“How peculiar…” The celestial body murmured, its very presence unseen and unheard yet rippling the fabric of reality all the same. The being's omnipotent eye bore into the swirling blues and greens trapped in a blanketed atmosphere that rotated peacefully, floating in the sea of stars that was the universe.

  The planet Verdalya was a serene one, yet none of the galactic alliances dared set foot on its precarious lands, no matter the bountiful natural resources or vermilturalite buried in its crust.

  The celestial’s view focused, zooming in on Verdalya and its ecosystem. It had to figure out why these lands had remained untouched from stellar presences for so long.

  The being breathed in the matter of reality, mingling its existence with the planet, weaving its essence together in a harmonious transfer.

  The celestial’s mind swayed hazily as it synchronized with Verdalya. And then, it blanked.

  ..

  …

  The golden rays of light broke through the fissures in the canopy above.

  Lillian lay, her back firmly pressed against the breathing bark of a brooding Yinglix tree, its mighty boughs spiraling outwards in helixes dripping with wispy strands of plopus moss and spectualite dust. The dust refracted the sunlight, causing it to bounce upwards, spitefully striking the roof of leaves.

  Lillian stretched out with a constrained sigh, her scaled tail swishing against the drooping side branches.

  Her pale green toga flowed loosely, tied in a crossed stitch at her hips with bainscow leather, giving it the perfect fit for active wear.

  “Lillian!” A familiar Termethian voice shouted from below.

  Groaning in mild annoyance, Lillian peered over lazily, her vermillion eyes narrowing at her bothersome brother as she clung to her branch.

  “Ugh… what do you want, Gaimin,” she huffed, propping her chin onto her hand.

  Her brother was older by three flinx laps and was the first high Mongrin on the path to becoming the next Grand Priest, the Del’mer. Over the laps, he had only grown more overbearing and protective of Lillian.

  Gaimin was fit for a male Termethian of his age, having recently turned 20 flinx laps old. His mop of brown hair spooled around his shoulders, and his fiery topaz eyes with hexagonal pupils contracted in focus as he narrowed his gaze at his sister. He stood at a height of nearly six pinglits. A pale white robe crossed over his frame and wrapped around his waist, embroidered with lime thread in patterns of expansive trees. Weaved sandals climbed up his calves, and leather bands adorned his arms with sloping symbols carved into the thick leather.

  Gaimin let out a sigh, shaking his head as he looked up into the mighty Yinglix branches at Lillian.

  “What do you think you're doing? You can't be climbing in this part of the grove. Do you have no respect for the Great Ferns? What would father think about you disrespecting the ancients, treating them like saplings for Gaia's sake!” He chided, his voice snapping and firm.

  Lillian's shoulders slumped mildly. Noticing this, Gaimin took a breath and exhaled. His head tilted to the side, his tall antlers strapped with metal and crystal ornaments that dangled in suspension. His scaled tail flicked in thought.

  “You're going to be 18 flinx laps old by this winter. You're not a child anymore, Lillian. I can't keep protecting you from the Mongrins and the Del’mer,” he spoke with softness and a sense of pleading.

  Lillian knew Gaimin was right, but how could she follow custom when nature told her not to?

  Her fingers felt along the branch's bark, the roughness gentle along her skin. She felt its humming force so strongly. How could she not want to be near the Great Ferns when they spoke so intently to her soul?

  “I know…” she mumbled, her pointed ears drooping as she sat up, finding a foothold to leap off of. Gripping into the crevices of the bark and vines, she descended to the ground.

  Her feet soon landed on the crisp green grass, her brother looking down at her with a heavy but understanding look.

  His hand came around her shoulders in a comforting gesture, offering her a sympathetic smile. She returned one of her own, though her eyes drifted back to the ground, analyzing the expansive root network of the Great Ferns and the intoxicating buzzing chatter that lay beneath her feet.

  “Let's head back to the village. Father and the Del’mer are waiting for us; the Rooting Ceremony is going to begin soon,” Gaimin smiled encouragingly at her. How could she refuse a look like that?

