Chapter 20: Strange Resonance.

Deep in the Black Domain, at the fetid, vaporous edge of the Corruptblood Marsh, the little Fool Mother lounged lazily.

She had gorged these past days; her body swelled another ring, grotesquely bloated.

Beside her snow-white bulk, the subwoman corpse (once briefly intriguing) had rotted. Thick gray-black fuzz coated it, like a moldy plush toy abandoned in damp.

The unlucky short subwoman died not of terror, but in coma—force-fed strange flesh of unknown origin by the curious child, bursting unnaturally.

Why did this faint-pure-Black-power “small thing” die? Didn’t it need food? The little Fool Mother remained puzzled.

Now the corpse stank; she tired of it.

So interesting… hard to let go. A tentacle poked listlessly, then gave up. One coil—mold-spotted body sank into marsh.

Mid-air, a snow-white glow drifted: a moon-dandelion seed from some Godtear Oasis—tiny fluorescent sprite.

A tentacle rose, softest tip catching the dancing light with utmost delicacy, fearing shatter.

Minutes later, the vast frame twisted unnaturally. Head-sac swiveled north; three ruby eyes in fleshy folds flashed excited.

That direction: an intriguing presence.

Not kin, yet oddly magnetic—irresistible urge to approach.

The little Fool Mother unfurled a dozen tentacles, beginning slow, resolute movement. She would see what called.

…

On undulating black-velvet grassland, Cary’s mouth gaped at a depression hundreds of meters away.

Snow-white fluorescence sprinkled like stardust, miraculously blooming a vibrant light oasis.

So abrupt, alien—yet sacred, beautiful, fleeting: gone in a day.

In Godtear Oasis, silver-white-green tender blooms swayed in stillness. Tall moon-dandelions rocked gracefully, releasing children—weightless glowing sprites—into night sky with gentle reluctance.

The dancing white umbrellas twirled low, then drifted far.

“Cary, Godtear Oasis? So beautiful!” Maren shook off shock, shook his arm wildly, eyes overflowing joy.

“Careful—don’t crush soul-drunk flowers!”

Cary whispered, pulled handkerchief, tied tight over mouth-nose. “Moon-dandelions—valuable!”

He signaled; Maren copied. Like entering shrine, they tiptoed into dreamscape.

Spring-summer outside: precious soul-drunk flowers bloomed here en masse. Petals: dream-haunting top perfume. Stem juice: potent natural painkiller. But key: fragrant pollen!

Inhaling, safely “dreaming” under effect: third trial gate.

Fail: brief euphoric drunk—legend: founding Emperor Gustav addicted.

Alas, pollen active months only. Even mighty Gustav enjoyed mere seasonal bliss.

Fresher pollen, stronger dream. Trials harvested on-site when possible; excess luxury for nobles.

But Cary, Maren dared not sniff. Oasis lasted day max—early dream: exposed in perilous black hell.

This oasis large—twenty-meter diameter. Every plant priceless outside. Sure enough, edge: Cary found two soul-drunk buds.

Breath held, snipped carefully, bagged swift.

Maren, miser striking gold: clipped buds and whole stems roots-up, cautious into separate sack.

Cary: buds only. Maren: total harvest.

Soon, all soul-drunk cleared their ways. Cary exhaled, untied handkerchief.

“Cary, this moon-dandelion unopened—worth more? And look—is this saintlady or snowneedle?”

Maren lost in glee, butt-up rummaging, yelling. Sacks bulged odd flora. Seemed intent on razing oasis.

Watching her, Cary felt subtle loss. Same Iceberry upbringing—he, Maren, village peers: somehow apart.

Mother Renat, retired Lantern, richer means; Cary never knew want.

For most rural kids, Lantern path: escape poverty, change fate—not Sura devotion.

Cary lay back on soft fragrant sward, silver-white stem in teeth, hands behind head, gaze unfocused on writhing dark-red speckled clouds.

Cool floral scent comforted; reluctant to leave. Worn-out Maren quieted, lay back-to-back, humming nameless tune.

Cary smiled, reached for grass in her hair. Fingertips touched—strange tremor bloomed unbidden in heart.

Silent abyss resonance clenched his chest. Breath short, face alarmed.

Seconds: odd pulse vanished, as if never. Cary puzzled, rose slow, eyes south.