Roots of the Ash Tree, Part 3

Norah waited at the split in the garden path, her body squared off against the world like a final defense. Her arms folded tightly beneath her breasts, hands tucked beneath opposite elbows, chin lifted just enough to suggest “Don’t come closer” even as her eyes—shadowed by bamboo leaves—couldn’t help but track every movement. The sunlight reached through the dense stand of bamboo, striping her face with narrow bands of gold and deep blue, catching in the ringlets of her hair and the fine sheen of sweat at her temples.

Even now, even after everything, she looked like the kind of woman who could face down a boardroom or a firing squad and walk away intact.

Andy approached at the front of the group, a deliberate choice. He set his stride to casual, careful not to telegraph ambush or judgment. The rest of the harem followed: Dawn just behind his shoulder, a few nervous steps ahead of Erin, who glided with that impossible physical grace and total lack of shame; Emi and Riley kept to themselves, walking shoulder to shoulder, Emi’s six arms folded in a synchronized tableau of anxiety and hope; Chloe and Claire flanked Marissa and Emily, the four of them forming a subtle buffer that said “We’re here, but we’re not going to crowd you unless you want it.”

When the procession stopped, Andy let the quiet settle for a few breaths. He studied Norah, watched how her jaw tightened and loosened, how her chest rose and fell just a touch faster than she wanted to let on. She stood her ground, but it was a ground defined mostly by empty space—no one on her side but the wind and the whisper of leaves.

He met her gaze and held it, giving her a chance to look away or challenge him. She did neither.

“I know what you’re doing,” Andy said, keeping his tone low and steady. “You’re trying to prove you’re stronger than the moment. That you can handle everything on your own.”

Norah’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t answer. There was a beat where she looked past him, at the whole group, as if cataloguing the risks of letting them any closer. Her arms crossed even tighter.

Andy didn’t push. He knew better—Norah’s pride wasn’t a thing to be bullied or cajoled, but it was a wall that craved a door.

He waited. Let the sun move another inch on the dial. Then said, “Real strength isn’t about how much you can carry by yourself. It’s about knowing when to let someone help.”

A ripple went through her, barely perceptible unless you knew to look for it. The tiniest sag in her shoulders, a thinning of the hard line between her brows. For a second, Andy thought she’d spit out something defensive, a joke or a jab. Instead, she inhaled slow and deep, then let the air leave her in a trembling hush.

“I’m not used to being rescued,” Norah said, the words flat but honest. “I never wanted to be a charity case.”

“You’re not,” Andy said. “No one here is. You’re one of us. That’s all that matters.”

She nodded, barely. Then, after a pause: “Part of me is still waiting for Arabella to say she was joking about the veto. That it was all just a mindfuck, and I’ll wake up tomorrow with my suitcase in the driveway.” She laughed, a brittle sound. “The other part of me wants to punch the sky for a second chance.”

Erin stepped forward, hands on hips, breasts defiant to the laws of physics and social convention. “That’s the thing, Tabs,” she said, using the nickname with the kind of affection only former adversaries ever managed. “You don’t need a veto to earn your place. You’ve done it a hundred times over.”

Norah barked a laugh, but it softened at the edges. Her arms uncrossed, fingers flexing once, then again, like she was shaking off a cramp that had gone too long ignored.

Dawn was next, her approach careful but confident. She walked up to Norah, reached out, and took her hand—no ceremony, no asking, just a warm, gentle grip. In another life, Norah would have snatched her hand away, or at least gone stiff at the contact. Now, though, she let the touch happen. She even squeezed back, once, and Dawn smiled.

“For the record,” Dawn said, “you’re not the only one who’s scared. We’re all here because someone else cared enough to drag us out of our own mess. That’s not weakness.”

Andy reached over, resting a hand on Norah’s shoulder. He could feel the heat radiating off her, the tension still holding her together, but he could also feel the slow melt of walls coming down. Her eyes looked up at him with a mixture of fear, stubbornness, and hunger.

“You don’t have to forgive the world for what it’s done to you,” Andy said, his voice so quiet only Norah and Dawn could really hear it. “You just have to give yourself permission to move forward.”

