They walked for hours beneath a sky that never decided what color it wanted to be.
At first it was white, then silver, then something like diluted dusk. The light bled across the horizon in slow, fluid strokes, as if time itself were painting without knowing why. The brothers moved through it wordlessly, the sound of their boots muted by the soft, ash-grey soil that glowed faintly when disturbed.
The plains were endless. Not empty—never empty—but filled with quiet motion. Shapes flickered beneath the surface, like reflections in water, and sometimes, the ground seemed to pulse faintly, syncing with the rhythm of their hearts.
Lucien was the first to notice. "It's breathing," he said softly, eyes tracking the subtle rise and fall beneath his boots.
Adrian paused. The air shimmered faintly around them, carrying a scent like rain on hot metal. He crouched, pressing his palm against the soil. It was warm—too warm—and somewhere deep below, something moved.
Kael's gaze followed the undulating horizon. "It's alive."
{Everything that remembers is alive.}
Eidolon's voice came faintly—less a sound, more a thought pressing against the inside of their skulls. The brothers froze, instinctively glancing toward the sky, though no shape or shadow appeared there.
Lucien's tone was sharp, controlled. "You said the world listens. You didn't say it breathes.
{Listening and breathing are the same thing. One receives. The other answers.}
The silence that followed wasn't empty. The wind carried faint whispers—words in no language any of them knew, threading through the air like voices beneath the surface of a dream.
Adrian straightened, his blue eyes fixed on the horizon. "It's changing again."
And it was.
Far ahead, the plains began to ripple like water touched by wind. Fragments of crystal broke through the surface, rising like slow-growing teeth. Beyond them, faint lights flickered—pale, wandering, like fireflies caught in deep fog.
The brothers moved toward it, drawn without deciding to be. Each step left a fading glow behind them, footprints shining briefly before being swallowed again by the living soil.
As they walked, the air thickened, humming with unseen current. The shapes beneath the ground shifted—sometimes following their path, sometimes moving ahead, as if guiding them somewhere neither human nor safe.
Lucien broke the silence. "Does it feel to you like it's learning us?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately. His hand brushed against one of the low crystals, feeling the faint pulse beneath its surface. The vibration matched his own heartbeat. "No," he said finally. "It's remembering us."
Kael looked over, eyes grey and unreadable. "Same difference."
A faint mist began to rise from the soil, wrapping around their boots, their legs, their hands. The mist was cool at first—then cold, numbing the skin, stealing warmth in quiet sips. Through it, faint strands of light danced—thin as veins, running through the air itself.
{The world does not forget the touch of its makers,} Eidolon whispered. {It only waits for them to return.}
Lucien shivered, though not from cold. "You mean us."
{You. Or what you might become.}
Adrian exhaled slowly, watching his breath merge with the mist. "Then it's watching."
{Always.}
The word lingered like an echo inside bone.
They continued onward, the light of the horizon shifting once more—from silver to faint gold, from gold to a bruised, dim violet. Ahead, the plain began to rise gently, leading toward a ridge where something vast waited just beyond the haze.
Whatever it was, it breathed too.
The ridge was steep. The soil shifted under their boots.
Adrian led the climb. Mist rolled over the rocks, cold against his face. It smelled faintly of metal. Behind him, Lucien breathed steady and quiet. Kael said nothing.
When they reached the top, the world opened up. A wide plain stretched below—flat, silver, glowing faintly. And in the middle of it, something moved.
Adrian crouched. "There."
The others followed his gaze. A large shape dragged itself across the grass, slow and limping. Light pooled around it. Blood—if that's what it was—shone like molten glass.
They moved closer. The creature came into focus.
It looked like a tiger, but taller, longer. Its fur shimmered between silver and white. Two tails swept the ground behind it, both split near the tips. Its ribs showed through its sides. Each breath made the earth pulse faintly beneath it.
Lucien frowned. "It's bleeding out."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "From what?"
No answer.
Adrian approached, hand on the knife at his hip—though he wasn't sure why. The creature lifted its head weakly. Its eyes glowed gold.
He froze.
The voice came without sound.
{You are not of this soil.}
Adrian didn't flinch. "We're not here to hurt you."
{No harm left to give. My light fades.}
Lucien stepped closer. "What did this to you?"
{The trial. This world hunts all who breathe it. Only those who endure are remembered.}
The creature's body trembled. The ground beneath it glowed brighter, as if it was burning from within.
Kael said, "Trial? What kind?"
{The Veins. The first awakens. You will face it soon.}
Its eyes dimmed. Its breathing slowed.
Adrian hesitated, then knelt beside it. "Can we help?"
{You can endure. Or you can break. The world will choose.}
The light under its skin flickered once more—then went out.
Silence.
Lucien stared at the body. "Whatever this place is, it doesn't wait long."
Adrian stood. "Then we don't either."
Kael looked at the horizon. The light there was growing—spreading fast, bright enough to sting their eyes.
The ground hummed beneath their boots. Faint symbols appeared where the creature's blood had fallen, pulsing like a heartbeat.
{When the world breathes again, you will begin to change.}
Eidolon's voice rolled through the air, low and even.
The light rose around them—sharp, white, endless.