Eating From Our Roots Novels & Stories

It felt like a lump stuck in my throat, and I couldn't do anything about it. I wasn't short on money, but I was short on Dad's time. If that kingroot had truly gone into his system, I would've accepted it. Even if it had been overboiled into nothing, I would've let it go. Looking at Dad's face, which appeared so thin and almost unrecognizable, I felt nothing but suspicion. Had the kingroot really been "boiled away"?

It wasn't just a promise; it was a key. The descent into the Labyrinth of Roots was like walking into the nervous system of a god. We entered through the basement of the old Plaza Hotel, where the roots had smashed through the foundation. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and damp earth, the walls draped in glowing, fibrous webs that reacted to our touch. Every time my skin brushed a root, I felt a flicker of someone else’s memory—a trader’s greed, a mother’s hope, a child’s fear. The tree was absorbing the "Mercy Flood" and processing it, turning human emotion into a power source.

"She said the only monument she needed was the fact that you can all breathe without a subscription." ​The Return to the Roots ​They lowered the casket into the dark, rich Siberian soil. As the first handful of earth hit the wood, the Heart-Tree began to pulse. ​Massive, glowing roots spiraled upward from the ground, wrapping around the casket and pulling it deep into the planetary network. It wasn't a burial; it was an Integration. Elena Vane was becoming the literal foundation of the Earth’s defense.

She shook the jar of jasmine gently, the scent drifting from the shaken jar. "It's this. It's roots that anchor you to the earth and flowers that hide you from the dark. It's cooking. It's gardening." Thorpe looked at the jars, then back at her face. He saw the terrifying resolve of a mother preparing to use soup ingredients to fight a necromancer. "We have forgotten," Thorpe admitted, his voice raspy. "The Council... we have been looking at the sky for so long, we forgot to look at the ground." Leela looked down at the Iron Root and Moon Jasmine in her hand, her knuckles turning white.

I pointed to the fresh root on the side. "Eat the root Daemon. It is part of the experience." He grabbed a piece. He bit into it. His face immediately twisted. He looked like he had bitten into a lemon. "It’s bitter!" He cried. Sophie smiled. It was a soft kind of expression. "Roots are often bitter, Little Prince. But they are good for the body. They make you strong." "I will only eat the sweet one." Daemon declared. He went back to the chicken. He was stuffing his mouth as if he hadn't eaten in a week.

I'm going to win and it knows it. It takes more power than you could imagine, pulling all the poison from the Earth itself. Thankfully it isn't too far deep in the ground. Just at the level of the roots. But I'm wearing down fast. I'm not going to get all of it, but it will be enough for the Earth to start healing itself.

"You are making the planet look like a dream again. They cannot find the dirt because they cannot see through the light." Suddenly the ground moved. It was not a ship. It was something from under the dirt. A massive black root burst out of the ground near Junes mother. It was not made of wood. It was made of the black metal as the Investors ships. "The plants!" the soldier yelled. "They are not just growing up. They are growing down into us!" June watched with horror. The roots started to wrap around the survivors legs. They were not crushing them. They were plugging into them like charging cables.

They explained the situation to us while wiping away their tears. They'd run out of wild vegetables to harvest over the past few days, and their children had been unable to bear the hunger. As such, they'd risked going past the borders to look for food and found a strangely shaped root sprouting green shoots growing out of the ground. They didn't dare eat the root, but the shoots were very tender, so they'd picked a bit for their children to try. As a result, something had gone wrong. After they were finished with their explanation, they handed over the remaining shoots.

"Not because the Resting is over—because the waking has begun. The roots are growing again." A young witness raised her hand. "What are the roots growing toward?" Rowan looked at Clara, who was sitting in the soil, her hands buried in the earth. "They are growing toward her. She is the future. The roots want to hold her." Clara looked up at Rowan and smiled. She did not understand his words, but she understood his presence. She reached out her small hand, and he took it. "The roots are in you too," Rowan said. "You are the root of the waking."