Norah nodded, her jaw set, but the look in her eyes was changed—softened, if not surrendered.

Dawn let go of her hand, and for a heartbeat Norah looked lost, like she wanted to grab it back. Instead, she took a breath, then stepped forward, integrating herself into the loose circle of the group. She stood a little apart, still, but her stance had changed: she was with them, not against them.

Marissa gave a small, approving nod. Chloe, emboldened, offered Norah a shy smile, and Emi saluted with two right hands, the gesture equal parts dorky and heartfelt. Erin watched all of this with the keen eye of a woman who recognized her own struggle in someone else and respected the hell out of it.

Andy took a step back and surveyed the group. There was no fanfare, no final line to draw under the moment. But when Norah relaxed, even just a fraction, it was enough. The circle was whole again.

The light shifted, brighter now, and the shadows beneath the bamboo moved as if to make room for all of them.

They moved forward together, toward whatever the next moment would bring.

The path wound uphill now, sloping gently toward the rise that marked the edge of the bamboo grove. The group moved together, bodies casting elongated shadows in the white-bright sun, but the easy unity from a moment ago wavered as they spotted Sam and Liesa standing by the high stone lantern at the top of the path. The wind caught in the bamboo, making the leaves clatter and hiss; every so often, a stalk creaked, and a single shaft of sunlight cut through to gild the spot where Liesa stood.

Sam planted herself squarely in front, arms crossed, chin raised in challenge. She wasn’t angry, exactly, but there was a set to her jaw that said, You’re not getting past me unless you’re here to make this right. Liesa was a step behind her, half-shielded by Sam’s frame, her own body folded inward—shoulders rolled, head down, fingers worrying at the hem of her skirt. She looked smaller than Andy remembered, like the weeks here had shrunk her into the shape of a guilty child. Even the bright strawberry of her hair seemed muted in the harsh light.

As the group crested the rise, the hush fell. No one spoke; the only sound was the hush and chitter of the bamboo, the faint echo of the sea. Andy slowed, letting the others catch up to him, then waited for Sam to make the first move.

She did, but not with words. She uncrossed her arms, rested one hand on her hip, and fixed Andy with a level, almost surgical stare. It was the look of someone who knew every secret you’d ever tried to hide and was giving you one last chance to confess.

He met her gaze, nodded in greeting. “Hey, Sam. Liesa.”

Liesa’s eyes flicked up, then away again. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then tried again. When she spoke, her voice was thin but determined, just barely above the wind.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking not at Andy but at the whole group. “I don’t know how to say it better, so… I’m just sorry. There are no more excuses. I was afraid, and I let that guide me, and now it’s all I have left.” The words wobbled, but she didn’t break. “I wanted to be worthy of this. Of all of you. And I ruined it instead.”

She let the silence hang, almost as if daring anyone to answer.

No one did, not at first. Then Sam reached back, slow and deliberate, and caught Liesa’s hand in hers. She didn’t turn or look at her, but she threaded their fingers together and squeezed—once, hard—then held on.

Dawn stepped forward, breaking the stalemate. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then looked Liesa straight on, her voice softer than Andy had ever heard it. “You know,” she said, “I used to be afraid of everything. Saying the wrong thing, losing my job, letting people down. I hid behind polite smiles and good manners, and it never made anything better.”

She moved closer, so she stood level with Sam and Liesa, then spoke directly to Liesa. “Your silence hurt me,” she said, no accusation, just a fact. “But I refuse to let something that stupid ruin what we built. I don’t want to lose you over a lie that never had to be told.”

Dawn opened her arms, offering—not demanding—a hug. “I forgive you,” she said, and the words had a weight that settled over everyone.

Liesa froze, her face pinched and disbelieving. For a second, Andy thought she’d bolt, but instead she stepped into the hug like it was a dare. Her hands clung to Dawn’s shoulders, tentative at first, then crushingly tight. She pressed her face into Dawn’s neck and started to cry—noisy, hiccuping sobs that wracked her whole body. Dawn just held her, murmuring soft nothing words in Flemish, which made Liesa cry harder.

