DING!
~----~
[Genesis Protocol – Trial III Initiated]
["Welco, challengers. The roots of the past await."]
~----~
The ssage burned across Clayton’s vision.
And then, everything went black.
...
Everything was dark, abyss level of dark, almost like being stuck inside a nightmare with nowhere to escape. It was so still, and wet.
But then... awareness ca, and with it ca light.
It was almost like that famous quote of the bible: the world was covered in unending darkness, until light showed, and with it ca life.
Clayton woke up.
He woke up to pressure on every side, and he felt it imdiately; no limb, no breath, and no voice.
Only a beat in the still darkness of this world.
Soil hugged him like a fist, encapsulating him in its dark embrace. Water licked his shell. Heat, faint and far, pressed from above, bringing back mories that were hidden at the very deepest depths of his mind.
The old fear tried to rise, but this ti he didn’t let it have its way. Instead of succumbing to the instinctive humane fear of the dark and pressure, he simply let it pass. Why? Because he had been here before.
’I’m a Seed’.
He accepted the word without sha; he leaned into it.
For a very long ti, during his preparations for Trial III alongside the core warriors of his Rootsite, the biggest conundrum that he faced was what type of challenge would Trial III throw his way this ti?
Considering that it was the current peak of what humans had conquered, a trial that had claid so of the mightiest champions of humanity during the era of the Genesis Protocols, Clayton didn’t know what to expect?
Would it be a recap of Trial I? Would he go back to being a Seed? Since multiple people could challenge it, would he start with his companions this ti?
From experience, he knew that facing Echoterra alone was a nightmare, it was one of the reasons that gave him the confidence to challenge the trial in the first place, the solace in companionship.
And now... he finally got his answer; he was back being a Seed.
’Great’.
Experienced though unlike when he first faced the Trials over 3 centuries ago, Clayton didn’t react impulsively.
Instead, knowing what to expect already, he listened.
And then, he heard it...
Vibrations ran through the ground. Not footsteps, not machines, but a deeper hum; old and patient, almost like the hum of the earth itself thinking.
Or maybe Echoterra itself thinking considering where he was.
Moisture brushed his skin and he felt the familiar presence... minerals. Having perpetually lived two lives since Trial I, one of them being in his Verdant Lord form, Clayton knew the feel of minerals like the back of his hand.
They tasted bitter, then sweet. The flavor told him what he needed: calcium, iron, and trace salts. There were enough of them in the soil to wake, enough of them to push.
But he didn’t push imdiately. He didn’t panic either, neither did he rush. Instead, he did what plants do.
He drank.
Gulp!
Water flowed into him, filling him in its nourishing stream as the reaction was imdiate; the shell softened and a seam opened.
And through the seam, a rootlet slid out.
It searched through the soil like a blind finger, searching for vulnerabilities and it found it quick... a crack. Imdiately, almost like it had a mind of its own, it reacted as it pressed in.
It split grains of soil, and greedily drank the moisture from the soil that was exposed to its passage.
A second rootlet followed, then a third in quick succession as nutrients and moisture gave him the vitality to grow.
They anchored him.
Clayton paused as if taking a deep breath, then his first shoot pushed up.
As it pushed, almost like fighting against the tide in a tumultuous sea, pressure closed in as it stubbornly fought him. The pressure rejected his growth, it wanted to reject his existence.
But Clayton knew it was just a trial, a rite of passage and he pushed even harder. He fought back with quiet force, inching forward to the surface milliter by milliter. No heroics, just raw insistence.
Heat grew as he climbed, a quiet acknowledgent of the efforts that he was putting in. And gradually, eventually, the sll changed.
Mold, stone, he could sll it, then a ghost of sap.
Ptui!
It penetrated, and the shoot touched open air.
Finally, light hit him.
’Ahhh...!’ In his mind, Clayton exhaled in relief as a sense of achievent flooded through his very being.
It was not Earth’s light; it was thicker, greener, but having just escaped the pressurizing confines of underground darkness, this would do.
The light here was strange in a unique way, it held notes of old suns and deeper laws. It soaked him, not just his new leaf, but the thought behind it.
And then, he unfurled.
Unfurling... it had a subtle sweetness to it, it was liberating. It was almost like waking up in the morning after a refreshing nigh sleep, and stretching.
Ah... the feeling, magical.
With his unfurling, the light finally did its magic as photosynthesis roared like a river, drenching him in its tide as in turn, energy flooded his tiny body. The fear lted, calm replaced it, and purpose stood up.
And then, Clayton grew.
The shoot widened. Leaves split and fanned, forming canopies, and the first stem beca many as he visibly grew within a few minutes. Fine veins chased the light. His roots went down in a web, then a net, then a sh with teeth.
He reached, and then he steadied.
He stopped when he had enough to think clearly.
Compared to the first ti in Trial I when he had to struggle with so many things, this ti, it was so much easier and straightforward, and most of all fast.
Clayton could think again, and his first thought was...
’Echoterra’.
He knew it as a taste on the wind. He knew it as a rhythm in the soil, and he knew it as a pressure behind the light.
He looked.
Clayton looked, and then the world opened up before him.
Gone was the familiar atmosphere and ambience of Earth, and in its place was sothing else, sothing deeper, sothing more fantastical and surreal.
The sky was gold at the edges and deep green over the do, like a forest had been spread thin and hung above the world. Threads of luminous dust drifted on high currents, and two pale bands crossed the heavens like scars.
The land rolled in wide, gentle swells.
The grass was like silk, surreal, and the flowers were like lanterns. There were no ruins, no rust, no broken glass, and no Behemorphs.
It was too damn clean.
Clayton turned his leaf-ears to the wind, and the wind told him more.
The song moved through the ground, not voices, but words, patterns, roots talking to roots across distance. He could not understand the language yet, but he caught the tone and understood its general ambience.
It was old, ordered, and proud, a relic of an ancient past.
He let his roots rest and listened deeper.
There were pulses out there, far away that did not belong to the plain. They were strong and focused, and they rose and fell with purpose. There were thrones, not dead like on Earth. Not broken either, just awake.
He breathed light and let the knowledge settle, because by then his worst fears already settled and beca reality.
’I am alone’.
Just like he and Torren feared, the trial separated him and all of his allies. From his little survey, there were no sign of them.
No Torren, no Veyra, no Kaelin, no Soren, no Mirra. Unless there was sothing here that he could not quiet wrap his head around here, all evidence pointed to him that his allies were nowhere to be found.
Even with this though, Clayton didn’t panic, not yet. He and his allies already discussed the event of them being separated, and quickly calming down, he did sothing else.
He felt for the Sporelink.
The bond to Torren was there, faint and stubborn, like a coal under ash. It did not point a direction, but it was alive.
’Phew!’ Clayton let out an imaginary breath that he never realized he was holding in till now.
He sent a slow pulse through the link, not words, just a feeling. ’I am here, growing. Wait for ’.
The bond ward, then cooled.
He did not push harder; the reaction was all he needed to confirm that Torren was alive. Besides, distance and the Trial’s veil would punish force if he pushed too hard. He knew that from the first ti.
’What next?’
Clayton checked his tools to confirm that he was adequately equipped.
’Rootlash Dominion’.
It answered at once, eager to express its might as power ran down his xylem like lightning in veins. He could shape wood and vine within reach. ’Good’.
’Sovereign Bloom’. He called and felt the ground answer.
Reviews
All reviews (0)