A ringing of steel, a slam of the hammer, and the unmistakable chimes of star energy echoed through the still air.
The monster screamed, petals flying from its desiccated form as star energy blasted at its body. Insectoid eyes widened in utter panic. Filigree wings fluttered manically in an attempt to escape, trying desperately to survive the attack.
Miraculously, the creature survived. Hanging on to life with every fiber of its being, the creature screamed again. Its mind was chaotic, filled with rage and fear and confusion. It was cold. So cold. Where was the warmth? Where had it gone? It had been so warm, once. It could remember the warmth of… It couldn't remember. Why couldn't it remember?
Another blast of star energy rocketed past the creature, and it let out a shriek. The screams of mercy echoed through its scattered brain. One voice floated to the forefront of its consciousness, only to sink away before it could hear the words. How it longed to hear those words again, if only once.
A razor-edged blade shot through the air, slicing through one of its golden wings. The creature faltered, falling to one side, and the blade returned through its heart.
Piercing screams shook the world, and the monster thrashed in its death throes. With its dying breath, the creature turned its attention to the sky.
The stars were beautiful.
And then its body fell apart, scattering into petals.
The one who killed the monster, a youth with skills beyond his years, looked up as petals showered him. His deep blue eyes blinked as one petal floated in place for a moment, then the petals fell to the world below. The pink warrior removed his cutter helmet, dropping it to the crystalline platform below him. It was always painful to kill the Souls. Every time, he could feel a little more of himself dying with the tortured creatures.
Kirby turned and left the petals behind.
Which was why he didn't see the blue petals falling to the world below Floralia.
Far below the battleground of Floralia, on the star-shaped world of Popstar, the Dreamstalk still grew.
The magical vines were not nearly as potent as the ones in Floralia. The magical power of the Dreamstalk was largely exhausted by the insect queen's abuse, leaving the plant largely mundane. By Dreamland standards, at least.
In the rural wilds of Dreamland, far from King Dedede's castle or Meta Knight's flying fortress, a small farm sprawled through a clearing in the forest. It was a family affair, run by a small group of completely different creatures that relied upon each other to manage the farm. Many creatures in Dreamland were dangerous, but the farm persevered.
Apart from the occasional monster attack, the farm was quiet and peaceful. They grew fruits and vegetables, enough to feed themselves and many others. It was a stable business; Whispy kept the forest and everything within healthy.
The setting sun shone off of shiny red tomatoes and turned the field of wheat golden. As the day's work came to a close, one of the farm's inhabitants fluttered away from the farmhouse.
"Barney, make sure ta' be back 'afore dinner, ya hear!"
The orange Bronto Burt turned around to shout back. "I know, Wesley! You tell me every day!"
"And ya always return a little later'n before!" Came the retort. "Just don' git lost again!"
"I won't!" Barney rolled his eyes, flying across the field to scoop up a watering pail with his foot.
Like every day for the past year, Barney flew into the forest. The area within a mile of the farm was usually completely safe, thanks to Wesley and Sina. Of course, Barney was going quite a bit further than a mile away, into Whispy's territory, but the tree was docile. Well, most of the time. It went on a rampage maybe once a month, but the Star Warrior was always there to beat the tree down. Like some sort of ritual.
The edge of the farm's territory was clearly delineated by the plant life. At the border of Whispy's part of the forest, the plants grew upwards and closely together, making a wall that was nigh-impassable by normal means. It never really worked, though. Almost every inhabitant of Dreamland had some way to travel beyond simply walking. Barney himself had wings, allowing him to hover over the barrier of plants.
Everyone at the farm knew where Barney went every night. They'd all surreptitiously followed him on one occasion or another, and then gotten chewed out by everyone else for doing so. It wasn't like we was actively hiding it, though. He had no real secrets.
Barney floated up a nearly invisible path to a secluded clearing far into the forest. It was deep into the nearly uncharted depths of Whispy's domain. As far as Barney knew, he was the first one to discover it.
He emerged into the sunlight to see a dazzling array of colors and shapes. Flowers from all over Popstar had, at one point or another, been transplanted to this grove. Most of them Barney had bought himself, specifically to plant here. Others were there naturally.
Rings of flowers made a pattern of concentric circles, with arcing rows forming curved segments. Viewed from above, the field looked like an open rose.
Pop flowers, starbuds, lavabloom, dreampetal, heartleaf, and fairy roses ringed the central attraction, the one that had inspired Barney to start the flower garden in the first place.
A towering Dreamstalk vine, growing from the very center of the field. The sunlight had done it good, but when Barney had found the fine it had been shriveled. Through months upon months of care, his loving touch had restored the Dreamstalk to health, and then further beyond. In the recent months, it had flourished and begun to develop flowerbuds. The smaller flowerbuds on the base of the stalk had bloomed already, emerging into beautifully orange and pink flowers. The biggest flowerbud, at the very top of the Dreamstalk, had yet to open. It mildly worried Barney, since the bud only grew bigger and bigger over the months without opening. At this point it was beginning to bend the whole stalk with its mass. Hopefully it was just still growing.
Barney set to work, watering the flowers in his little garden. He was happy with this, keeping the flowers happy. It was a nice way to spend his evenings.
In the bud, which was more like a cocoon, something shifted in its slumber.