The quiet did not last.
Far beneath the Fork, there was a stirring—a muted pulse that spread outwards. It was not sound, nor was it a normal vibration, but something stranger, older.
It was as though a call written in the very bones of the world, upwards from the hidden roots beneath.
The stones underfoot trembled as if they were stunned, struggling to recall what shape they were meant to assume, what purpose they were forged for.
Nyra stopped suddenly, her sword still damp with spectral ichor. "Did you feel that?"
Kaito nodded slowly. The Reaver's sigil on his arm flared, black-red tendrils of light twisting beneath his skin. "The Root." His voice was low, almost lost to the heavy static creeping along the horizon. "It's waking."
Farid moved closer, one hand still pressed to his side. "No. That's impossible. The Root was tied—buried in the Dominion's code, locked down by the Architects. Unless." He paused. His lips tightened. "Unless someone's been writing over it."
