The little girl stepped into the room.
Her feet were bare. Mud trailed behind her, delicate prints soaking into the wood. She didn't seem to notice—or care. Her doll dangled from one hand, its button eyes staring in opposite directions.
Kael didn't move.
The root beneath his skin writhed with slow hunger, sensing something off in the girl's presence. Not danger. Not yet.
But not right either.
"I don't see many travelers," she said, her voice soft, brittle. "They come through sometimes. But they don't stay."
Kael watched her eyes. Wide. Reflective. Too still.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"They call me Pith."
The name settled strangely in the air.
"And you?"
Kael considered lying. But the root did not like deception—it gnawed at him when he veered from its instinct.
"Kael."
Pith blinked slowly. "You're bleeding."
He glanced down. His palm had stopped weeping blood, but the cut remained open—barely closed, skin pink and raw.
He flexed it. The pain was gone.
"I was scrying," he said, as if that explained anything.
But Pith nodded. "Did it scream?"
Kael's eyes narrowed.
She stepped closer, doll swinging gently from her hand.
"They always scream. When the Black Temple shows up. It doesn't like being seen."
Kael crouched, just enough to meet her eye level. "You've seen it before?"
Pith tilted her head the other way, a slow puppet-like motion.
"I dreamed about it once. Mama said not to talk about the temple. Said it wasn't there unless you believed in it. So I stopped dreaming."
A faint hum stirred in Kael's skull. The root pulsed once, like a heartbeat echoing through bone.
[Cognitive Interference Detected]
[Root System Synchronization: 22%]
Kael stood.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
The girl didn't argue. But she didn't leave either.
Instead, she walked to the window, placed her hand on the glass, and whispered, "They're going to open it soon."
"Open what?"
But she was already turning.
"The cage."
A gust of cold wind pushed through the window frame, and the candle on Kael's table guttered low. The shadows behind him shifted again, curling tighter.
When he turned back, Pith was gone.
Only the faint muddy footprints remained.
Kael didn't sleep.
The root didn't allow it—not when it was hungry, not when it smelled something stirring.
The basin on the table was still empty. But sometimes, when he looked too long, he swore he saw a face reflected in the dry porcelain. Eyes like candleflames. Smiling.
He watched the city from the window. Listened.
The streets whispered.
Not voices. Not exactly. Just pressure. Like something crawling just beneath the skin of the world.
He'd felt it before—in tombs, in cursed temples buried beneath mountain ranges, in cities that had long since been claimed by roots and rot.
But this one was alive.
This city bled.
By morning, the air outside reeked of ash and wet copper. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang. Not a church bell. A warning bell.
Kael dressed quickly. Pulled on gloves to hide the marks growing up his arms—thin red filaments, threading beneath his skin like vines under bark.
He descended the stairs, each groan of the wood echoing louder than it should've.
The inn was empty.
No guests. No innkeeper.
Only the faint sound of something dripping in the back room.
He didn't check it.
Outside, the city felt changed.
People walked faster. Merchants barked louder, but their eyes darted too often. Soldiers moved in small patrols. Dogs barked at nothing.
And above it all—far, far above—a spire of black stone now visibly clawed toward the sky.
The temple had risen.
By midday, Kael had made his way through three different districts.
The pulse of the city beat louder here. More chaotic. The root stirred with every step, tasting fear and sweat and whispers.
He passed a man on his knees, muttering prayers to something unnamed.
Passed another with a bleeding eye, laughing as he threw coins into a fountain choked with red petals.
Children sang songs in alleyways, the lyrics wrong somehow, twisted into shapes not meant for mortal tongues.
And then—
A familiar scent.
Dried lilies. Copper.
Pith.
She was waiting.
Not in the streets—but in the Reflection Quarter, a long-abandoned part of the city where every surface had once been polished to mirror sheen. Now, most were cracked. Shattered.
She stood beside a broken statue of a weeping woman, her doll now missing an arm.
"You followed it," she said.
Kael approached slowly. "The temple?"
She shook her head. "The call."
Then her hand reached out.
And she placed something cold and small into his palm.
A tooth.
Carved from bone. Etched with a symbol—an eye with roots growing from it.
Kael recognized it instantly.
[Root Sigil: Acquired]
[Synchronization: 28%]
"I can't go further," she said.
"Why?"
She looked up at him. Her eyes no longer wide. No longer hollow.
But old.
"I've been here too long."
Then she turned to leave.
And her shadow didn't follow.
Kael stood alone.
The tooth in his hand burned softly.
And somewhere, deep in the city's belly, the Black Temple pulsed.
Waiting.
Breathing.
Calling.
Kael smiled.
And began to walk toward it.
End