Elara screamed his name. He did not turn back. The carriage door closed like a mouth. The next morning, Elara did the only thing her fear would allow: she followed. She stowed away beneath the carriage, clinging to the axle as it climbed the spiraling roads to the upper tier. The air grew sweeter, the shadows thinner. At last, the carriage passed through gates of wrought silver and into the grounds of the Vane Conservatory , a sprawling estate of white marble and gardens where lilies grew in unnatural, perpetual bloom.
Elara refused all rewards. She returned to the Soiled Rose District, where she opened a small school in an abandoned warehouse. She called it the . It had no lily on its sign. Just a simple, open hand.
Elara clamped a hand over her mouth. The bidding began. A Harvester in a ruby mask bought a boy of seven for three thousand gold crowns. A woman with serpentine jewelry purchased twin girls. Each child was led to a silver chair beside the mercury pool. A Sister placed a lily-shaped helmet over their head. There was no scream, no blood. Just a soft, final sigh as their essence drained into a waiting crystal vial. The child left behind was alive but hollow—a smiling, empty thing destined for the lower tiers as a "rehabilitated ward." Elara fled the grate. She ran until she found a forgotten greenhouse, choked with weeds and broken pots. There, she vomited. Then she wept. Then, slowly, rage replaced grief. Lily Service -Full Version- -Tyviania-
And in the upper city, every light-panel flickered—and displayed the Bloom Registry in crisp, undeniable detail. Lady Vane stood alone amid the chaos, her serene mask finally cracking. She looked at Elara—this small, bleeding, furious child—and for a moment, something like respect flickered across her face.
She threw it into the mercury pool.
Every lily helmet on every child shattered. Every Sister in the room clutched their porcelain masks and screamed as the psychic backlash burned through their neural links. The Harvesters staggered, their immortality vials cracking in their pockets.
She slipped inside as the Sisters unloaded their cargo—a dozen children, all glassy-eyed and docile. Elara crept through service corridors, her bare feet silent on cold stone, until she found a grate overlooking a vast hall. Elara screamed his name
"I'm not you," she said.
What she saw there stole her breath.
