Flora coordinated a swift evacuation in the wake of the fires.

  Being that she was everywhere, she spread the word and gathered the folk of Castle Redmane and Beroh Keep, even while Redmane and his comrades were doing battle throughout their domain. In mere hours they had a sizable stock of provisions packed and ready for a journey, which would embark from both those locations at the same time.

  She knew the Abyss would frighten the smallfolk. But she would do her utmost to keep them calm. Leaving them here to become Numantian hostages, or worse, would have been as unwise as it was heartless.

  It took little persuading to convince Pietr and Dobrogost to be their guides.

  And so, as she gathered seven of her selves to Redmane in Midva Forest, she gathered all her other selves to those two locations as quickly as she could move. There were more of her, many more actually, but she knew she could not bring the entirety of herself to those two locations with any haste. The ones who couldn’t make it hid instead, finding shelter in the hills and forests.

  She brought as many as she could bring in a reasonable amount of time, and then two processions of mortals embarked from Castle Redmane and Beroh Keep into the first layer of the Abyss, to make the trek between worlds.

  Naturally, the Flora at Alma’s grave showed no surprise at the arrival of so many people through the Abyssal Well, but Lar Tathvaal certainly did.

  Also surprising was the ratio of Flora to everyone else.

  For in the weeks since her first emergence in the courtyard of Castle Redmane, she had spread throughout every Zone Redmane claimed and left in his wake. And as her enchanted forest spread, so too did the buds which birthed her again, and again, and again, making her powers and consciousness grow at an exponential rate.

  She nearly outnumbered the normal folk at this point.

  Lar — who was in the middle of fielding one of her questions — stopped mid sentence and gawked. Not at the procession of people, but at the dozens upon dozens of Floras. There may have been a hundred of her. Likely more.

  “Is that…” Lar glanced at the Flora he’d been speaking to. “Are those your sisters?”

  Eight or ten of the nearest Floras chuckled softly, which made Lar Tathvaal nearly leap out of his skin.

  “Nay,” said the one he’d been speaking to.

  “Thou art speaking to me,” said the next nearest one, with a smirk and a curtsy.

  “And me,” said another one close by.

  “And me!” said another.

  To drive the point home, she looked at him with eight pairs of eyes and spoke in all their voices at the same time.

  “They art I, and I art they. We art the buds of the verdigris flower, together in body and mind.”

  Most of the time, Lar Tathvaal gave off an air of amused detachment. As if the struggle for the fate of Volos was a quaint thing, a provincial conflict playing out on a little stage no one important was paying attention to. Evidently the sight of Flora in all her power and strangeness could cow even him.

  “I see…” he said, some of the color drained from his face.

  Since they did not know how long they would spend here on the drained world of Astia, it made sense to Flora to provide the folk of Volos as comfortable a stay as she could provide. But Astia was about as void of comforts as it was of everything else, so she would have to be resourceful.

  The Abyssal Well sat upon the ridge of a broad valley overlooking a dry riverbed running from the northwest end of the valley to the southeast. In the valley’s center, overshadowed in the distance by the silent skyline of the city of Novium, lay the ruins of a town.

  Flora supposed its architecture was Numantian, as she hadn’t seen its like before.

  Streets of hard packed dirt wound through the town, their paths uneven, following the terrain. Its dwellings were numerous, small and clustered, and showed all the signs of long abandonment. Wooden shutters hung askew and doorways gaped open. The few archways which still held their form framed the shadowed interiors of what she supposed were once communal buildings.

  In the central square there stood a circle of stone columns, their surfaces weathered and cracked, a few fallen over and broken. The columns made a ring around a dry fountain, its basin empty, the carved figures around it eroded by time, and off to the side was a well, which she assumed would also be dry.

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  The silence of the place was profound.

  It would have to do.

  It would simply require some cleanup work.

  Flora suggested they trek down the hill to that village with their provisions, and make it as livable as possible.

  And as it turned out, Flora herself was a highly efficient labor force.

  She began by clearing debris from the village’s streets, ‘teams’ of her working in perfect coordination. Her physical strength was not exceptional by Imbued or divine standards, but she made up for it with an uncanny level of synchronization.

  She inspected homes with an eye on their integrity, and where she spotted structural flaws, she reinforced them with sturdy vines conjured from the earth.

  Reviving the dry riverbed was beyond her power. But the well in the town square was not entirely empty. She gathered a few of her selves to the area around it and called forth deep-rooted grasses and perennials, to try and coax as much water up from below as possible. They had brought as much water as they could carry, but without more they would quickly need to return to Volos to refresh their supply, and every such trip posed dangers.

