Kael moved through the ruins like a shadow with memory.
The wind had died hours ago.
Now the silence pressed in heavy, as if the world waited to breathe again.
His hand brushed against the bottle through the folds of his cloak.
It remained cool.
But his arm—
Where the golden lines had surfaced—
It itched.
Not pain.
Just a pull.
A subtle tug beneath the skin, drawing him toward something he couldn't name.
Ahead, a dome-shaped fragment of stone and metal jutted from the sand.
Half buried.
Mostly broken.
But not dead.
Kael stepped through a narrow opening.
Inside: walls covered in fractal script, half-erased by time.
A flickering console pulsed once as he passed.
And in the center—
A figure.
Back turned.
She wore scavenger gear—light, practical, dust-worn.
A short blade strapped to one thigh.
Her hair bound tight.
She didn't startle when Kael entered.
She just said:
"You're glowing."
Kael stopped.
"What?"
The girl turned.
Sharp green eyes.
Dust on her cheeks.
A curious expression that didn't quite reach caution.
She pointed at his arm.
Kael looked down.
The golden lines on his skin were brighter now—thin roots shifting gently beneath the surface.
"They're speaking," she said.
Her voice held the tone of someone used to being right.
Kael narrowed his eyes.
"Who are you?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she walked closer.
Not afraid.
Just measured.
She stopped a pace away and stared at his arm again.
Then tapped her temple.
"I'm Mara. A reader. I speak to the roots. Or… they speak to me."
Kael frowned.
"What are they?"
She gave him a look like he'd just asked what air was.
"They're old. Older than your bones. Older than your language. They write truths into people. Places. Things."
She tilted her head.
"But they don't usually write into living people."
Kael stayed silent.
The bottle pulsed once.
Mara blinked.
She looked down at Kael's side.
"You have one."
It wasn't a question.
Kael stepped back slightly.
"What do you mean, 'one'?"
Mara's gaze didn't leave the bottle.
"They're called origin vessels. Seed-cords. Heartcores. Different names in different tongues. But they all do the same thing."
"What?"
She looked him in the eye.
"They choose."
Kael's fingers curled around the bottle.
"What does that make me?"
Mara didn't smile.
But something in her posture eased.
"Something dangerous. Or something needed."
She turned away and began walking toward the console again.
Kael hesitated.
Then followed.
"We should go," she said. "If you lit up a glyphpath, someone will have seen it."
Kael glanced over his shoulder.
"The ones from before—Gravebound?"
Mara snorted.
"They're scavengers with doctrine. Annoying, but not the worst."
"Then who?"
She looked back at him.
Her voice dropped.
"Archivists. Or worse—Lattice Watchers."
Kael didn't understand.
But he didn't need to.
The bottle throbbed once.
Then stilled.
Mara pulled a folded map from her coat.
Laid it across the flickering console.
"There's a relay in the salt valley. Still functioning. Sort of. We can reach it by dusk tomorrow."
Kael leaned in.
The symbols on the map looked almost familiar.
Like echoes of the lines on his arm.
He looked at her.
"You trust me?"
She didn't look up.
"I don't have to trust you. The roots already marked you."
She glanced at him, finally.
"But if they overwrite you…"
A pause.
"You'll stop being Kael."
The bottle vibrated again.
Not warning.
Not threat.
Just truth.