Six Seeds Deep

Chapter 1 First Bloom

“Why am I like this?”

I flung myself out of bed, tearing my night clothes from my body to pull on the first shirt and pants I could find. I shoved my Comparative Mythology textbook into my bag, looking at my phone. I had ten minutes to get across campus.

I can make it, I thought, as I grabbed my keys and bolted.

I only needed one more elective to graduate.

Mythology seemed like an easy choice for my last semester.

I’d always liked the subject, at least from what I’d read.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the professor’s reviews or his habit of locking out late students, and now I was mentally kicking myself as I ran out the door.

The quad was already crawling with students, voices echoing off the brick buildings. Fall leaves littered the ground, some trampled to brown mush, others still holding their copper brightness. I kept my head down, dodging around a group of students by the fountain.

I rounded the corner of Morrison Hall—

And slammed into a firm chest.

The impact winded me. Books and papers were scattered, sending academic confetti across the walkway. My bag hit the ground, and I wavered, barely catching myself.

“I’m so sorry!” I dropped to my knees to gather my things, face heating.

“Careful.”

The smooth baritone of the voice made goosebumps rise on my arms, and my heart skip, deep and rich like dark coffee.

A man crouched in front of me, his dark curls falling just past his chin and catching the light, with flawless olive-brown skin. His intense storm-gray eyes met mine. I couldn’t move.

“I—” I cleared my throat. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

He picked up my Mythology textbook and handed it to me, his fingers brushing against mine. The touch lasted just a moment, but it sent a jolt up my arm and left a strange warmth in my stomach. My chest tightened with a sudden urge to move closer.

I pulled my hand back, clenching my fingers around the book.

“Thank you. Sorry again,” I managed, feeling my cheeks burn.

Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before I could recognize it. “You’re in a hurry,” he said.

“Late for class.” I shoved the last of my things into my bag with shaking hands. Why were my hands shaking? “First day. The professor has a rep for locking students out if they’re late, so I really need to—”

“Then you’d better not let me keep you.”

His tone had a sadness that piqued my curiosity.

But I didn’t have time to think about it. I nodded and clambered to my feet. He gracefully rose to his full height, towering above me, watching me with those haunting eyes.

“Thank you,” I said, backing away. “For helping, and… yeah.”

A faint smile quirked his lips. “Good luck, Miss… ?”

“Blumenthal. Melanie.” Why did I tell him that? “I’m—okay, I really have to go now.”

I turned to leave, but my body resisted. It felt like every part of me wanted to go back to him. Still, I forced myself to walk away, trying to ignore the strange pull.

But I still felt his gaze burning between my shoulders with every step.

I crashed through the classroom door with barely two minutes to spare. I moved towards my seat, tripping over another student’s backpack in the process, earning a few snickers from my classmates.

Perfect.

I dropped into an empty seat, letting my forehead drop to the desk with a soft thunk.

“Uh… you good, amor?”

I turned my head to find Luz leaning toward me, her dark coils falling across her face.

Her brow arced in concern. Amy sank into the seat beside me, studying my face.

My best friends and my anchors through a long life of hospital trips, family drama, and heartache.

They knew me well enough to know the shape of my stress, even before I did.

“Rough morning?” Luz asked, moving a paper cup over my desk. “Got your fave.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I mumbled, wrapping my hands around the cup of dirty chai. That initial sip was enough to unwind some of the tightness in my shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Seriously, babe, you look like death,” Amy mused, lips thin with worry. “Are you okay?”

I sighed heavily. My thoughts wandered until I wasn’t in the classroom at all. I was suddenly so cold, darkness pulling me under, while arms held me tightly. A voice cracked over my name. I remembered the radiance of a distant light calling me somewhere I wasn’t sure I wanted to go.

My breath seized.

No. Not now.

I forced my eyes open wider, taking in the classroom around me.

One thing I can see. There was a girl two rows in front in an obnoxiously bright orange sweater.

Two things I can hear. Someone was playing a TikTok video too loudly. The voices of a pair of students laughing together near the window.

Three things I can feel. The warm feeling of the chai between my hands was almost too hot. My sweater felt soft on my skin. The comfort of Luz and Amy pressing close to me, with their shoulders touching mine.

I blinked, and the world came back into focus.

“I’m fine,” I said, taking another breath. I took another sip of chai, more tension unwinding in my muscles. “Didn’t sleep well. Bad dreams.”

“You using that technique Reenie taught you?” Luz asked, her eyes knowing.

I nodded, biting into the inside of my lip.

Amy’s hand squeezed mine. “Take your time. Focus your breathing.”

I smiled, leaning into her. “I’m just flustered from being late. I literally ran into someone on the way here, which didn’t help. Between that and the nightmare, I’m a mess.”

Luz grinned. “Someone cute?”

“Someone—” I started, but paused as Amy tensed beside me.

“Oh, great. He’s here,” she grumbled, nodding toward the front.

I glanced to where she motioned and froze.

Xavier sat three rows in front of us, turned in his seat to look in our direction. His dark eyes caught mine for just a second, and he smirked. That same smile from high school, the one he got when he had leverage and was deciding when to use it.

My stomach clenched.

“Ignore him,” Luz scowled. “He’s not worth the energy.”

The hyperawareness of Xavier’s presence that came over me made my skin crawl.

Then the door swung open. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and the idle chatter died mid-sentence. Professor Ward turned to the door, locking it with a quiet click.