Andy didn’t have the heart to mention that the words Dawn was mangling were a repetitition of soup, bed, beach towel, pineapple, and apology. He supposed the intention was what counted.

Norah snorted, then stepped up and clapped Dawn on the back, joining the embrace by **** of will. “Let’s not make a habit of this, okay?” she said, voice thick with emotion she refused to admit was there.

Liesa nodded, still crying. “I promise,” she said. “I’ll be better. I have to be.”

Sam was next, encircling the three women with her arms, squeezing Liesa so hard her breath hitched. “We’re all just trying not to fuck up,” she muttered. “Welcome to the club.”

Andy hung back, watching the three of them—four, counting Norah—weld themselves together. He felt the ripple of relief spread through the group: Emi smiled with all six hands clasped over her heart, Chloe wiped tears from both cheeks, Marissa gave a brisk, approving nod, and even Riley had the decency to look away so she didn’t ruin the moment with sarcasm.

Emily, who’d kept to the edge of the group until now, stepped closer and offered her hand to Claire. Claire took it, no hesitation, and the two of them linked pinkies and grinned like kids in on a secret.

Andy watched as the small hug at the center grew, the rest of the harem drawn in by gravity or need or the sheer impossibility of staying away. Erin looped an arm around Norah and squeezed; Emi and Chloe fell in together; Marissa patted Liesa’s back and offered a tissue, which Liesa took with a sodden laugh; Riley stood just outside, arms crossed, but with a look on her face that said maybe she wished she was in the middle too.

Claire, never one to waste a chance, scribbled on her pad and passed it to Emily, who read it, smiled, and then showed it to Andy. The note said:

Nobody is ever alone again.

He looked at Claire, and she gave him a small, shy thumbs up. He returned it.

For a long minute, the whole circle stood there, arms linked, the breeze rattling the bamboo and the sunlight painting all their faces. Even after Liesa’s tears slowed, no one let go. It was as if the hug was a spell that had to be held for just a little longer, or everything would fall apart again.

Andy caught Sam’s eye over the tangle of shoulders and hair. She nodded at him, and he nodded back, an entire conversation passing in the space of that look: Thank you. No, thank you. Don’t let go.

He didn’t. Not ever, if he could help it.

After the hug finally broke, the collective warmth of the group settled into a kind of giddy anticlimax. The women peeled away one by one, each finding their own comfortable distance while still staying close enough to touch or nudge if needed. It was the first time Andy could recall the whole harem standing together without a single person angling to leave. Even Riley, who wore the hug like it was a dare, didn’t bail immediately. She just uncrossed her arms and hooked her thumb in her jeans pocket, squinting up at the sun with a look of private satisfaction.

The bamboo made a sound like applause as the wind shifted, and for a second nobody spoke. Then Erin, emboldened by the fresh air and her own nudity, lobbed the obvious question at the group: “So, what’s our over-under on the next challenge? I’m betting it involves at least two public humiliations, one food-related trauma, and a mechanical bull.”

“I hope it’s not another bikini thing,” Chloe said, blushing but smiling. “I don’t have enough clothes left as it is.”

“I could lend you a scarf,” Norah offered, then caught herself and snorted. “On second thought, I might need it more than you.”

Sam, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the drama, finally piped up. “You know, I heard a rumor it’s a talent show this time. Like, full-on America’s Got Harem.”

Andy laughed. “That would be a mercy.”

The small talk rolled on, everyone pitching their own guesses, but Andy noticed Emi was standing a little apart, arms folded in a pretzel around herself, her eyes flitting from one face to the next with barely disguised anxiety. Every few seconds, two of her hands would start smoothing her dress or playing with her hair, while another pair picked at her bracelet, and the rest fidgeted in the air like a malfunctioning octopus.

Andy drifted over. “You okay?” he asked, keeping his voice soft so it wouldn’t turn into a group discussion.

Emi’s six hands froze mid-motion. “Oh! Yes, I’m fine. Sorry. I just—” She shook her head, then **** a smile. “It’s silly. I get nervous before every challenge, and it makes the arms… extra.”

