Chapter 97: Quiet Veins
Location: Southern Flatlands – Near the Verge of East Forest - line
The van rolled to a stop at the edge of a flattened ridge, just before the terrain dipped sharply into the beginnings of the forestline. Beyond the hill's drop, the world turned wild — roots like twisted veins crawling across the land, trees huddled in unnatural formation, thick and watchful. From up here, the forest didn't look like a sanctuary. It looked like a waiting mouth, teeth hidden behind the hush of leaves.
Aria stepped out first. Her boots met the dusty ridge with a dull thud, and the wind caught strands of her hair, carrying them toward the treetops as if trying to connect her with what waited below. The hum in her chest hadn't faded since earlier — since she'd felt the pulse of the entity stir again while they drove. It was stronger now. Louder. No longer a whisper, but a steady rhythm just beneath her skin.
Selene climbed out behind her, silent, her gaze sweeping across the treeline with clinical sharpness. She didn't ask what Aria was feeling. She didn't need to. They both knew that something in the atmosphere had changed — not just the tension of the land but something deeper. Something internal. Aria's bloom had grown again during the drive, and she could feel its influence pressing against her senses like the soft pressure of rising water.
"Feels different here," Selene muttered. She squinted toward the horizon. "Like it's watching."
Aria nodded, distracted. "It is."
She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to. Selene's instincts had already picked up on it, even if she couldn't hear the rhythm the way Aria could. The entity inside her was pulsing with interest now, not in fear or defense, but in curiosity. The land ahead was old, and something old within Aria was resonating with it.
She closed her eyes and opened the inner bloom.
The storage dimension — her once simplistic inner vault — unfurled behind her mind like a second world, now fully evolved into something beyond comprehension. The interior had shifted again, as it often did these days without warning. What once had been a loosely constructed realm of tools and energy reservoirs was now organized with divine geometry — pathways that rearranged themselves, structures pulsing with memory and meaning. At the center of it all stood the garden, blooming wildly, impossibly.
She stood at the edge of it in her mind, bare feet on warm earth, the hum louder here than ever before. The entity met her at the edge of the garden.
It did not speak. It never had to. Communication had long since surpassed language. Instead, it showed her — brief flickers of impressions, moments unfurling in scent and color and sensation. She saw trees wrapped in flame, roots crawling across flesh, a mirror of herself staring back from water that was far too still.
This forest is not unfamiliar to us, the entity implied, its presence wrapping around her thoughts like fog. It remembers us. It remembers what we once were.
A shiver passed through her, and Aria opened her eyes.
Selene was watching her again.
"You went deep," she said simply.
Aria nodded. "Something's calling to it. Not threatening. Not yet. But… familiar."
Selene didn't ask what "it" was. She'd stopped using that word months ago. Now, whenever she spoke of Aria's transformation, she kept it grounded in the singular — you. Not it. Not the bloom. Not the entity. Just you.
Still, there was unease in her voice. "Are you grounded enough to sleep tonight?"
"I'll try," Aria murmured.
They made camp at the edge of the incline, with the forest still far enough to feel safe. The sun had begun its descent, casting long, spindled shadows across the dry plain. Selene set up their perimeter — motion sensors, minor wards she'd learned from their previous contacts, and one silent kinetic anchor crafted from ironwood and cord. Aria watched her work in silence, every movement precise, honed by years of survival.
Inside the van, Aria sat with her back against the wall, eyes half - closed. She'd tried to rest. Tried to let herself drift off. But the bloom had other plans.
Instead of sleep, she was pulled inward again.
This time, she found herself at the edge of the fountain in her internal garden. The waters shimmered, reflecting not her face but fragmented memories — images from lives that weren't hers. Or maybe they were. The bloom, the entity, had begun sharing things lately. Fractured stories. Echoes. Lessons without teachers.
There was a woman standing at the other side of the fountain — pale eyes, dark skin like the forest bark, long hair coiled in vine - like braids. She did not speak. But Aria understood: this was a memory. Not of her, but of the bloom.
A past life?
A past host?
The thought chilled her.
"I'm not your vessel," she said aloud. "I'm not here to be taken."
The figure didn't respond, only faded with the wind. But the feeling remained.
This was not a possession. It was an inheritance.
When Aria returned to the waking world, the van was still and silent. Selene had taken the first watch, perched on the roof with her scope trained on the tree line. Aria climbed out and joined her, the two of them sitting in shared silence for several long moments before Selene finally broke it.
"Do you trust it?" she asked.
Aria hesitated. "It's part of me. Trust doesn't feel like the right word."
"What then?"
"I understand it. And I think it understands me."
Selene frowned. "That's not the same as control."
"No," Aria agreed quietly. "It's not."
The night grew colder, the breeze sharpening as it crept from the trees. A howl echoed in the distance — not a wolf. Something else. Aria tilted her head, trying to trace the direction, but the sound warped and scattered like it had passed through too many dimensions to remain intact.
Selene stiffened beside her. "That's new."
"It's been waiting for us," Aria said. "It's not coincidence that it's stirring now."
Selene turned her head, meeting Aria's eyes. "And you're still planning to go in there tomorrow?"
"I don't think we have a choice."
She could feel the land waking — roots stretching, something old and slumbering uncoiling in the deep soil. There were memories in the trees. Echoes in the soil. And all of them were calling to her.
Later that night, as they lay under the stars — one in the van, one on the roof — the bloom whispered to Aria again. Not in language, but in sensation.
Beneath. Beneath the green. Beneath the bones.
She didn't know what it meant.
But she knew exactly where she'd find out.