  This was a barren place, truly. But she felt stronger now, with so many of her gathered together to reinforce the power of her will.

  And things were not always as dead as they first appeared.

  A cluster of Floras gathered near the well, to summon a small herb garden. She focused on fast-growing plants, both nutritional and medicinal, to supplement the provisions they had brought from Volos.

  She gathered the children together, a goodly distance from where she was doing the more hazardous work of clearing streets and renovating structures, and there she entertained them with songs and plays and little skits, where she acted out all the parts herself.

  Flora donned an imaginary crown. "Hark! I am the King of the Forest, and I claim dominion over all that is green and growing!" She puffed out her chest, eliciting giggles from the children.

  Another Flora approached with a playful swagger. "And I am the mischievous Sprite, here to play tricks upon thee, O King!" She waggled her fingers in a mock-threatening manner, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

  The King Flora feigned shock, placing a hand dramatically upon her forehead. "Oh, fie! What mischief dost thou plan, thou impish creature?"

  The Sprite Flora danced around the King whimsically. "I shall turn thy royal robes into a cloak of brambles, and thy crown into a nest for birds," she mimed the transformation, wrapping invisible vines around the King, who pretended to struggle and stumble about.

  The children burst into laughter at her antics.

  A third Flora, playing the role of a wise old Sage, entered the scene with a slow, deliberate gait, and when she spoke she made her speech as manly a baritone as she could muster.

  "Fear not, noble King, for I possess the wisdom to undo this enchantment." She stroked an imaginary beard, her expression one of deep contemplation.

  The King Flora turned to the Sage with exaggerated relief. "Pray, good Sage, how might I be freed from this vexing spell?"

  The Sage Flora raised a finger, her voice solemn yet playful. "Thou must dance a jig most merry, and sing a tune most sweet, to break the Sprite's spell!"

  “Like this?”

  And the King Flora broke into a ridiculous dance that made the children fall about laughing again.

  By the time evening fell on the village, its transformation was nothing short of magical. The streets, once blocked with debris, were open and lined with softly glowing flowers. The homes and buildings, previously crumbling and dilapidated, stood reinforced. Vines wove through their walls and roofs, glowing where they flowered, like a string of decorative lights. Open areas had been cleared and adorned with more faintly luminous flora, creating inviting communal spaces.

  Flora stood back and examined her handiwork, hands on her hips.

  It would do for now.

  Already she could see that the folk of Castle Redmane and Beroh Keep, who had at first laid eyes upon the dead village with looks of trepidation and despair, were now roaming about with some life in their eyes. Looking around at this strange new place, in a strange new world, with interest and a sense of hopefulness.

  It was not as vibrant as she would have liked. Even with so much of her power concentrated in this single place, this world’s desolation made even small things into a struggle.

  A struggle she would win, with patience and diligence.

  The thought of her ultimate victory put a smile on her lips.

  “Seems like you’ve done this before,” said Lar Tathvaal, who came up next to her to share the view.

  She smiled and shook her head. “I merely improvised.”

  “You’re good at improvisation then,” he said, smirking as he folded his arms and looked out over the renovated town.

  Flora glanced at him. “Do you recall the name of this place?”

  “This colony was closed before my time,” said Lar. “I knew of its location on the map, but that’s about it.”

  Flora considered that information.

  She looked upon the homes of a long-lost people.

  Records might reveal the town’s name and perhaps even the names of some of its residents. But unless it was written in Numantian, or some other language she or Lar Tathvaal could read, such records would be useless if they even existed any longer. And she could sense no traces of the spirits of the departed. There was no natural Gnosis left to sustain them.

  Flora took a leap of faith, then.

  She imagined that the folk who once built this place would be pleased to see new life in their home, even if such a thing was temporary.

  Or perhaps it didn’t have to be temporary.

  Flora imagined she would have a difficult time persuading anyone to remain here with her in such a desolate place after the troubles were over. They would all be eager to return home, and she couldn’t blame them for that.

  But the prospect of reviving an entire world...

  Yes. She would remain.

  Her lord husband would make war on the Numantians. It was what he did best. And here in this place, she would do what she did best.

  “The town needs a new name, methinks,” said Flora.

  Lar rubbed his chin. “How about Nova Astia.”

  “A Numantian name won’t do,” she said. “Nay. It should be something new.”

  “Nova means new,” said Lar, with a smirk.

  She smirked back. “That is not what I meant!”

  With that said, she pondered.

  What was this place to them?

  A temporary haven. A safe place, to weather the dangers of conflict. And when she was done with it, it would be a green place as well. As green as she could manage.

  “Greenhaven,” said Flora.

  “I’ll go find something to make a welcome sign with,” said Lar.

  PATREON