  “Heh… right, the Rooting Ceremony is taking place soon. It’ll be another peaceful and bountiful flinx lap, won't it?” She beamed back. Rooting Day was always something she looked forward to. The trees were always so lively and active on this day, the buzzing energy was delightful to her soul.

  “Indeed. The Del’mer believes Gaia will be most generous to the grove this Rooting Day, especially with the many offerings this flinx lap,” Gaimin exclaimed, urging her along the path. Their feet fell into a synchronized rhythm along the grass.

  The mighty trees soon cleared, making way to a flattened valley with the Stump of Gaia in the center, perfectly flat and smooth, with thousands of rings dating back many flinx laps in the wood. Although merely a stump, it nearly towered over the village houses.

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  The village was bustling with activity, many Termethians moving about in jubilee, carrying baskets and decorations everywhere.

  “Well, best not to delay. Father must be looking for us to help with the preparations. As the first high Mongrin, it’ll be my duty to give the offerings to Gaia this Rooting Day,” Gaimin spoke as they weaved through the crowd, growing closer to the Stump of Gaia.

  They ascended the steps, multiple figures coming into view.

  Lillian and Gaimin's father stood near the center, conversing with the Del’mer, who was cloaked in white. The only color on his frame was a singular red cloth covering his face, draping down and fluttering softly in the wind along with the suspended crystals on his antlers.

  Many villagers and Mongrins mingled about. Approaching them, the two siblings bowed respectfully to the Del’mer.

  Lillian's eyes caught onto the center of the stump where the podium stand lay. Five lumps covered in a tarp were lined up against the podium, breathing.

  “Lillian, Gaimin, glad you both could make it in time. Your father and I were just discussing how fortunate we are for the wonderful offerings we have this flinx lap to give to Gaia. She’ll surely be pleased with this Rooting Day,” the Del’mer spoke, his honey-smooth tones soothing the soul with a familiar comfort.

  “We’re just about to begin; why don't you both take your places? Gaimin, you’ll be with me this lap, as you are my first high Mongrin,” the Del’mer spoke, easing in some light praise. A gentle laugh drifted in the air from his lips.

  The Del’mer moved like he was floating, his robe barely billowing around him as he took a stand on the podium and rang a bell, signaling to everyone that the Rooting Ceremony was about to begin. Everyone quickly took their places, kneeling down on the wood in a spiral around the podium. Not a sniffle or cough could be heard as everyone listened eagerly.

  Gaimin stood behind the Del’mer, standing tall and not allowing his nerves to show. It would be his first time giving the offerings. He had seen it done plenty of times at previous Rooting Days, but nervous excitement couldn’t help but pool in his gut.

  Lillian knelt down beside her father, giving him a merry smile. She reached over to join hands with him and everyone else in a spiral towards the center.

  The Del’mer cleared his throat and looked out among the sea of faces through the red cloth. “Welcome, everyone. Gaia thanks you for coming into her presence. Today is Rooting Day, where we come together like the mighty roots of the Great Ferns, connecting to bring offerings to Gaia so that she may be fortunate and nurtured. In return, she will protect and nurture us with a bountiful season!”

  The Del’mer raised his hand, signaling another Mongrin to remove the tarp.

  As the cloth was pulled away, five kneeling figures were revealed, clad in dark green, painted in charcoal markings, their faces glowing with reverent honor.

  Lillian smiled warmly. This was Gaia's blessing.

  Joyous cheers erupted from the crowd. This was delightful news to the village. Lillian felt a warmth swell up in her chest as she gazed at the Seedlings. They were so blessed to take part in this glorious honor; none could feel closer to Mother Gaia or nature than a Seedling.

  “That’s right, five seedlings this Flinx lap. Gaia will be most pleased with this bountiful offering. Gaimin, if you would,” the Del’mer said, stepping aside to allow Gaimin to pass. He stamped down his nerves; this was a great honor.

