The Sealed Halls of Virelia
Virelia wasn't a nation. It was a confederation of city-states connected by economic interests, spiritual energy contracts, and diplomatic treaties sealed after the fall of the Tree. Its existence didn't depend on judgment or resonance. It depended on consensus and bureaucracy.
Each city functioned as a node of political control: one specialized in interstate communication, another in magical resource management, another in global surveillance. Together, they formed a system that, from the chaos of spiritual collapse, became the most structured human network in the world.
But the flourishing began to alter that invisible architecture.
It was no longer enough to sign treaties. Roots were beginning to sprout among the documents.
The report they couldn't ignore
The Virelia High Council received a confidential report: a small white root sprout had appeared in Kaleth's Decision Chamber, the seat of the Continental Senate. At first, they thought it was an implanted symbol. Then, they thought it was sabotage. But the tests were clear: the root hadn't been brought in . It had been born.
And most disturbingly, it vibrated at the same frequency as the signatures accumulated over centuries of treaties.
As if the entire weight of political history… had generated an echo.
Senior Councilor Helgar Andros , famous for never breaking his neutral tone, lost his voice during the interrogation. The last thing he said was:
—"The roots have learned to read… and they no longer believe in our intentions."
III. The summit in the city of flags
Faced with the threat of a systematic dissolution, the leaders of Virelia's twelve cities convened an extraordinary summit in Yarnaz , the City of Banners. There, treaties hung like curtains and the air smelled of fresh ink.
But this time, something changed.
Every time someone proposed a law, a reform, or a directive… a white sheet of paper fell from the ceiling. It wasn't magic. It wasn't sabotage. It was a response.
Akihiko arrived in Yarnaz accompanied by Kazun. He didn't ask to speak. He just walked along the main avenues. His roots were faintly shining. But with each step, the flags began to unfurl. Not because of the wind, but because of symbolic weight.
A little girl saw him pass by. She handed him a piece of paper. On it, he drew a flower.
—"They said you couldn't talk at the summit. But the flowers don't need permission," he said.
The attempt at neutralization
Alarmed by their presence, the leaders activated the Lysanthe Protocol , a secret law designed to contain high-impact spiritual manifestations. It was a network of vibrational fields that nullified all resonance and forced any channeler to disconnect from their inner root.
But when the network was activated, the system collapsed .
Instead of silencing Akihiko's roots, the field amplified them . Not as power. But as truth. The walls began to reverberate with voices from the past: broken agreements, betrayals disguised as reforms, decisions made without a soul.
And in the midst of that, white roots began to sprout from the marble floor .
Not in a line. Not in order. In chaos. Because Virelia's soul… wasn't a system. It was a mass of masked scars.
The trial that was never allowed
Virelia's system was never judged. It was too complex, too necessary. Even during the time of the Tree, it had been granted structural immunity. But the new roots didn't judge. They only remembered.
And one by one, the cities began to vibrate with what they had hidden.
In Kaleth, the cries of those who signed treaties without understanding were heard. In Varnel, the contracts burned themselves. In Medora, the water in the aqueduct began to glow with ancient words written on it.
Yarnaz was the first to overthrow her own decision-making center. Not with violence. But with a symbolic act : the senators removed their ceremonial cloaks and walked barefoot through the corridors where roots sprouted.
A new network was emerging. Not one of control. But one of shared resonance.
Akihiko and Kazun among the dignified rubble
As they left Yarnaz, Akihiko looked back. Not with nostalgia. But with respect.
Kazun spoke for the first time since his arrival:
—"Why do they flourish in the harshest places?"
Akihiko replied:
—"Because the hardest places are the ones that most need to be remembered."
And a final white sheet fell from above. On it, written in a calligraphy that no one claimed:
"The world doesn't need new treaties. It needs new roots."
END OF CHAPTER 116