Secrets of blooming estate book one

Chapter eight the weight of power

The ground beneath Sophia seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as her heartbeat. Every inch of her body felt alive, electrified by the energy coursing through her veins. The black rose in her hand shimmered, its light fading to a subtle glow that pulsed in time with her breath.

She rose shakily to her feet, clutching the rose tightly as the Garden around her stilled. The oppressive atmosphere, the shadows that had threatened to consume her, all seemed to retreat. It was as if the Garden itself had acknowledged her victory, granting her a moment of calm.

But the clarity of the moment didn't last long. A distant echo of footsteps reached her ears, and Sophia turned to find Beatrice stepping into the clearing. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes scanning the scene before her with a mixture of pride and caution.

"You've done it," Beatrice said quietly, her gaze settling on the rose in Sophia's hand. "The Garden has accepted you."

Sophia exhaled slowly, still feeling the residual hum of power coursing through her. "What happens now? What am I supposed to do with this?"

Beatrice stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Sophia. "Now, you must learn to control it. The rose is more than just a symbol of your initiation—it's a vessel. It holds a fragment of the Garden's power, a connection to its source. But that power is not meant to be wielded recklessly. There are rules, Sophia. Limits. You must understand them, or the consequences could be... disastrous."

Sophia frowned, her fingers tightening around the stem of the rose. "Disastrous how?"

"The Garden's power is ancient, and it is tied to forces we don't fully understand. In the wrong hands, it could unleash chaos—unravel the very fabric of reality itself. That is why the Society exists. We guard this power, ensuring it is used only when absolutely necessary."

A chill ran down Sophia's spine. She looked down at the rose, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over her like a shroud. It was a far cry from the curiosity and excitement she had felt earlier. Now, the enormity of what she had stepped into became painfully clear.

"So, I'm just supposed to hold onto this?" Sophia asked, her voice strained. "What if I make a mistake?"

Beatrice gave her a small, knowing smile. "You won't be alone, Sophia. The Society is here to guide you. We have all gone through this—each of us has our own connection to the Garden, our own burden to bear. But you, more than anyone, were meant for this. You are a Marlowe. The bloodline is strong in you."

Sophia's mind reeled. The Marlowe name had always felt like a piece of history, something that carried weight but never had real meaning to her beyond her family's wealth and legacy. Now, she understood that it was more than just a name—it was a lineage of power, stretching back through centuries of guardianship over the Garden.

Beatrice gestured toward the path that led out of the clearing. "Come. There is still much to explain, and the others will want to know how you fared. But remember, Sophia—what you saw in the Garden, what you felt, must remain within the Society. The outside world is not ready for such knowledge."

Sophia hesitated for a moment before following Beatrice out of the clearing. The path seemed different now, less menacing, as if the Garden no longer saw her as a threat. The torches flickered gently as they passed, their light casting long shadows on the stone walls as they made their way back to the chamber where the others waited.

When they reentered the underground hall, the other members of the Society rose from their seats. Their faces were still obscured by shadows, but Sophia could feel their eyes on her, evaluating, judging. She clutched the rose tightly, the weight of their expectations settling on her shoulders.

Beatrice took her place at the head of the table, gesturing for Sophia to stand beside her. "Sophia Marlowe has passed the Garden's test," Beatrice announced, her voice echoing through the chamber. "She is now one of us, a guardian of the Garden and a keeper of its secrets."

The room fell silent. Then, one by one, the cloaked figures lowered their hoods, revealing the faces of the Society's members—many of whom Sophia recognized. Old family friends, prominent figures from the nearby town, even the local magistrate. They all looked at her with a mixture of respect and wariness.

"You have been granted a great responsibility, Sophia," one of the older members said, stepping forward. His voice was grave, his features lined with age and wisdom. "But be warned—this power is as much a curse as it is a gift. The Garden will test you again, and it will continue to demand more from you as time passes. You must be prepared."

Sophia nodded, though her stomach churned with unease. She had thought passing the test would bring clarity, but instead, it had only raised more questions. What did the Garden want from her? What was its ultimate purpose?

As the members of the Society began to disperse, Beatrice placed a hand on Sophia's shoulder, her grip firm but reassuring. "Come with me," she said softly. "There's something else you need to see."

Sophia followed her out of the chamber and down a narrow hallway, deeper into the bowels of the estate. The air grew cooler, and the walls were lined with old, dusty portraits of past Marlowe family members. Their eyes seemed to follow her as they walked, and Sophia couldn't help but wonder if they too had once held the same power she now carried.

They stopped in front of a large iron door at the end of the corridor. Beatrice produced a key from her cloak and unlocked it, pushing the door open to reveal a dimly lit room filled with ancient tomes, maps, and strange artifacts. At the center of the room stood a large stone pedestal, much like the one in the Garden.

"This," Beatrice said, motioning to the pedestal, "is the Archive. It contains the recorded knowledge of the Society, everything we have learned about the Garden and its power over the centuries. You will need to study it. The Garden's secrets run deep, and its tests are never truly over."

Sophia stared at the shelves upon shelves of dusty books and scrolls. It was overwhelming, the sheer weight of history pressing down on her. But as she stepped further into the room, a strange sense of purpose began to settle in her chest.

"Start here," Beatrice said, pulling a leather-bound book from one of the shelves. The cover was worn, the pages yellowed with age. "This is the journal of your ancestor, Eleanor Marlowe. She was the last in your family to be chosen by the Garden. Her story will help you understand what lies ahead."

Sophia took the book from Beatrice, her fingers brushing against the rough leather. She opened it to the first page, where a single line had been scrawled in elegant, faded script:

_"To guard the Garden is to walk the line between light and shadow. But beware—for the deeper you go, the harder it is to return."_

Sophia closed the book and looked up at Beatrice, who regarded her with a solemn expression.

"The choice you made tonight," Beatrice said, her voice low, "was only the beginning."