A full month had passed since the stars bled in the Pavilion, and the world had turned into a dark, silent graveyard.
The "Great search" had officially begun. Kṣaya's army, thousands of soldiers in dark Black-Thorn armor, marched into every kingdom. They were not looking for soldiers or rebels.
They were looking for the daughter of the High Priestess.
In the Plant World, time works differently. A girl who is one hundred years old is like a twenty-year-old in the human world. Since people usually live for five hundred years—or a thousand if they are powerful—this is the age when a girl is in her prime.
Kṣaya's order was simple and scary: every girl near the age of one hundred was to be taken from her home. It didn't matter who she was. If she was in that age group, she was a target.
The search was brutal. The sound of heavy metal boots on stone became the sound of fear. Soldiers would break into houses in the middle of the night. They ignored the screams of parents and the cries of brothers.
Any girl of that age was tied up in chains that drained her strength. They were tossed into iron carriages like animals. Thousands of these girls were pulled toward the capital in long, sad lines that stretched for miles.
In the high, cold halls of the palace, Kṣaya sat on his Crimson Throne.
Standing next to him was the Second Elder of the Celestial Sect. He was now a silent prisoner. The situation was a tragedy.
When the Great Master Zenith had been possessed by the stars, the power was too much for his body. He was now in a deep sleep.
Because the Master was powerless, the Second Elder had made a sacrifice. He ordered the other disciples to take the unconscious Master and run away to their sect.
"Go!" the Second Elder had told them. "If I stay here, the King will not hunt you. I will stay so you can protect the Master."
He knew he was not as good as the Grand Master but since master was not in a position to protect he will do whatever it takes it to protect his sect.
The Second Elder was now Kṣaya's only tool. He was the only one who could check the souls of the thousands of girls being brought in.
Whenever a new group of girls arrived, they were pushed in front of the throne. Kṣaya would look down at them with sharp, nervous eyes. His eyes were trying their best to hide their nervousness. But this was something which was not seen but felt. And everyone felt his insecurity.
"Check her," he would shout.
The Second Elder would step forward with shaking hands. He checked every forehead, looking for a pure white gemstone or any ancient seal that might be hidden there. He searched for the mark of the High Priestess, but none of them was successful. Every time he failed to find the mark, Kṣaya grew more restless.
If a girl looked like the High Priestess, or if she was stronger than average, Kṣaya would not let her go. He was looking for any sign of the "Hand of Creation."
If a girl showed even a one percent chance of being powerful, Kṣaya would call forth the Lava-Flytrap. The grey and red plant would hiss with a deadly heat.
With a fast, cruel move, he would strike. He didn't just kill the girl; he took her soul essence away. He was destroying an entire generation of girls just to make sure he didn't miss the one from the prophecy.
Outside the palace, the world was changing. The story of the bleeding stars and the Great search was the only thing people talked about.
They no longer saw Kṣaya as a God. Instead of fear, people felt a strange sense of relief. They realized the King was finally afraid. They saw his killing as a sign that the prophecy was real.
They began to curse him in secret. They prayed for the safe return of their true saviour—the girl born to bring the Decay. For the first time in hundred years, the people were united by hope. They hoped the Hand of Creation was out there, growing strong in the shadows while the King screamed in his palace.