The tunnels beneath Virelden were never truly silent.
Water dripped through cracked stone. Old wards hummed faintly in the walls. Somewhere far above, the
city breathed—boots on patrol, bells tolling hours, prayers muttered without faith.
Aron sat among the Rootbound and listened.
They did not look like a resistance.
They looked like survivors.
Men and women wrapped in layered cloth to hide scars. Children taught to stay quiet before they learned to
read. Charms hung from necks and wrists—imperfect, unstable, but enough to blur what the Concord
sought to burn.
The older woman who had spoken before introduced herself as Maerith.
"We do not fight," she said calmly, leaning on her staff. "We endure. When one of us is discovered, we
scatter. When the Concord tightens its grip, we vanish."
Someone laughed bitterly.
"And when they find us anyway?"
Maerith did not answer.
Aron felt the hunger stir.
Not eagerly.
Patiently.
"You carry something dangerous," Maerith said, her eyes settling on him. "Not just power. Direction."
Aron frowned. "I didn't choose it."
"No one ever does," she replied. "But choices follow."
The system pulsed faintly, unreadable.
SYSTEM OBSERVATION
Psychological State: Suppressed Conflict
Trajectory: Unstable
The lesson began without ceremony.
A man stepped forward, sleeves rolled back to reveal a purification burn that had eaten through muscle. His
breathing was shallow, uneven.
"Infection," Maerith said. "If untreated, he has days."
Eyes turned to Aron.
Expectation.
Fear.
He knelt slowly, removing the iron ring.
The hunger surged.
His vision sharpened, every heartbeat in the chamber suddenly loud and distinct. Vines pressed at the edge
of existence, waiting for permission.
"Control," Maerith said. "Not denial. Denial breaks."
Aron placed his hands over the wound.
He did not pull.
He listened.
Green light bloomed—soft, restrained. Thin roots formed, threading gently through damaged flesh,
borrowing only what was necessary. The process was slower. Painful.
The man screamed.
Aron held steady.
Sweat poured down his face as the hunger pushed back, demanding more. His chest burned. His hands
shook.
SYSTEM LOG
Vitality Transfer: Minimal
Efficiency: Reduced
User Strain: Severe
When it ended, the wound was closed.
The man collapsed, alive.
So was Aron.
He fell backward, gasping, vision darkening at the edges.
Maerith caught him before his head struck stone.
"That," she said quietly, "is the price of staying human."
Hours later, the tunnels trembled.
A distant boom echoed through the stone.
Once.
Twice.
The Rootbound froze.
"Raid," someone whispered.
Sigils flared red along the walls—wards breaking, one by one. Shouts echoed from upper passages. Steel
rang against stone.
The Concord had found them.
Maerith turned to Aron.
"You can run," she said. "No one here would blame you."
Aron stood, legs unsteady.
He thought of Ayesha's voice.
If the hunger ever tells you it's the only way—run.
He also thought of the man he had just healed.
The children.
The fear woven into this place.
"I'll stay," Aron said.
The hunger surged—pleased.
He clenched his fists.
"No," he said aloud. "On my terms."
SYSTEM STATUS UPDATE
Internal Conflict: Escalating
Constraint: Self-Imposed
Above them, stone shattered.
Light poured into the tunnels.
The Concord descended.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, Aron did not move because he had to.
He moved because he chose to.