The Forkroot no longer slept. It dreamed in motion.
Kaito and Nyra walked beyond the plateau, and the land adapted—not in convulsions or mutations of violence, but with quiet intent.
Trees rearranged themselves behind them like closing parentheses. Rocks fell into new patterns underfoot. Paths opened not because they were walked, but because the Fork had begun to anticipate.
Kaito didn't mention it. He didn't need to. Nyra felt it too—the rhythm of this place shifting from reactive to proactive. The Fork wasn't landscape anymore.
It was waiting.
"Where are we even going?" Nyra asked at last, her voice low as they traversed a slope threaded with old user interface detritus—textboxes burst open like fossils. "'Press X to—' what? There's nothing here anymore.".
"There's something," Kaito said. "It's just not looking for players."
Nyra gave him a sidelong glance, then kicked a rusted data fragment off the edge of a ledge. It spiraled into mist, vanishing before it hit the ground.