“Not silly,” Andy said, but he gave her a look that invited more.

She bit her lip, then glanced over at the others. “It’s just… the last transformation? The one I got after the second round? I’ve been thinking about it all night and I don’t know if I should try it or just let it go.”

Andy nodded. “The Gotta Kiss Them All one?”

“Yeah.” Emi’s cheeks turned pink, and she shifted her weight, her six arms all tucking in at different places. “I know it’s just a game, and we’ve all seen way worse, but… I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

Dawn, who apparently had hearing tuned to the word “uncomfortable,” appeared at Emi’s side like a summoned spirit. “You wanna talk about it?”

Emi shrank a little. “Not unless you all want to hear—”

“—She has to kiss everyone,” Andy cut in, grinning. “For science.”

Dawn’s eyes widened, then she burst out laughing. “That’s amazing. Wait, what’s the reward?”

Emi shook her head. “I don’t know. Arabella didn’t say. She just said if I manage it, I get a VP reward. Or, you know, mortification.”

Dawn clapped her hands. “Do you want to try it? I mean, is it worth it to you?”

Emi hesitated, then nodded. “I think I do? I mean, it could be fun. But… I feel weird about asking.”

Dawn’s answer was to cup Emi’s face with both hands, and plant a quick, smacking kiss right on Emi’s mouth. “There,” she said. “Not weird. That’s what friends are for.” Then she turned, megaphone-loud: “Hey everyone! Emi has to kiss all of us for her new challenge! If you’re not into it, say so now, or forever hold your peace.”

The group whiplashed toward them in unison, half of them breaking into laughter, the other half freezing like rabbits under a spotlight. Emi’s blush deepened, but Andy saw the knot of nerves unspool a little—she was still anxious, but now it was the excited kind.

Chloe raised her hand, her face beet-red but determined. “Are we talking, like, a real kiss? Or just a peck?”

Dawn shrugged. “Your call, I guess. Emi, you want to clarify?”

Emi looked at Andy, then at the group. “It doesn’t specify,” she said. “I guess as long as it’s, you know, a kiss. Not on the shoe or the elbow or something.” She giggled, instantly mortified by her own joke.

Norah cracked her knuckles, then grinned. “Well, let’s not drag this out. I’ve been through worse on spring break.” She stepped forward, arms wide. “You want top left, top right, or straight on?”

Emi tried to answer but only managed a squeak. Norah grinned wider, then, surprisingly gentle, cupped Emi’s cheek and pressed a quick, businesslike kiss to her lips. “For the record, you’re a better kisser than half my exes,” she said, loud enough for the peanut gallery.

Emi covered her face with two hands, but her giggles slipped out anyway.

Marissa approached, looking a little uncertain but not unwilling. “Is this the line?” she asked. “Or do we need to draw numbers?”

“Come on, Rissy, live a little,” Erin said, giving Marissa a not-so-gentle nudge in the small of her back.

Marissa’s eyes darted to Andy, then to Emi. “I haven’t kissed anyone in the last twelve hours,” she deadpanned, “so this will be a refreshing change.”

She leaned in, her lips cool and careful, a gentle press that was over before Emi even realized it. “There,” Marissa said. “Not so scary.”

Erin was next, already rolling her eyes at the entire production. “Oh, please,” she said, “I’ve made out with three of you already and I’m still alive.” She stepped in, took Emi’s face in both hands, and gave her a kiss that was more of a dare than anything else—slow, firm, almost comically intense.

Emi wobbled on her feet, eyes wide.

Erin grinned. “You ever want lessons, call me.” She winked at Andy, who had to admit he was a little impressed.

Sam strode up with mock seriousness, hands on hips. “I only do tongue if there’s a cash prize, just so you know.”

Emi, already overwhelmed, just nodded. Sam bent down and delivered a kiss so quick and soft it might have been an accident. Then she grinned and stage-whispered, “You smell like ginger ale. That’s adorable.”

Emi giggled, covering her mouth with three hands.

