Adrian stared at the evolution chamber, frustration etched into his thoughts. “Error. Error. Error,” the system repeated every time he tried to activate the chamber for Lucy.

“Ugh! Worthless machine! What’s the point of you?!” Adrian’s irritation flared as his glowing heart pulsated in sync with his frustration. He shifted his focus to a nearby quillbug. “Fine! You go in, you useless pincushion. Let’s see if you work.”

The quillbug hesitated for a moment, chirping nervously before reluctantly skittering toward the chamber. As it entered, Lucy stepped back, her arms crossed. "So it works now?"

“No!” Adrian snapped. “It’s broken. Useless junk. Maybe this dumb bug will—”

The chamber doors began to close before Lucy could react. Panic rippled across her face as she realized the bug had nuzzled close to her leg. The tight space forced her to crouch awkwardly, trying to avoid touching it.

“Wait—what?!” Lucy exclaimed, her hands darting to the slowly sealing door. “Didn’t you say it doesn’t work?!”

Adrian tilted his heart in a gesture of mock curiosity. “Oh, fascinating! It seems you’ve both triggered something. Let’s see...” His voice carried that unnerving, gleeful edge that always signaled trouble.

Lucy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh no… oh no, no, no!” Her fists pounded against the glass-like surface, but the chamber didn’t budge.

Inside, a soft hum resonated, and glowing liquid began to fill the chamber from its base. Lucy’s panic grew as the liquid rose around her legs, the quillbug chirping anxiously as it pressed closer. She tried to calm her breathing, but the fluid continued to rise—to her waist, her chest, her neck.

“Adrian, stop this!” she shouted, but her voice barely carried through the thickening liquid.

Chomp, standing outside, whimpered and pawed at the chamber. “Master, Lucy looks scared! Is she going to be okay?”

“Relax,” Adrian said, his manic tone completely unconcerned. “This is science, Chomp! Everything will be fine… probably.”

The liquid reached Lucy’s chin, and she instinctively held her breath, her eyes darting frantically around the chamber. When the fluid finally submerged her, panic overtook her. She fought to stay conscious, trying desperately to resist the pull of exhaustion.

Her lungs burned. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer.

The quillbug floated weightlessly beside her, its antennae brushing against her arm. Just as she was about to succumb, her instincts betrayed her, forcing her to exhale—and then inhale the strange liquid. The expected choking sensation didn’t come. Instead, a strange calm spread through her. She could breathe.

Confusion replaced panic as she inhaled deeply, the liquid filling her lungs without harm. But the calm came with a heavy fatigue, dragging her toward unconsciousness.

She tried to stay awake. Tried to fight it. But it was too strong. Her body relaxed, and her eyes fluttered shut, her form gently swaying in the glowing fluid.

Chomp’s ears perked up. He barked nervously, pressing his face to the translucent chamber wall. “Master, she stopped moving! Did she… is she…?”

Adrian’s voice carried that manic edge again. “Sleeping! She’s fine, Chomp. Probably dreaming about cookies or whatever you humans dream of.”

The translucence of the chamber’s door turned milky, then opaque. Chomp stepped back, ears drooping. “I hope you’re right…” he muttered, his voice soft with worry.

Adrian’s thoughts, however, were far from concern. He was consumed with possibilities. What happens when you combine a sentient parasite-human hybrid with a quillbug? His manic curiosity pulsed with his glowing heart.

“Oh, Lucy,” he mused aloud. “You’re about to become so much more.”

In the Mushroom Forest:

The bioluminescent glow of the mushroom forest dimmed as herds of deer-creatures and their Wendren guardians gathered in a vast clearing. At the center stood the survivor with the half-muddied face, his presence a silent testament to the sister he had lost. Around him, other guardians knelt, their glowing eyes flickering as they prepared to begin the Mourning Song.

The hums began low, a rumbling vibration that resonated through the earth. One by one, the herds joined, their clicking vocalizations weaving into the Wendren's solemn melody. But in the survivor’s original herd, something remarkable occurred. As the song deepened, many deer-creatures within the herd began to tremble. Their glowing eyes brightened, and their bodies contorted as a transformation took hold.

