The Astralaceaes

Chapter 32: Deep Roots and Faux Leaves

As Haledon walked, he stared at the small spud hanging from his chest and admired Gazeas' handiwork. He allowed his mind to wander back to the first time Spark had shared one with him and how long ago that seemed. With each pulse of the nodule's pale red glow against his chest, he felt the energy rushing through his veins.

"So, first contact today," Witch-Hazel broke Haledon's concentration as the group deftly cut through the crowded corridors. "How do you think you did?"

"Well...I froze," Haledon said with a sigh, thinking back to the black armour and claws as they ripped into his chest. He observed his body vibrating in response to the memory, and the feeling chilled him. "I would be dead if it hadn't been for Lavendar."

"Most Druids freeze the first time." Witch-Hazel laughed as they reached over and slapped at Haledon's arm. "What matters is that you didn't die."

"Yes, and that's impressive, in and of itself," Spark remarked. "Astra Druids are such soft—gentle lambs. I'm surprised you weren't everywhere by the time we arrived."

"You know, back on Earth, there's a celebration for those who survive their first encounter."

Haledon smirked as he looked at Witch-Hazel. "I assume it involves drinking."

"No, actually," Witch-Hazel snapped before continuing their reply with a contemplative tone. "The eldest Primeval who would have fought alongside you guides you on a migration. You would travel across the ocean and land until you reached the base of the Earth's tallest mountain. There you would trek to the topmost point where the Carnyx Horn is affixed and be led through a ceremony, transcribing your legend on the winds of Earth."

"Are you—" Haledon paused and looked to Spark. "Are they being serious?"

"It's a real thing," She replied and nodded to Witch-Hazel. "You are leaving something out, though."

"What?" Haledon asked and looked back to Witch-Hazel, eager for more.

"After the ceremony, you drink—excessively." They said with a smirk. "So, obviously, I would be accompanying you."

"But Lavendar saved me." Haledon pointed out, leaning back with slight disappointment. "I guess I'd be making the trip with them."

"Well, I'm older than Lavendar and decide that I overgrow them, so I'm your drinking buddy."

"Wait," Haledon spoke up. "You're older than Lavendar? You're a Primeval?"

"Uh, yeah, of course?" Witch-Hazel replied. "What, you just thought I could handle a Dragonfly because I'm a gift from Nature?"

Passing through the threshold between the Astralaceaes and the Megacolides, Haledon felt the thick air of the hallway stick to his body once more.

"Sorry, I guess I never knew. I just assumed you were a Pioneer or maybe a Seral."

Spark laughed, looking over to Witch-Hazel and then Haledon.

"Witch-Hazel is as old as Sparrow. They just like to pretend they're a sapling."

"Hey!" Witch-Hazel snapped.

"What? Sorry, I assumed he knew already since you and Sparrow were always around him."

"You don't like people to know how old you are?" Haledon asked. "Why?"

"It's—complicated." Witch-Hazel groaned in reply, their eyes narrowing on Spark.

"Maybe once this is over, we can enjoy some sap, and you can tell me about it," Haledon continued enthusiastically, trying to ease the tension.

"Better drink up now," Spark said with a smirk. "After the Mecharrion show up—"