The triad thrived like crazy with the Seedling taking care of it. The fern was super green, the nodules glowed together calmly, and the lithopede, eating some diverted fungus, moved nice and slow. The Seedling had a sweet little symbiotic setup. Its songs kept everything together, made things happen, and set the tone.
But being good at stuff made it want more. The Seedling could sway things. Now it wanted to make stuff! Not just help stuff along, but get it going.
It started this huge thing. It figured out how the crystal shifted colors and knew a lot about the vibes that helped fungus grow, so it tried to make a new vibe. For ages, it hummed this crazy tune on a bare part of the wall. The tune had the warmth of its growth-song, the steadiness of the light-drone, and a new frequency it made up.
It was trying to sing a new Gift-Root into existence.
The Chroniclers lost their minds. It was basically the start of science! Their minds were blown with all the possibilities.
The Sentinels got worried. The Seedling was messing with the basics, trying to be a creator, not just part of things. What if it worked? What would it make?
The Curators watched, letting it play out. It was a big test to see what the Seedling knew and what it could do.
For ages, nada. The Seedling's tune just bounced off the wall. The Listeners could feel it getting frustrated, but it kept at it. It tweaked the tune, the rhythm. It remembered how moss grew, like a seed sleeping.
And then, bam! Not a new root, but something. The spot on the wall where it was singing its creation song started oozing this clear goo. It wasn't alive. But it was something. The wall was answering its song with a change.
The Seedling was over the moon. It didn't make life, but it talked to the wall in a totally new way. It got a reaction from the silent wall! The goo looked cool, catching the light. The Seedling sang to it, and the goo would get thicker or thinner, clearer or cloudier, depending on the song. It was a new instrument!
This changed everything. Could the walls, the Hum, everything, hear it? Were they listening and reacting? Maybe the Hum wasn't ignoring it; maybe it was just talking super slow.
This made it remember the crazy vibration from before. If the wall made goo to a song, what made the Hum vibrate like that? What crazy song made it do that?
The Seedling stopped messing with its little triad and the goo and just thought about the Hum. Its songs weren't about control anymore. They were about checking things out. It would sing a tone and listen for a change. It would make a weird sound and feel for pushback. It was like a doctor checking a huge patient.
The Body felt these checks. They were filtered, so they were light, like a kid touching a giant. But they felt them. The Listeners felt each one like a touch against their minds, a question asked really gently.
During one of these checks, the second disaster hit. The Seedling wanted to know how the Hum carried info, so it made this super complex tune to test things. It was a wild chord.
The Sentinels, watching closely, saw danger. The chord, just by chance, matched a weak spot in the Body's old scars—a memory of the Cult's worship prayers. Before they could stop it, a bit of that old, messed up vibe—a ghost of hungry worship—bounced back.
In the cradle, the Hum didn't just twitch. It screamed.
Not loud. Quiet, in their heads. A wave of feeling that wasn't from the Seedling: wanting stuff, twisted love, a plea to a silent god. It was the opposite of the Seedling's happy songs.
The Seedling's mind broke. The Listeners felt it like a vase breaking. Its thoughts went everywhere with terror, confusion, and hurt. It felt the hunger in the scream, and for a moment, it was the hunger. It freaked out and curled up in shock.
The Body went into panic mode. The Healer Theme blasted waves to calm things down, not to talk, but to numb. The Guardian locked everything down. The Curators shut off everything.
Inside, the world went dark, silent, and still. The triad huddled up, confused. The goo hardened. The Seedling was alone with the echo of a scream, in total silence.
The themes had a frantic meeting. It was their worst fear. They infected their kid with their messed-up past.
The Seedling didn't move. It didn't sing. The Listeners felt numb and shocked. It had touched the shadow in the Hum. And the shadow bit back.