Claire was next, and Andy wondered if she’d be shy or analytical. She surprised everyone by stepping up, scribbling quickly in her notebook, then tearing out the page and handing it to Emi. It said:

Permission granted. Please proceed.

Emi looked at her, uncertain, but Claire just nodded, her ears perked and tail swishing in a lazy arc.

Emi leaned in, hesitated, then gave Claire a quick, sweet kiss on the lips. Claire blinked, then smiled—a full-face, unguarded smile that made Andy’s heart kick in his chest.

Liesa, for her part, looked terrified. Her hands fluttered at her waist, and she kept glancing at Sam as if for instructions. Sam stepped in, put a reassuring arm around Liesa’s shoulder, and said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“It’s okay,” Liesa said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to.” She swallowed, then stepped forward and pressed her lips to Emi’s, eyes squeezed shut. When she pulled back, she was blushing so hard it looked like a rash, but she smiled, trembling.

Chloe looked even more anxious, hands twisting in her cardigan. She met Emi's eyes, then looked away, then back again. "Could you—" she swallowed hard, "could you close your eyes? I can do it, I just... I can't if you're looking at me."

Emi nodded and immediately squeezed her eyes shut. "Like this?"

"Perfect," Chloe whispered, and after a moment's hesitation, Emi felt the soft press of lips against her own—quick but unmistakably real. When she opened her eyes, Chloe had already retreated a step, her hair falling in a curtain to hide her flushed face. "You're braver than me," she said, and Emi squeezed her hand in solidarity.

Riley was last. She shrugged, then said, “Better get it over with. The more you wait, the weirder it gets.”

She stepped in, caught Emi’s chin, and delivered a kiss that was soft, warm, and surprisingly gentle. When she pulled away, her mouth twisted in a smirk. “Not bad,” she said. “But don’t get cocky.”

Emily stood at the very end, her hair a gold-and-pink veil. She looked at Emi, then at Andy, then at the rest of the group. “Is there a protocol for this?” she whispered.

Dawn, ever the helper, offered, “Kinda like this.” She stepped forward and planted a kiss on Emily’s mouth before the other woman could react. Emily’s eyes went wide, her cheeks flushed pink, but she didn’t interrupt the kiss. Andy recalled her words from earlier in the day: that Dawn had likely dreamed about her and would be attracted to her today, while Emily would feel a similar attraction. He felt a slight stab of jealousy, but stomped it into the ground. Sam whooped.

When Dawn released Emily, the bunny girl’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “I… uh…” she stammered, embarrassed. “I don’t know what happened, I’m sorry!” She said. Emily blushed.

“It’s okay. It’s one of my transformations.” She looked at the other women. “I guess… I guess I should warn you. Now that I am in the harem, each night one of you at random will dream of… of me. And when you do, you’ll be attracted to me the next day. And I’ll feel it too. I’m sorry,” she said, blushing, “It doesn’t actually mean anything, but I can’t control it.” She looked at Andy apologetically. The other women stared at her, Dawn’s face beet red.

Slightly mortified, Emily reached out, took Emi’s hand, and kissed her lips quickly. “Thank you,” she whispered, and Emi smiled, holding the contact a second longer than necessary.

Afterward, Emi stood there, looking both dazed and delighted. Andy grinned. “Well?” he asked. “Did you get your reward?”

Emi waited a beat, then blinked as if waking up. “Oh! Yes—I mean, I think so.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if checking the internal dashboard. Then she laughed, a high, bright sound. “Yes! It says I unlocked the next goal.”

Gotta Kiss Them All - Quest Complete! +4 VP
Gotta Kiss Them All -> Gotta Grope Them All

Dawn bounced in place. “What is it?”

Emi read from an invisible prompt: “Congratulations! You have completed the Kissing Quest. For your next task, you must—” she paused, incredulous, “—‘Master the Art of the Grope. Grope everyone in your harem.’” She looked up, six hands in the air. “Is that even possible?”

The women all burst out laughing. Riley said, “Not with those arms, it isn’t. But I dare you to try.”

Emi glanced at Andy, as if to ask for permission. He shrugged. “We don’t have time now, but you can always put in a good groping later.” He chuckled, and Emi turned red.