  Walking up to the beaming, misty-eyed Seedlings, Gaimin reached into a black box, pulling out a silver teardrop and placing it into the waiting hands of each offering. The Seedlings took the drops gratefully, clasping their hands closed and pressing their foreheads to them.

  “Mother Gaia brought our world from a fiery, desolate planet into the vital and overgrown paradise we live in now. By the teardrops of Gaia, we will return what was given to continue the grand cycle of Nature Divine. Take upon you the teardrop of Gaia, and offer up your mind, body, and soul to the Divine,” the Del’mer proclaimed.

  The Seedlings placed the silver tears onto their tongues and swallowed. They took each other’s hands and held tightly. Even the eldest, with shaky hands from age, swallowed the drop with bliss.

  Lillian looked out into the center at the offerings, holding her breath.

  Snap—

  There it was. Lillian sighed with relief, smiling in glee along with the other villagers who shared her beaming expression.

  The Seedlings choked, their clasped hands twitching, falling away as some leaned forward, bracing themselves on their hands. Another crack rang out deafeningly as two of the Seedlings curled over with a yelping cry of agony. They writhed on the ground, starting from their fingertips. Their bones grew brittle, grinding like chalky paste before firming and snapping back in place, then shrinking together like dry grapes. The skin shriveled and dried out before flaking off like carved wood shavings. Each flake of skin crinkled in the breeze.

  The Seedlings screamed.

  Their smiles were held firmly in place by sheer will alone as tears flooded down to the floor. They slumped over, seizing. Their ribs snapped, jutting out of their skin like punctured blubber fish. Crimson splattered down, staining the wood as blood-curdling screams ripped through the offerings, echoing in the ears of the crowd. The hands shriveled down into nubs before the infection spread to the forearms. It spread from their feet to their legs. They flopped helplessly as their bodies shriveled and shrank in on themselves. Their organs popped and burst, oozing ichorous colors of fatty yellow and dripping orange hues as their ribcages grew too small. The Seedlings’ skulls cracked and snapped, the skin slumping down in lopsided ways as their brains mushed and spilled down their ears and eyes in a pinkish, pulpy sludge. Their eyes, having long since ruptured like sacks, popped from their sockets, dangling in the air as jelly-like clumps plopped down, dripping steadily.

  The five bodies continued to snap and shrink until nothing but five droplet-shaped orbs remained. The calcified Seedlings ranged in red, white, and purplish swirls. It was done.

  The crowd stared in silence, but one thing was clear to all of them.

  The Rooting Ceremony was a beautiful and delightful gift from Mother Gaia.

  Gaimin crouched down, reaching into the puddles of pulpy sludge, retrieving the five Seedlings. He placed them reverently into a basket and walked back to the podium, handing them out to the Del’mer.

  The Del’mer stood still, the wind fluttering his robes gently. He picked up a Seedling and examined it thoughtfully, his scaled tail scraping across the floor in contemplation.

  He held up the Seedling, its calcified form shimmering like a crystal in the light of the evening sky.

  “This Rooting Day has brought us perfectly formed seedlings!” he declared.

  Shouts and cheers erupted from the crowd. This was truly a glorious day on planet Verdalya for the Termethians.

  The celebration continued with the burial of the five Seedlings in the Great Fern Domain, returning them to the Divine Nature of Mother Gaia. Dancing and feasts were held as the village celebrated. A glorious day indeed for the Termethians.

  Verdalya thrummed and buzzed as the Celestial breathed out of reality, severing the transfer. The blanketed haze lifted from its omniscient mind.

  The inhabitants of Verdalya were, to say the least, interesting. However, the Celestial could make a fair guess as to why this planet, although bountiful and inhabited by few threats, would be so intensely avoided.

  “How fascinating,” the Celestial murmured to reality as it hummed thoughtfully into existence, drifting through the in-between of nothing and everything. The being continued on its way, leaving behind such a peculiar planet.