Faceted. Sharp-edged. Perfect.
It looked exactly like a diamond.
Carlson stopped beside him but didn't speak at first. He waited.
Eline's eyes stayed fixed on it. His breath felt shallow, his chest tight, as if the air itself had changed.
Carlson finally broke the silence.
"Do you see it?"
Eline swallowed. "Yes."
"What do you think it is?"
The answer slipped out before he could stop himself.
"The black diamond."
Carlson turned his head slowly, studying Eline now instead of the plant.
"How," he asked calmly, "do you suppose a diamond grows on a tree?"
The question landed like a quiet trap.
Eline froze.
Too late, he realized what he'd said—how easily it had come, how natural it had sounded, as if he'd always known. His lips parted, then closed again. No explanation came. There was none he could give without revealing something he didn't even understand himself.
Silence stretched.
Carlson's gaze softened—not with kindness, but with certainty.
"It isn't a diamond," he said. "It's a fruit. One that merely chooses to resemble something people value."
Eline frowned. "A fruit?"
"Yes." Carlson looked back at the plant. "A fruit meant for a mother who is about to bring something into this world that the world itself is unprepared to face."
The words sent a chill through Eline's spine.
He hesitated, then asked quietly, "So… someone eats it?"
Carlson nodded once.
"But it looks like stone," Eline said, confusion bleeding into his voice. "How is anyone supposed to eat something like that?"
For the first time, Carlson's expression carried something close to amusement.
"You're not as sharp as you think," he said mildly. "And far more naïve than you look."
Eline stiffened, but Carlson continued before he could respond.
"If it grows from a living tree, it is a fruit. And when the time comes, you won't need instructions. You'll know how it's meant to be consumed."
Eline glanced at the fruit again, unease twisting low in his stomach. "When is the time?"
Carlson didn't answer immediately.
"In due time," he said instead. "Not yet."
The implication hung heavy between them.
Carlson's voice cut through the silence.
"All you have to do," he said evenly, "is touch the fruit."
Eline turned to him at once. "Touch it?" His eyes flicked back to the tree. "How am I supposed to do that? Look at it. That thing doesn't look harmless."
His voice dropped, suspicion creeping in. "Are you trapping me?"
Carlson didn't raise his voice. He didn't move either.
"Boy," he said calmly, "if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing here questioning me."
Eline stiffened.
"That isn't what this is," Carlson continued. "I want you to touch the fruit. That's all. You won't be hurt. I give you my word."
Eline didn't answer.
His gaze darted around the room instead—searching. Walls. Stone. No windows. The door behind them was sealed, silent, unmoving. No escape. No obvious way out.
His chest tightened.
So this is it, then.
If I'm going to die, I'm going to die here.
Slowly, hesitantly, he took a step forward.
The closer he got to the tree, the heavier the air felt. The dark energy it had been drawing from the room shifted, responding to his presence. The shadowy current curled, thickened—brushing against his skin like a cold breath.
Eline stopped abruptly and took a step back, fear flashing across his face.
Carlson was suddenly there behind him, a firm hand at his back—not rough, but unyielding.
"It isn't dangerous," he said. "I'll explain everything after. First, you touch it."
Eline swallowed hard.
His legs felt weak, but he forced himself forward again. Slowly. Carefully. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to stop.
He raised his hand.
Just one touch.
His fingers brushed the surface of the fruit.
The reaction was immediate.
The black diamond flared with light—deep, radiant, alive. It gleamed as if it had been waiting, as if it had finally recognized something it had lost long ago. The glow pulsed once, warm and bright, almost joyful.
Eline gasped and yanked his hand back instantly, heart hammering, breath sharp—as if he'd been shocked.
But there was no pain.
No burn. No wound.
Nothing.
He stared at his hand, then spun toward Carlson, eyes wide, panic and disbelief colliding in his expression.
"Did you see that?" his look seemed to scream. I thought I was dead.
Carlson met his gaze calmly.
"You're fine," he said. "You're not hurt. Not even a little."
And somehow, that certainty was more unsettling than the light had been.
Carlson let the silence settle before speaking again.
"This century," he said, voice calm and certain, "will be a victorious one for us."
He turned slightly. "Come. Let's go back. You need rest."
Before Eline could respond—or even process the words—Carlson bent and lifted him into his arms without hesitation.
The suddenness startled him.
Eline's breath hitched as he instinctively looked up at Carlson, then back over his shoulder toward the room they were leaving behind. The door had already sealed itself shut. The lock had returned, intact and unmoved, as if it had never vanished at all—unchanged, untouched, just as it had been for centuries.
His gaze drifted back to Carlson.
He was already walking, unhurried, posture straight, chin sharp, eyes fixed forward. There was no doubt in his steps, no second-guessing—only purpose. They were moving down the corridor, back toward the private quarters.
Toward Lucien's wing.
Eline swallowed.
"That's… not the way to my room," he said carefully. "I'd like to rest in my own room."
Carlson didn't slow.
"From now on," he said, "you'll be staying on the second floor. Second room. Between mine and Darian's."
Eline's heart sank.
"What?" The word slipped out before he could stop it.
(Why would I live there?)
His thoughts spiraled instantly.
(Why am I being moved?
Did Lucien tell them everything?
Do they know I slept with him?
Are they going to torture me for touching his son?)
No—sleeping with his son.
The realization made his chest tighten.
Why else move me? Why there? Is that room meant for something else? Something worse? Is it some kind of controlled space? A place where they can watch me? Break me?
("Am I overthinking?
But I didn't plan any of this. He came to me. I didn't even know what was happening to my body. The heat—whatever it was—it took over. I couldn't think. I couldn't stop it. No it might be that i am going to be the subject for their witchcraft ,that is why he took me to the room to see if i am a compatible offering to the devil.")
("I can't let this continue.
I have to get out.
His pulse raced as the thought sharpened into something desperate.
I don't know how long I'll survive without surgery. Six months—maybe less. But if I stay here, I won't even make it that long. I'll be dead today. Or tomorrow.
I just want to survive the time I have left.")
And as Carlson carried him onward, steady and unyielding, Eline thought with a quiet dread—
Escaping this place might be difficult but it shouldn't be impossible