.
“No,” the Sage says. “The collapsing branches are a symptom. The true danger manifests when reality weakens enough for the dead iterations to bleed through the walls of Iteration Nine.”
They pause, and the flowers at their feet stop their rhythmic opening. The grove itself seems to hold its breath.
“We call it the Cathedral,” Thalia says.
“Dun, dun, dun,” Peeble suddenly pipes in from nowhere. They look around, taking in our exasperated glances. “What? It felt like the perfect dramatic moment!”
“It manifests during the Bloomfall Moon,” Thalia continues, ignoring Peebles' antics. “There’s a lunar cycle in Iteration Nine once every few months. The moon takes on a violet color, and the boundary between iterations thins to almost nothing. That’s when the bleed is worst and the Cathedral appears.”
“Appears from where?” I ask.
“From the dead iterations.” Thalia’s voice stays steady, the words practiced from saying them too many times. “It’s built from the wreckage of collapsed branches. A moving structure. Part Bloom, part creature. Vines, thorns, and whatever remains from the worlds that didn’t survive.”
She pauses.
“During the Bloomfall Moon, the boundary thins. The Cathedral crosses through and moves toward the Verdance.”
