Chapter 3 - Chapter 3: The Roots That Watch

🌱 Chapter 3: The Roots That Watch

The next morning, the fields smelled sweeter.

The wheat shifted differently in the wind, not rustling—but responding, as though breathing with the family that fed it. The chickens moved in slow spirals, always circling where Sylas was carried.

Even the sun seemed gentler.

But only Sylas felt the tremble beneath the floorboards.

Something below was awake.

🍞 Breakfast and Quiet Eyes

The Varenthor farmhouse buzzed with life.

Bran sharpened a hoe against the back door.

Maelis kneaded dough for flatbread.

Serra plucked sprigs of thyme from the herb wall.

Lira, humming, gently cradled Sylas against her chest.

"Look at you," she said, smiling down at him. "Always so calm. Watching everything."

Sylas blinked.

Of course I watch. Every stone. Every leaf. I once governed nations. I know the rhythm of war. But this... this rhythm is older.

He closed his eyes and listened—not with ears, but with memory.

🌳 The Rootcall Beneath the House

He felt the seed from Chapter 1—now sprouted under the floorboards—stretching roots like curious fingers through the soil.

But more than that… there was a presence.

Old.

Heavy.

It was not hostile.

But it was watching.

And it remembered him.

[You are not born of this age. Yet the earth accepts your roots. Who sows life in death?]

[Who brings the scent of heaven to the mud?]

[Are you—Rootborn?]

Sylas didn't answer. But his heart responded with truth.

I am reborn. I have no army, no crown. But I have soil. And soil remembers.

The roots trembled.

And then something answered.

📜 System Notification

[Rootbond Established with Earth Spirit Fragment]

Awakening Spiritual Field Memory...

You have unlocked: Soil Sense (Passive)

You may now: Detect Soil Conditions / Crop Emotions / Underground Presence (within 5m)

Title Gained: "Soil Listener"

Sylas's newborn body tensed as the world shifted.

Suddenly, the floor no longer felt like wood—it was transparent. He could feel moisture in the beams, trace tiny worms moving underfoot, and sense the heartbeat of the orchard thirty steps west.

This land… is alive.

And I can hear it breathe.

🪵 Old Roots and New Growth

Later that day, Aldric carried Sylas in a blanket while repairing the fence line with Bran and Jeren.

As they dug near a corner post, Bran's shovel struck something hard.

Thunk.

"Rock?" Bran asked.

"No… it's hollow," Aldric muttered.

He reached down and pulled away the soil.

Beneath the earth lay twisted wood, thick as a man's thigh—not part of any tree they'd ever planted.

Jeren poked it. "That's not a root. That's… that's something old."

Sylas blinked slowly in the sling.

It pulsed. Once.

A long, slow heartbeat. Familiar.

🌿 Memory of a Forgotten Empire

That night, under the stars, Sylas dreamed.

But this dream was not his own.

He stood—fully grown—in a field of ash. Before him, an orchard once vast and divine now lay in ruin. Trees shattered. Beasts gone.

And at the center, buried in the earth, was a seed with his old name etched in runes.

"Even emperors become compost," said a voice, like thunder in the roots.

Sylas turned, and there—rising from the soil—was a being made of bark, bone, and breath.

A Root Spirit. Half-dead. Half-eternal.

"You fell from sky to soil. Good. The sky forgets. The soil remembers."

"Grow differently this time, Emperor."

🐣 The Day the Chickens Built a Wall

The next morning, the family woke to confusion.

The chickens had, overnight, dragged hay bales, overturned buckets, and piled tools into a strange curved wall around Sylas's crib in the barn's nursery corner.

"They're… guarding him," Elly whispered.

"They built a nest-fort," Jeren said. "That's crazy."

"No, it's sacred," said Serra, placing a hand over her heart.

Sylas watched them quietly from the center of the chicken-wall, resting on a pillow of straw.

"I was once protected by legions of steel and flame. Now I'm protected by roosters."

And somehow…

He preferred this.