The rain fell like needles, sharp and insistent, slamming against the cracked windows of the Moss & Bracken Apothecary. Inside, a single lantern cast a feeble copper glow, accentuating the webbed cracks in the glass jars lining the shelves. Each jar housed strange things: a cluster of hexed moth dust, a thorn plucked from a banshee\u2019s screamberry tree, even the curled toes of firetoads. But none of these gave solace to Leora as she hunched over the counter, cradling the shriveled petals of the last ever Mourning Bloom.<\/p>\n
\u201cGive it up, Leora,\u201d scoffed a voice from the shadows. It belonged to Tyver, a sharp-edged thief who had slinked into Leora\u2019s life years ago. His face was hidden beneath the hood of his cracked leather cloak, but his silver eye gleamed\u2014a machine implant that had cost him his humanity in more ways than one.<\/p>\n
Leora continued inspecting the flower\u2019s veins, which were cold to the touch now. \u201cWhy are you here, Tyver? I told you this was my fight.\u201d Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for it.<\/p>\n
\u201cA fight you\u2019re not winning,\u201d he retorted, stepping closer. His boots squelched on the damp stone floor. \u201cYou\u2019ve burned through every spell, every alchemical trick you know, and that flower is still dead.\u201d He leaned against a rickety shelf with the careless air of someone who thought themselves untouchable. \u201cFace it: you can\u2019t bring her back.\u201d<\/p>\n
Leora froze. The mention of \u201cher\u201d sent a chill down her spine. \u201cYou don\u2019t know what you\u2019re talking about,\u201d she snapped, though her shaky hands betrayed her.<\/p>\n
\u201cKessa\u2019s gone, Leora. And no amount of fussing over a damn flower will change that.\u201d He sounded cruel, but there was weariness in his tone, like someone who had long since come to terms with his own ghosts.<\/p>\n
She glared at him. \u201cIf I can restore the Mourning Bloom, I can bring her soul back. The petals are just dormant\u2014they need the right spark.\u201d Her voice carried the desperation of someone teetering on the edge of hope and madness.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re playing with things you don\u2019t understand,\u201d Tyver said. \u201cYou think the Necromancer\u2019s Guild hasn\u2019t tried this before? The Mourning Bloom is a myth, Leora. A consolation tale for people like us who\u2019ve lost\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShut up!\u201d she shouted, slamming her hands on the counter. She hadn\u2019t meant to let him see her cry, but the tears came anyway, blurring her vision as she clawed at the flower\u2019s dead petals. \u201cI don\u2019t care if it\u2019s a myth. Kessa believed in it. She gave her life to find it. If I stop now\u2026\u201d Her voice broke entirely. \u201cIf I stop, then she died for nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
For once, Tyver didn\u2019t speak. Instead, he pulled something from his cloak. When he set it on the counter, Leora\u2019s breath caught. A shard of obsidian, glittering faintly with an inner light.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere did you get that?\u201d she whispered. Her fingers itched to touch it, but she held back.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s just say I called in some debts.\u201d His voice softened, losing its usual sardonic edge. \u201cThis is the heartstone of an elder wyrm. If anything can reignite that flower, it\u2019s this. But\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019ll cost more than you think,\u201d Tyver said. \u201cThis stone isn\u2019t just energy\u2014it\u2019s will. To use it, you\u2019ll have to give it part of yourself. A piece you\u2019ll never get back.\u201d<\/p>\n
Leora stared at the stone, then at the Mourning Bloom. Kessa\u2019s laugh echoed in her memory, bright and carefree, followed too quickly by the image of her still face after the avalanche. Leora\u2019s fists clenched. What was a piece of herself compared to the chance to undo that loss?<\/p>\n
\u201cDo it,\u201d she said, her voice steady now.<\/p>\n
Tyver\u2019s mouth twisted like he wanted to argue, but instead, he simply nodded. He picked up the shard and held it out to her. When her fingers brushed it, searing pain shot through her palm. The stone\u2019s light flared, blinding, and she heard whispers\u2014no, screams\u2014filling the room. They tore through her mind, demanding, craving, devouring\u2026<\/p>\n
And then it was over. Leora\u2019s vision cleared to see the Mourning Bloom glowing faintly. Its petals unfurled, one by one, until the flower was whole, vibrant, alive.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou did it,\u201d Tyver said, though his voice was too grim for triumph.<\/p>\n
Leora\u2019s triumph was short-lived. Among the flower\u2019s petals, a tiny, ghostly form appeared. It was Kessa\u2014but not as Leora remembered her. This Kessa looked translucent, fragile, her eyes wide with confusion and pain. When her gaze found Leora, there was no recognition. Only fear.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2026 what did you do?\u201d Leora whispered, horror dawning.<\/p>\n
\u201cI tried to tell you,\u201d Tyver said quietly. \u201cBringing someone back\u2026 it\u2019s never the same.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kessa\u2019s ghost shimmered, flickering like a candle in a storm. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sound was garbled, broken. Leora reached for her, but her hand passed through empty air.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Leora whispered. \u201cNo, no, no\u2026\u201d She turned to Tyver, rage and despair blazing in her eyes. \u201cThis isn\u2019t her! This isn\u2019t what I wanted!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou knew the risks,\u201d Tyver said, though there was no gloating in his voice. Only sorrow. \u201cYou made the choice.\u201d<\/p>\n
Leora fell to her knees as the ghost of Kessa dissolved into mist, leaving behind nothing but the faintest scent of mountain wildflowers. The Mourning Bloom, too, began to wilt again, its brief moment of life stolen away as quickly as it had come.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d Leora screamed, clutching the flower to her chest. But it was over. The bloom was gone. And so, truly, was Kessa.<\/p>\n
Tyver stood over her, silent. There was nothing he could say that would matter now. Leora remained on the floor, her shoulders shaking with sobs. The apothecary smelled of rain and loss and failure.<\/p>\n
And though the Mourning Bloom would never rise again, some part of Leora knew that neither would she.<\/p>\n
Outside, the storm raged on.<\/p>\n