Tholn gestured ahead, into the unfurling dark, "Welcome to the Mycelic Archive. The path where memory grows in bark and spore, and the past is written in roots and glow."
Ash stepped forward with him — and the instant both his feet crossed the threshold, the world responded.
A low, resonant sound stirred beneath the ground — like wind passing through hollow roots or distant drums thudding beneath ancient soil. The hum crawled up Ash's spine, brushing his neck like breath from an unseen spirit.
The walls around them glowed subtly. Not with fire, but with the soft bloom of living memory.
Veins of bioluminescent fungus pulsed gently in the bark, threading through the wood in spiraling patterns — curling like roots seeking old wounds, weaving in and out of knotwork grain. Their glow waxed and waned, casting slow-moving shadows across the corridor, painting the air in hues of spectral green and haunting violet.
Then the veins began to stir.