“Next time,” Erin said, “I want to pick the transformation. These are way more fun than the ones I get.”

Norah cracked a real, honest-to-god smile, and even Chloe joined in, her eyes shining.

Andy looked around at the group, at the laughter and the easy acceptance, and felt something old and tight in his chest finally start to loosen.

He realized, all at once, that this was what he’d wanted from the beginning. Not the harem, not the power, not even the challenge wins—just this: the sense that they were all in it together, and that maybe, just maybe, they could actually be happy for a little while.

He caught Dawn’s eye, and she blushed as if reading his mind.

“Sorry about Emily, Andy,” she said, voice soft but sure.

Andy shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. As she said, no one can control it.”

Emi, still riding the high of her transformation, turned to Andy and gave him a quick, shy kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For letting me be weird.”

Andy laughed.

The group stepped out from under the shadow of the bamboo and onto the open plaza, where the whole world seemed to pause—just for a moment—to witness them.

Andy took a breath, then another, the sharpness of it cutting through the cotton that had filled his head all morning. He looked at the faces before him: bright with tears, or shining with pride, or raw with the ache of what it meant to be seen and loved after so many years in exile. Emi had one arm around Riley, three more gripping Chloe’s hand, and the last two pinwheeling wildly as if to fan the air; Chloe leaned in, her huge, ridiculous breasts sandwiched between the two of them, her eyes red but sparkling with a kind of shy delight. Claire’s tail flicked slowly back and forth, brushing against Emily’s bare thigh in time with the tiny, nervous giggle they shared whenever their eyes met. Marissa stood off to the side, her hand on Dawn’s shoulder, both of them framed by the gold-green shadows that painted the ground at their feet.

Andy found his words not in his mind, but somewhere lower, a place closer to the scar tissue he’d always tried to hide. He spoke, not loudly, but so every woman in the circle could hear.

“I wish I could keep you all safe,” he said, voice just a little rough. “But I can’t promise there won’t be another elimination. Or that the game won’t try to take what we’ve built here, and break it. That’s how it works. That’s what it was designed to do.”

A murmur ran through the group—an exhale, a nod, the subtle squeeze of hand in hand.

“But what we’ve made,” Andy continued, “it’s not a trick. Not a script. We chose each other. And nothing they throw at us can change that.”

He paused, swallowing the thickness in his throat. “We walk into this together. Like a family. And nothing—no magic, no game, no Host—can take that away from us.”

No one cheered, but the effect was better: the women drew closer, some holding hands, others simply leaning in, shoulder to shoulder, as if proximity itself could hold the universe in place. There were more tears now, but there was also laughter, and the kind of joy that comes only after a storm.

Claire, never one to let a moment pass, scribbled a note and held it up for everyone:

We will win. Together.

Erin, catching the message, smirked and threw her arm around Norah, who pretended to grumble but didn’t shake her off. Dawn beamed at Liesa, who wiped her nose and smiled, a little wobbly but real. Sam nudged Andy with her elbow, then slipped an arm around his waist, her voice low and certain: “Let’s get it done.”

For a long, beautiful second, the world stood still.

Then the hush was broken—not by a challenge bell or a burst of music, but by Arabella herself, who appeared at the edge of the plaza in a sweep of pale fabric and sunlight. She moved without hurry, her posture straight as ever, the smile on her lips mysterious as the moon. She surveyed the harem, her eyes lingering on the places where old wounds had knit together, where new trust had formed in the hollows between fingers, in the shadow beneath a shoulder, in the soft catch of a woman’s breath.

She stopped a few feet from Andy, inclined her head in grave respect, and spoke:

“It’s time,” she said, the words clear and weightless.

Nobody moved right away, not even Andy. They just looked at one another, drawing in one final lungful of air, one last rush of the warmth they had made together.

Then, as if summoned by a single silent command, the whole group—Andy, Riley, Marissa, Dawn, Erin, Emi, Chloe, Norah, Sam, Liesa, Claire, Emily—turned as one, and walked toward whatever waited.

Together.