The air was still. The moon hung low, half hidden behind thin drifting clouds. Wei Ji stood calmly in the center of the chamber, his hands folded behind his back. His bare feet touched the cold stone floor, and his quiet footsteps echoed faintly as he paced from one side to the other. The lanterns had all burned out, but the place glowed faintly from the pulsing green veins of roots that filled the walls and floor.
At the far end of the room, Ren hung suspended in the air, his body wrapped by countless thick roots. They squeezed around his limbs and chest, holding him in place like a fly trapped in a spider's web. His mouth was frozen open in a silent scream. A long, thin root burrowed deep into his mouth, pulsing faintly with life. Beneath his skin, smaller tendrils wriggled and twisted. Some of them had already reached his head, tiny veins pressing under his temples. His eyes were empty, fixed on nothing.
