POV: Akio Tanaka — Siberia, Tunguska Exclusion Zone
The forest should not have been breathing.
Akio stood at the edge of the cleared perimeter, breath frosting in the air, eyes fixed on the black veins threading through the snow. They rose and fell subtly—so slightly that anyone not looking for it would dismiss it as wind moving shadow.
But there was no wind.
The trees leaned inward, bark split, sap frozen mid-bleed. Their roots—once hidden, once obedient—were exposed now, entwined with something darker, thicker, older.
Black roots.
They had broken through the permafrost like bones through skin.
And his assistant was gone.
-
THE LAST FOOTPRINTS
Yelena's tracks led past the boundary markers, past the warning tape, deep into the forest where the instruments had begun to fail.
Akio followed slowly, recorder clutched in his gloved hand.
"Yelena?" he called out, voice swallowed by the trees.
No response.
Only the hum.
It was stronger here—resonating through his boots, climbing his legs, vibrating his spine. His teeth chattered, not from cold, but from the frequency itself, like standing too close to a massive engine.
He reached the clearing.
The ground had split open.
Not violently—deliberately.
A circular depression yawned before him, ice sheared cleanly away, revealing a lattice of roots beneath. They pulsed in synchronized waves, faint light traveling along their lengths like neural impulses.
Akio's vision blurred.
For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating.
Then the forest disappeared.
-
VISION — THE CORE
He was falling.
Not downward—inward.
Layers of Earth peeled away: soil, stone, magma, pressure beyond comprehension. At the center, something vast pulsed—a core not of molten rock, but of structure.
A neural heart.
Roots extended from it in every direction, threading through continents, oceans, tectonic plates. Each pulse carried data—memory—history encoded in vibration.
He saw the Nazca spirals forming under ancient skies.
The Great Wall built unknowingly atop converging veins.
Antarctica freezing over something that refused to sleep.
And then—
A shadow moved.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Patient.
It turned.
And for the briefest instant, Akio felt it notice him.
-
BACK IN THE FOREST
Akio collapsed to his knees, gasping.
His recorder screamed to life.
Static burst from the speakers—then resolved into a voice.
Not Yelena's.
Not human.
"Akio."
His name spoken with perfect intonation.
His blood ran cold.
"I didn't record that," he whispered.
The voice continued.
"COME DEEPER."
The ground trembled.
Behind him, engines roared.
Russian military vehicles burst through the tree line, floodlights cutting through the dark. Soldiers spilled out, weapons raised, shouting commands Akio barely registered.
A colonel approached, face tight.
"This area is now under federal control," he barked. "Step away from the anomaly."
Akio didn't move.
The roots pulsed harder.
The soldiers faltered.
One of them screamed.
The ice shattered.
-
THE VEIN RISES
A massive black vine erupted from the clearing, ice exploding outward in a storm of shards. It coiled upward, thicker than a tank barrel, surface rippling with faint bioluminescence.
The soldiers opened fire.
Bullets vanished into it—absorbed—their impacts sending ripples along the root's surface like raindrops on water.
The hum became deafening.
Akio felt it wrap around his chest, his thoughts, his name.
The vine lashed out—not toward the soldiers—
Toward him.
Strong. Precise. Gentle.
It coiled around his torso, lifting him effortlessly from the ground.
"WAIT—!" he shouted, reaching out.
The soldiers screamed orders. Guns fired. Radios crackled with panic.
None of it mattered.
The vine pulled him downward, into the earth.
Not crushing.
Not tearing.
Welcoming.
-
DESCENT
Darkness enveloped him.
Then light.
Bioluminescent roots illuminated a vast underground chamber, walls formed of living stone threaded with veins of pulsing black. The air was warm, heavy with static and something else—recognition.
Yelena stood there.
Alive.
Changed.
Her eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the same light that pulsed through the roots.
She looked at him and smiled softly.
"You hear it too now," she said.
Akio tried to speak.
The roots pulsed.
The voice returned—no longer distant, no longer singular.
It was many.
And one.
"THE NETWORK EXPANDS."
"THE WITNESSES CONVERGE."
The chamber trembled.
Far above, the forest screamed.
Far below, something ancient shifted.
Akio realized, with terrifying clarity—
He had not been taken.
He had been accepted.
-
END OF PART III
The ice closed above him.
And the Earth remembered his name.