A student appeared behind the door, breathless. “Sorry, I—”

The professor glanced at his watch, then turned to the student.

He motioned to his watch, then turned away, leaving the door locked behind him.

The student’s face fell before he disappeared down the hall.

Professor Ward had a tall, commanding frame, his mess of dark hair brushing his chin.

He silently strode to the desk at the front of the room.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

“Oh gods,” I whispered, sinking low in my seat.

Luz raised a brow. “I mean, he is muy caliente, but maybe not enough for that reaction?”

“He’s the one I literally crashed into on the way here,” I hissed back. I covered my face. “This is a nightmare.”

Luz bit back a laugh. “Graceful.”

“I want to die.”

Amy nudged me. “At least wait until we see what he’s like. Maybe he won’t recognize you.”

Professor Ward set down his leather bag. He shrugged out of his coat, rolling up his sleeves to reveal muscular forearms. Someone behind me sighed.

My mouth went dry as my eyes tracked the array of scars along his arms.

What happened to him? I wondered. He picked up a marker and wrote in clean script:

Professor Kian Ward, Comparative Mythology and Human Symbolism

Then he turned to take us in. His gaze moved across the rows before he landed on me. A chill rippled along my spine. It was like he was looking through me, seeing something I’d kept buried. My face reddened, my body filling with heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

I averted my eyes, heartbeat racing in my throat.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice effortlessly filling the space. “You’ll find your syllabus inside your desks.”

Movement broke out across the room as students opened their desks. I pulled out the packet, skimming over the densely typed material, hoping to distract myself from the weight of his presence.

“I won’t waste time reading this to you,” Ward continued.

“Attendance is required, participation is expected, and late work is not accepted. Your grade will center on a final research portfolio examining a forgotten or near-forgotten deity from any culture. You’ll trace their evolution, decline, and cultural disappearance. ”

He paused. “I want original research. Oral histories, folklore—stories that don’t make it into textbooks.”

“And if I find a single uncited paragraph from Wikipedia,” he arched a brow, “you fail. Immediately.”

A collective chill engulfed the room.

“Now.” He leaned back against the desk, folding his arms over his chest. “Who here can name five gods that have been lost to time?”

Silence.

His gaze found me again. “Miss Blumenthal.”

My head shot up, my face aflame. “Yes?”

“Would you care to enlighten us?”

Every eye turned to me. Luz gave me a thumbs up, and Amy smiled encouragingly.

Xavier’s smirk grew.

I gulped, my fingers clenching against my thighs.

The pressure of all those eyes, and Ward’s most of all, settled heavily on me.

“Um… Amatsu-Mikaboshi? From Japanese mythology. He was a primordial chaos deity. And Coatlicue from Aztec tradition, an earth goddess associated with life and death. The Etruscans had several: Tinia, Uni, Menrva; though some got absorbed into the Roman pantheon rather than forgotten…”

I trailed off, aware suddenly that I’d been performing for him—choosing words carefully, inflecting with confidence I didn’t feel. His attention did something strange to my brain. Ward’s expression was unreadable.

“Interesting choices,” he mused. “You remember the forgotten ones.”

“Isn’t that the assignment?” I asked before I could stop myself.

A few people laughed.

Ward’s lips curved. “Indeed. But most students start with the obvious answers. You went straight to the genuinely lost. The ones whose names most people don’t even recognize anymore.” He paused. “Why is that?”

“I guess they seemed more interesting? It feels… sadder, somehow.”

“Sadder,” he repeated. Then, to the class: “Remember this: gods aren’t always lost because people stop believing. Sometimes they simply change. Shift forms or disappear into new stories, new faces.” His eyes stayed on mine. “Or they’re waiting to be remembered.”

Something in my chest constricted. My dream flickered on the outskirts of my mind.

I dropped my gaze to my wrist, to my birthmark. Six small ovals, rose pink against pale skin, are arranged in an asymmetrical pattern along my skin. I traced them with my thumb and willed my heart to stop racing.

When I looked up, Ward was still watching me. His expression shifted into something softer, almost vulnerable. I wanted to cover my wrist, but his gaze held me in place.

Then he blinked, and the moment shattered.

“Your final portfolio will be due the last week of the semester,” he continued. “No extensions. No exceptions. Choose your deity wisely; you’ll be living with them for the next few months.”

He spent the rest of class outlining expectations. His hypnotic voice wrapped around me, and I only caught maybe half of what he was saying. Every time his gaze found me again, something low in my belly tightened.

When he dismissed us, I shoved my things into my bag.

“Girl,” Luz said as soon as we hit the hallway. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“‘Miss Blumenthal, enlighten us,’” she mimicked. “He was looking at you like you were the only person in the room.”

“He was not—”

“He absolutely was,” Amy cut in. “It was intense.”

“Hot and terrifying,” Luz snickered. “I love that for you.”

“I ran into him in the hallway,” I retorted, my cheeks burning. “It feels targeted.”

As we reached the quad, I looked back. Professor Ward stood in the classroom doorway, partially shadowed. He pulled out something small and silver.

He turned it over once, twice, like a ritual. Then he looked up, eyes finding mine in the crowded hallway as though he’d been searching for me. For one breathless moment, neither of us moved. The rest of the world fell away.

Someone moved between us and, in that single heartbeat of blindness, he disappeared.