To ruin an Omega

Chapter 342: The Future 1

FIA

Thorne disappeared into the back again and returned with a sealed zip-locked bag. The mourning moon sat inside, its petals a deep, unsettling purple that seemed to drink in the light rather than reflect it.

“You have to remember this thing is very toxic,” Thorne said. His voice carried a weight that made me pay attention. It felt like he was trying to tell me I still had a choice and I shouldn’t make the wrong one. “Be safe.”

“I know what I am doing,” I assured him.

“We have a sealed room for handling hazardous materials. I’m sure you remember it. You’ll need to work in there.”

He gestured for me to follow, and I did, the hazmat suit still tucked under one arm and the bag held carefully in my other hand. The flower barely moved inside its containment, but I swore I could feel something emanating from it anyway. A wrongness that prickled against my senses.

The sealed room was at the far end of the infirmary, past the recovery beds and through a heavy door that hissed when Thorne pushed it open. Inside, the space was clinical and sparse. White walls, a single metal table in the center, and what looked like an industrial ventilation system built into the ceiling. There were glass containers of various sizes lined up on shelves, along with basic tools. Mortar and pestle. Measuring instruments. A small heating element.

“The ventilation system can be activated with that switch.” Thorne pointed to a red lever near the door. “When you’re done, pull it. It will cycle the air completely before you exit.”

I nodded.

He hesitated in the doorway. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something else, then closed again. Finally, he just stepped back and let the door seal shut behind him.

The room felt smaller once I was alone.

I set the bag down on the metal table and pulled on the hazmat suit. The material was thick and awkward, the hood muffling sound as I zipped it up.

I had gotten better at putting it on though. The gloves came next. I flexed my fingers, getting used to the loss of dexterity.

I finished off by putting on the head covering and the breathing apparatus.

Then I opened the bag.

The smell hit me first. Sweet and cloying, but underneath it was something bitter. Even with the breathing mask to protect from the spores, something about it still made my nose wrinkle and my eyes water regardless of the protective gear. I blinked hard and focused.

The mourning moon looked worse up close. The petals were wilting at the edges, turning black where they curled inward. The center of the flower was open, exposing the stamen and the cluster of spores that clung there like dust. Dark purple, almost black. When I moved the bag, they shifted slightly, and I could see the faint shimmer of them catching the light.

I reached for one of the glass containers and carefully tipped the flower out onto the table. It landed with barely a sound, but a small puff of spores lifted into the air. I froze, watching them drift. They moved slowly, almost lazily, before settling back down.

My heart pounded.

I picked up the mortar and pestle and got to work.

First, the petals. I plucked them off one by one, careful not to disturb the center too much. They were soft under my gloved fingers, almost slimy. I placed them into the mortar and began to grind. The motion was rhythmic. Steady. The petals broke down quickly, releasing more of that sickly sweet smell. It turned into a paste that thick and purple dark.

Next, the nectar. I tilted the flower over a small vial and let the liquid drip out. It was viscous, clinging to the inside of the bloom before finally sliding free. It was only a few drops, but it was enough. The color was lighter than the petals, a strange violet that seemed to glow faintly in the sterile light of the room.

Then came the spores.

I hesitated. This was the most dangerous part. The spores were what made the mourning moon the most lethal. Thorne’s warning echoed in my head, but I pushed it aside and carefully tapped the center of the flower over the mortar. The spores fell like ash, dusting the petal paste below. More of them lifted into the air, and I held my breath even though the suit was supposed to protect me.

I ground them in. The paste turned darker, the texture changing. It became less viscous and more liquid as the spores mixed with the nectar and petals. I added the drops of nectar next, watching as the mixture thinned and turned a deep, vibrant purple.

It looked wrong. Beautiful in the way poisonous things often were, but wrong.

I poured the liquid into a small glass bottle, sealing it with a cork stopper. My hands were shaking. Just a little, but enough that I had to grip the bottle tighter to keep from dropping it.

The bottle sat on the table, glowing faintly in the light. I stared at it. This was it. This was what would end Aldric’s life.

I turned on the faucet built into the corner of the room and rinsed the outside of the bottle. The water ran clear, but I scrubbed at the glass anyway, paranoid that even a single spore might be clinging to the surface.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

When I was satisfied, I hit the lever and heard the sound of air puffing in and out.

When I was sure, it was semi safe, I then turned to the door and knocked.

A moment later, Maren’s face appeared in the small window. I held up the bottle, and she nodded.

The door hissed open.

“I need to wash it one more time,” I said. My voice was muffled through the hood. “I’m sure its okay. But I’m paranoid at this point. So just to be safe.”

Maren looked at the bottle, then at me. “Give me a second.”

She disappeared, and I stood there in the doorway, holding the poison like it was something fragile. Something that might break if I squeezed too hard.

Maren came back with a pair of thick gloves. She pulled them on and held out her hand. “Let me take it.”

I handed it over carefully. She took it without hesitation, her expression unreadable.

Then she looked at me expecting me to come out.

“The air needs to cycle more,” I said, stepping back into the room. “I’ll clean up in here first.”

Maren nodded and stepped back. The door sealed shut again.

I turned to the ventilation system and pulled the red lever again. Immediately, the sound of rushing air filled the room. It was loud, almost deafening, and I could feel the pressure shift as the system pulled whatever spore contaminated air might still be in out and replaced it with fresh. The process took longer. Minutes stretched out, and I used the time to gather the remnants of the flower and seal them back in the bag. The tools went into a separate container marked for hazardous waste.

When the ventilation finally stopped, I moved to the corner of the room where a large bucket sat. The solution inside was harsh and chemical, meant to neutralize any residue. I peeled off the hazmat suit piece by piece, dunking each part into the bucket. The gloves. The hood. The body of the suit. Everything went in, soaking in the solution.

Only when I was down to my regular clothes did I got the lever one more time before I then stepped out of the room.

The main area of the infirmary felt too bright after the sealed room. I blinked against the light, my eyes adjusting.

And then I saw her.

My mother-in-law, the Grand Luna stood near the counter, holding the purple bottle up to the light. She turned it slowly, watching the liquid inside catch and shimmer.

My heart stuttered. Everything in me went cold and sharp.

“What the hell is going on?”

The words came out louder than I meant them to. Harsher. But I couldn’t pull them back.

Morrigan turned then. Her expression was calm. Far too calm for my liking. She looked at me with a measured gaze.

As if she was trying to determine what to say next.

“Fia,” she finally said. Her voice was even. “What is this?”

I couldn’t speak. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My mind raced, scrambling for an explanation, for something that would make this make sense.

Maren stood off to the side, her face pale. She wasn’t looking at me. She was staring at the floor like she wanted it to swallow her whole.

The Grand Luna held the bottle up again. “This is poison, isn’t it?”

I still couldn’t answer.

“They wouldn’t say but this is mourning moon,” she continued. “Isn’t it?”

Her eyes locked onto mine when I didn’t speak. “There is only one thing that is coming to my mind. Thorne wouldn’t say why he wanted me here. But I think I get it now. He wanted me to stop this. Fia…who is this for?”

The silence stretched between us. Every second felt like an eternity.

“It’s for Aldric,” I said finally. The truth spilled out before I could stop it.