Silas pondered the text, rereading the surviving words, searching for some hidden understanding. His fingers traced the inked lettering as his mind raced, stopping only when the distant thumping of feet reached his ears. His breath stilled, body frozen as he listened, muscles taut as he waited for the sound to fade into the distance. Only when silence settled once more did he continue.

Everything about the book, the seed, the bond—it all connected in some inscrutable way. His diminished form gnawed at his thoughts, a silent anomaly that refused to be ignored. It said the thirteenth year, didn’t it? The Choosing took place at thirteen. What if his body had regressed, had been reshaped to fit that mold? Could this be mere coincidence? The very notion of it seemed absurd. Too coincidental. Too perfect.

His hand curled around the large, slightly blackened seed, his thumb brushing over its smooth yet unnatural surface. Was it possible for him to form a bond, much like the Oralians? He had no other information. The book’s brittle pages had crumbled before he could glean anything further.

But then his eyes caught something—

The drawings.

At first, he had dismissed them as nothing more than ornate flourishes, gilding the borders of each page, embellishments for an ancient text. But now, he looked closer. The images told a story in themselves. Tiny depictions of children, each standing before a sapling. One by one, they sliced their hands open, pressing seeds into their flesh, the tendrils creeping into their wounds. He stopped, his breath catching in his throat.

Madness.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Was that what this was? To even consider such an action? He had no idea what it would entail. He was operating on a foundation of fractured knowledge, grasping at a ritual he barely understood. His assumptions could be wrong.

A crash shattered the silence.

His head snapped toward the source. A sound—something moving in the adjacent room. Claws? Or something worse?

That decided it. He had no choice. He needed every advantage he could muster.

Silas scanned his surroundings, eyes darting beneath the bed until they landed on a splintered piece of wood. A jagged fragment, broken off earlier from the monster’s attack. He reached for it, fingers closing around the rough length, its pointed end crude but sharp enough. He hesitated, staring at it in the dim light, contemplating just how far from reason his life had veered. But there was no room for doubt.

He inhaled deeply, then, without another thought, dragged the sharpened edge across his palm.

A sharp, burning pain shot through his hand as the skin split open. Warm blood welled, dripping onto the dusty floorboards. His heart hammered against his ribs as he pressed the seed into the open wound, as the drawings had shown.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Silas exhaled shakily, a sorrowful smile ghosting over his lips. Of course. This was foolishness. Desperation grasping at shadows. These gifts, this interface the book described—he had hoped they would provide some clarity, something to help him make sense of this incomprehensible reality.

He moved to pull the seed away—

A sudden jolt seized his body.

Roots burst forth from the seed, thin and spindly at first, then thickening as they snaked into the cut on his palm. Silas gasped, his muscles locking, his body spasming as the roots burrowed deeper.

Pain.

Unbearable, searing pain.

It ripped through him like fire, like his blood had turned to molten metal coursing through his veins. His breath hitched, his back arching as the pain spread, tendrils of agony creeping through his limbs, his chest, his skull. He could not even scream. His lungs refused to draw breath, the sheer intensity stealing away all sound.

It spread.

Every nerve in his body ignited as the roots pushed deeper, intertwining with his very being. He could feel them latching onto something beneath his skin, creeping along his bones, winding around his organs. His vision blurred, his thoughts dissolving into static, his world collapsing into a singularity of suffering.

The last thing he saw before the world faded was the ceiling above him—splintered wood, moonlight trickling through gaps.

Then, everything went dark.