Ray moved at dawn, parting from Elric while the boy still slept. The forest mist was thick, curling like ghostly fingers through the underbrush, and the silence had taken on a weight he didn't trust.
Not even birdsong accompanied the wind now—only the hush of ancient trees and the crunch of damp earth beneath his boots. He left no trail, stepping light and slow, suppressing his presence like a shadow among roots and leaves.
The system stayed quiet, almost respectfully, offering no alerts—only a low ambient hum in the back of his mind, as if even it sensed something wrong.
Thornmere was only a short distance from where they'd camped. The forest gave way to a sloping plain, broken by uneven fences and patches of farmland that looked long abandoned. Fields of withered stalks and rotting produce stretched into the haze, half-covered in black mould.
Crows circled overhead in slow spirals, but not a single one dared to land. The village itself sat nestled beyond a shallow ridge—stone cottages with moss-covered roofs, crooked chimneys, and windows shuttered tightly from within.
No smoke rose from the homes. No laughter or morning chatter greeted the new day. It felt as though the entire place had been sealed in a moment, held frozen in some invisible nightmare.
Ray crouched beneath the rise, using a cluster of scrub to mask his silhouette. His eyes scanned the terrain, alert for movement.
A thick fog rolled along the village's main road, unnatural in its consistency. It didn't drift—it clung, as though alive, as though watching. He didn't like it.
He activated a scan, discreetly.
---
[Environmental Scan: Passive Threat Detected]
Status: Localized Corruption – Spiritual Decay
Source: Unknown
Spread Level: Intermediate
Notes: Do not engage until the origin is located
---
Spiritual decay. That wasn't a phrase he'd seen before.
Ray narrowed his eyes and descended the ridge slowly. He kept to the side of the path, avoiding the open road, and moved from structure to structure with the fluid caution of a predator.
He passed an old barn, its doors ajar, revealing stacked hay that had turned to ash-grey rot. Rusted tools lay in corners, and broken jars of spoiled pickles stank beneath thick layers of dust.
The place hadn't been abandoned entirely—but it had been neglected, warped. Touched by something wrong.
As he stepped closer to the village centre, a faint sound reached him: scraping. Like metal on stone.
He followed it with measured steps, creeping along the edge of a collapsed fence, and finally reached the town square. What he saw made his breath catch, just slightly.
A man—tall, thin, pale—was dragging a metal rake through the dirt in slow, robotic sweeps. His eyes were open, but unfocused, cloudy with something milky and unnatural.
Blood had dried around his ears and nose. His lips moved, murmuring nonsense under his breath.
Ray crouched low, hidden behind a barrel.
---
[Target Scanned: Human – Infected]
Status: Conscious | Cognitive Collapse – Stage 2
Disease Class: Unclassified Affliction
System Note: No known cure. Advise containment or isolation.
---
The man continued his scraping motions, uncaring of the damp soil or his bleeding hands. Then, abruptly, he stopped.
His head turned slightly as if hearing something no one else could hear, and he whispered, "The eyes never close. They see. They know. The roots drink thought."
Ray felt a chill race down his spine.
The man dropped the rake and walked stiffly back into one of the houses. The door creaked shut behind him.
Ray remained crouched, breathing slowly. This wasn't just sickness. This was an infestation.
And then he saw something else.
Atop the village well stood a figure. Smaller. A child—perhaps a girl. No older than ten. She wore a torn red cloak and stared upward into the sky, unmoving.
Her eyes glowed faintly with the same milky hue. But unlike the man, she wasn't murmuring or twitching. She stood perfectly still, as though waiting.
Ray did not approach.
Instead, he circled toward the edge of the well plaza and entered a nearby home through a side window. The interior was damp and foul-smelling. Mould coated the furniture like a second skin.
The floorboards creaked under his weight, and his breath made small clouds in the still air. It was colder inside than out.
He explored the home quickly but carefully. Drawers were empty, beds unmade, and firewood untouched.
One room had a strange sigil carved into the wall—an eye surrounded by branching roots. Beneath it, someone had written words in jagged charcoal:
"The good dreams. We drink its thoughts."
Ray backed out of the room, feeling the system flare.
---
[System Insight Gained – Tier 1]
Unlocked: Obscured Affliction – Dreamroot Presence
Origin: Subterranean | Interaction with groundwater
Symptom Manifestation: Hallucinations, Mind Bleed, Networked Consciousness
Threat Level: Rising
Objective: Investigate the Source Below Village
---
So it wasn't just spiritual decay—it was something alive. Underground. Feeding through the well. Infecting the villagers through the very water they drank.
A parasite? A magical organism? Or worse—something connected to the forgotten fragments of the world's past?
He left the house and took the back alleys around the square. Carefully. Quietly. He didn't trust the infected not to react to sound or presence. The girl hadn't moved at all.
His goal was the well.
But not to draw water.
He needed to get beneath it.
Behind the old bakery, he found what he was looking for: a stone trapdoor. Slightly ajar, leading into the earth. Likely a maintenance tunnel for the original aquifer.
The presence of it and the fact that it hadn't been sealed told him this village was old.
Older than the Aelorian maps he'd found. Possibly built atop something more ancient—something that had slept beneath the surface until recently.
He slipped inside, sealing the door behind him.
Darkness enveloped him like a cloak.
He lit a small light crystal from his pouch—a pale blue glow, dim but enough. The tunnel descended in a spiral, damp and narrow.
Drips echoed somewhere below, like the rhythm of a heartbeat through the stone. The air was wrong. Too thick. Every breath tasted faintly of iron and ash.
At the bottom, the tunnel opened into a circular chamber. A basin sat at the centre, filled with black water.
Roots dangled from the ceiling, twitching subtly, as though reacting to the presence of a new mind.
Ray didn't approach the basin.
He waited.
And the system reacted.
---
[Root Nexus Detected]
Classification: Subsentient Symbiotic Intelligence
Status: Invasive | Networked Across Local Population
Optional Objective: Destroy Core – Will result in system backlash from infected
Alternate Objective: Sever Root Link – Requires Specialized Catalyst (Not Found)
---
He couldn't fight this alone.
Not yet.
But he could map it. Learn. Prepare.
He placed a fragment of tracking glyph—one of the few tools he'd recovered from a shattered ruin a week prior—against the floor and activated its mark. The system integrated it without question.
Then he turned and left the chamber, leaving no trace behind.
---
By the time he returned to the surface, the fog had begun to dissipate. Morning sunlight filtered in through the haze. The girl by the well was gone. The man with the rake no longer patrolled the square.
Ray didn't wait to be seen.
He retreated quickly, silently, using the forest shadows to mask his exit. When he finally returned to the campsite, Elric was awake, sitting beside the fire, rubbing his eyes.
"You went without me," the boy said, not accusing, just tired.
Ray nodded. "I had to see what we're dealing with."
"And?"
"It's worse than I expected."
Elric swallowed. "So… what do we do?"
Ray didn't answer right away.
He looked out at the rising sun and said quietly, "We don't run. But we don't charge in either. We need supplies. Answers. And a plan."
Elric looked at him with cautious hope. "You'll help us?"
Ray turned to him and gave a single nod.
"Yes. But if we're going to save your village… I'll need to become much stronger."
---