I. The exile of the seed
The Nashira wind had no scent. No dampness. No history. The white stone of the valley stretched out in every direction as if the world had been erased by fire before being remembered. Behind it lay the abyss where Sora had been chosen—not as a messenger, but as a vessel. The young woman's body, pale , pulsed with a light that was not her own. Inside, embedded between muscle and sap, something new stirred: the last white root. A self-contained fragment, pure, unconnected to the corrupted web or the all-judging Tree.
Akihiko walked a few steps ahead, the katana wrapped in old cloth on his back. The weight of his decisions seemed to multiply with every step. He was no longer just a brand bearer. Now it was something more ambiguous. More uncertain. He had seen too much. He had forgotten too much, too. He didn't know if what he felt was fear or responsibility, but what he did know was that the world was changing shape, and they were walking on a surface that was being rewritten beneath their feet.
Ikari brought up the rear. In his hands, he held an ancient map that showed not paths, but vibrations. It was an artifact from the Pre-Root period, when the trial had not yet fully spread. According to his notes, there was only one place where a direct connection to the Tree had ever been recorded: Tsugai no Oka , Relay Hill. A mountain that appeared like a stain on clan records. A space without memory.
II. Where the ground does not sing
The three of them walked in silence. They didn't speak, because they knew the root could hear. Not just hear the sound, but sense the conflict in their souls. The white sap, from within Sora, was alive. Not the way a plant lives. It was something else. It didn't seek to expand. It didn't fear the fire. It didn't ask for redemption. It only sought to be born.
But even that seemed to be asking too much.
When they reached the first highlands, the air changed. It stopped flowing. It didn't stop: it simply ceased to be perceptible. Tsugai no Oka was a floating plateau of solid mist, where stones seemed to watch, and the ground returned no sound when walking. Every tree was petrified, not from age, but from the absence of song. There were no insects. There were no echoes. It was a place anemic of memory . It was land without lineage.
Sora knelt in the exact center of the hill. She closed her eyes. She felt the inner vibration move toward her hands. It didn't hurt. But it was a pressure deeper than any wound. It was the certainty that something, inside her, was waiting for the earth to speak to her, so that it could respond with life.
III. The fear that is not said
Akihiko said nothing. Ikari began to draw protective symbols on the stone, but even his ink seemed to slowly fade away, as if the hill couldn't tolerate names.
Then, Sora spoke.
"She wants out," he whispered, touching his chest.
Akihiko approached slowly. His eyes didn't show fear, but rather a kind of deep respect. Not for Sora. For what was inside him. He sat across from her, like witnesses sit at a trial they don't understand, but accept.
" Can you hold her back if she changes?" he asked.
Sora shook his head.
—I'm not holding her back. She's testing me .
IV. In the towers of threat
In Valtoria, far away, Mizuki felt the change. Not by vision. Not by messengers. Her personal sap contracted . An involuntary spasm. The web she had built, her web of false roots, began to send out erratic signals. Her Children of the Void stopped their rituals for no apparent reason. Torsion zones thrummaged without rhythm. Something was being born outside the Tree. Something that didn't respond to song. Not to the Void. Not to judgment. A root that inherited no rules .
"So they found him," Mizuki murmured.
He turned to Naraka, who from the back of the room was tracing circles of corruption on a bone table.
—Tell me you can destroy it before it plants.
Naraka didn't respond with words. He just looked up and smiled.
—Not if she sings first.
V. The outbreak that changes the world
In Tsugai no Oka, the white root sprouted. Not from the ground. But from within Sora's body . A translucent filament emerged from his back, curling like an inverted spiral. It wasn't seeking ground. It was seeking position . As if it knew exactly where to anchor itself.
The ground didn't reject her. Nor did it accept her.
But the root held on just the same.
And then, the singing began.
It wasn't a vowel. It wasn't a sound. It was a note that canceled all others . A vibration so pure it forced the hill to deform. To emit sound for the first time. To remember what had never been sown.
Akihiko closed his eyes.
He saw cities sinking.
He saw the Twelve Families clashing without knowing why. He saw the Original Tree trembling .
He saw Hollow stopping for the first time. Not out of fear. Out of curiosity.
And then he knew.
What Sora had planted was not an alternative root .
It was a new origin .