The air grew thick with the sound of shifting flesh and cracking bone. Before the gathered Wendren and their herds, sixteen new Wendren emerged, their skeletal faces reflecting the glow of the mushrooms above. Their hums joined the song seamlessly, adding new tones and textures to the sorrowful harmony. The transformation complete, the new Wendren knelt beside their guardian siblings, acknowledging the loss that had sparked their birth.

Without the body of the fallen guardian to recover—now a part of the abomination called Corpsemountain—they constructed a massive bonfire. Mushrooms and branches, both parasitic and nurturing, were piled high and set aflame. The flickering light illuminated the solemn gathering as the Mourning Song reached its crescendo. The notes were heavy and dark, resonating with a shared grief that united every being present.

When the song ended, silence fell over the gathering. The Wendren turned their glowing eyes toward the survivor, his half-muddied face a beacon of both loss and resilience. His hum broke the silence, recounting the tale of the predators who had slain his sister. Though no emotion could be seen on their skeletal faces, the sorrow in his notes was undeniable.

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“We know them now,” his hum seemed to say. “Small, strange predators with no glowing eyes. They wield sharp sticks and fire, and they take without honor.”

Two Wendren from another herd stepped forward, their hums carrying urgency. “We have seen a once-sister. The takershrooms claim her. Yet she moves. She walks with a strange being upon her shoulders. It looks like the predators, but it hunts not for itself. It feels… different.”

Murmurs and hums rippled through the gathering. The Wendren recognized the danger of takershrooms, and the idea of a once-sister still moving was deeply unsettling. The survivor’s hum was resolute. “The Elder Tree will know. If we are to live among these predators, if we are to understand them, we must seek the heart of the labyrinth.”

Another guardian stepped forward, raising his branch-weapon high. “To the Elder Tree,” his hum declared. “Where the beat is strongest, we will find the answers. Perhaps the once-sister will guide us.”

The decision was unanimous. The Wendren began to move as one, the herds following their guardians toward the labyrinthine roots of the Elder Tree. The survivor with the half-muddied face led the way, his sorrowful hum guiding the procession. The forest seemed to respond to their pilgrimage, its glowing light dimming and brightening in rhythm with their march.

In the depths of the dungeon, Adrian felt the faint vibrations of their song. Though he couldn’t understand their hums, the pulse of their movement reached him through the earth. Something was stirring—something he had not created yet was undeniably tied to his domain.

And within the hollow tree, where Corpsemountain rested and Lucy began her transformation, the dungeon heartbeat quickened, as if anticipating the Wendren's arrival.

The labyrinth of roots was vast and imposing, each gnarled root stretching high above the Wendren like natural walls, forming a maze that led to the Elder Tree’s heart. The Wendren herds approached with caution, their steps echoing in the stillness. Bioluminescent mushrooms clung to the roots, casting a ghostly glow on the forest floor, their light dancing across the skull-like faces of the Wendren.

As they neared the entrance to the labyrinth, the guardians appeared. They emerged from the shadows, creatures of Adrian’s creation—hulking Flesh Crawlers with claws glinting wetly in the faint light, their insectoid forms blocking every narrow passage between the roots. Quillbugs stood alongside them, their spiked carapaces raised defensively, their venomous quills glinting like spears. Venomwings buzzed above, their glowing trails marking erratic, almost territorial patterns in the air. These creatures did not attack, but their posture was clear: None shall pass without purpose.

The Wendren froze, the weight of the guardians’ presence pressing down on them. From the mushroom caps above, countless Oculnids hung like decorations, their unblinking eyes usually scanning every direction. But now, all of them turned to the Wendren, their collective gaze unnerving even the bravest among them.

“The Elder Tree…” Marked Skull’s hum was low but steady. “It sees us, my siblings.”

Another Wendren, smaller than most and with a softer hum, responded. “The guardians of the Elder Tree will not let us through. What do we do now?”

Marked Skull stood tall, his muddy half-face glowing faintly under the Oculnids’ gaze. “A ritual it shall be! Lay out the sacrifices!”

