Chapter 35 — The Fruit with His Name

The guardian struck.

A glass claw scraped across the ground where Yusuf had just stepped. He stumbled, the Codex falling from his fingers, pages ripping open to a blur of bleeding script. The orchard screamed around him—every tree shaking, every fruit pulsing as if on the verge of bursting.

The child yanked him upright. "You can't fight them. Not here. Not without—"

Their words cut off as another guardian lurched forward, chest glowing where its sphere was pressed tight. Cracks spidered up its arms. Every step made the fissures widen, light spilling from inside.

“They’re not protecting the orchard,” Yusuf realized, breath ragged. “They’re protecting themselves. Their memories.”

The child’s faceless head turned. “And they think you’ll break them.”

The fruit with his name shone brighter at his feet, singing louder than the others, as if the orchard itself demanded he answer. His fingers curled toward it.

If he picked it up, perhaps the guardians would surrender.

If he left it, they never would.

A third guardian dropped from the branches above, slamming into the ground with enough force to shatter it. Shards of glass stuck out of its back like broken wings.

"Yusuf!" the child screamed.

The Codex blazed on one word:

Claim.

His fingers closed around the world.

The orchard froze.

For an instant, there was silence. The guardians froze stiff, their shattered forms trembling. Even the branches ceased their swaying. Yusuf hugged the fruit against his chest, feeling its cold fire sear into his skin.

Then—voices. Whispers of a thousand, all at once. His voice, Rae's voice, his father's voice, strangers he had never met. All memories sewn into the glass.

It was too much. His knees gave way. The Codex thread burned red-hot, fastening him to the sphere.

The first guardian relaxed back, vacant eyes with vapid recognition winking. It withdrew.

But the interlude didn't endure.

Another guardian screamed, shattering the quiet. Its fruit burst in its hands. The light inside spilled out, spreading over its shape. It collapsed, screaming, until its shape was reduced to dust.

And then the orchard went mad.

The guardians exploded—not all of them at Yusuf, but at each other. Some clutched their fruit to them, desperate to cling to what little was left. Others attacked, shards flying, memories exploding open like blood from trauma.

Air became a glassy field of screams.

The boy grabbed Yusuf's arm. "You've tipped it. The orchard will not remain if you take that sphere away. Put it back—or go on before it shatters."

Yusuf stared at the sphere with his name, softly pulsing in his trembling hands. No matter all the horror around him, no matter all the shattering chaos, he couldn't help but feel:

This was his.

And if he left it behind, he would never know why it was there.

The Codex pulsed. A new term burned onto its page:

Thread Divergence.

The orchard shattered like glass beneath his feet.