The Wendren moved with purpose, their reverence palpable. On their journey, they had slain quillbugs and even a venomwing swarm that had dared to challenge them. These creatures, now lifeless, were laid out carefully before the guardians. The Wendren knelt, their skulls touching the ground in reverence, their glowing eyes dimming as they hummed a solemn melody.

Only Marked Skull remained standing, his muddy face turned toward the Elder Tree. Raising his branch-weapon high, he hummed as loud as he could, the vibrations carrying through the labyrinth. “Oh, Elder Tree, accept our sacrifice of blood and flesh. Allow us to pass, for we seek guidance. Let your beats enkindle the fires of knowledge, of enlightenment, and of understanding.”

The air grew still, the hum fading into silence. The Wendren waited, their breaths shallow. For a moment, nothing stirred. Then, from the shadows of the labyrinth, they came.

A swarm of small, glowing creatures—messengers of the Elder Tree’s will—descended upon the offering. These flyers, often seen carrying the dead to the Elder Tree, swarmed the sacrifices, their delicate wings shimmering like fragments of the moon. They devoured the offerings with mechanical precision, leaving nothing behind but clean bones. The guardians shifted, their tense forms relaxing, and the Flesh Crawlers stepped aside to create a narrow path.

Marked Skull turned to his siblings, his hum filled with awe. “The Elder Tree accepts. We may pass.”

As the Wendren began to rise, one of the smaller guardians stepped forward, blocking the way once more. The path closed for all but one. The guardians formed a wall of flesh and chitin, their intent unmistakable. The Elder Tree had chosen one to continue.

Marked Skull stood tall, the weight of the selection pressing on him. He turned to his siblings, his voice filled with both sorrow and determination. “Wait here for my return, my siblings. I will ask the Elder Tree for guidance and return to you.”

The others nodded, their hums subdued, yet supportive. He stepped forward, past the guardians, who watched him intently but made no move to stop him. The glow of the mushrooms grew brighter as he approached the labyrinth’s depths, the air growing heavier with each step. Behind him, the guardians re-formed their defensive positions, sealing the way to all others.

Marked Skull hummed one final note to his siblings before turning fully toward the Elder Tree. The rhythm of its heartbeat pulsed through the roots, guiding him deeper into the labyrinth. Alone now, he walked with purpose, his branch-weapon held tightly in his hand. Ahead, the Elder Tree awaited, its towering form pulsating with ancient power.

Marked Skull moved deeper into the labyrinth, his path illuminated by the soft glow of bioluminescent moss. Unlike the mushroom forest above, this place felt richer, more alive. The moss clinging to the roots shimmered with a brightness that seemed to pulse faintly in time with the heartbeat of the Elder Tree. Pools of crystal-clear water glistened in the faint light, their surfaces rippling with the gentle movements of unseen creatures. The croaking of frogs and the faint rustle of insects echoed softly in the still air, creating a peaceful yet surreal ambiance.

He paused, kneeling briefly to inspect a particularly vibrant cluster of glowing fungi sprouting from the base of a root. It looked fuller, healthier, than anything he had seen above. As he stood, his gaze was drawn upward to the towering roots arching above him. That’s when he noticed it—a shadow.

It moved silently, outside the glow of the moss and plants, its four-legged silhouette blending seamlessly into the darkness. Marked Skull’s pulse quickened, but he did not falter. A guardian, no doubt, sent to observe his pilgrimage. The Elder Tree was cautious. And why wouldn’t it be? This place was sacred—the origin of the Beat, the pulse of life that sustained all within the dungeon.

He continued forward, his steps careful and deliberate, his hands clasped in reverence. The shadow kept its distance but never left his side, an unspoken reminder of the gravity of his journey. Despite the watchful presence, Marked Skull felt no fear—only honor. To tread this path was to walk in the presence of the Elder Tree’s will.

The closer he drew to the heart, the more vibrant everything became. Even the air seemed thicker, charged with life. Each step brought him closer to the source of it all, and his own heartbeat felt as if it were aligning with the powerful rhythm that filled the labyrinth. He hummed softly, a prayer of respect, as he made his way toward the glowing horizon where the Elder Tree awaited.