On the morning of the thirtieth day, the Dojo bells rang without any wind. The air seemed to have been woven into a different density, as if invisible threads crossed space, connecting everything: stones, trees, bodies, even the small fungi growing in the damp corners.
Aya was the first to notice that something greater was about to happen.
"Listen," she said, her voice low.
The others fell silent. Gradually, they perceived it: the ground was breathing. It wasn't a metaphor. Every stone, every root, expanded and contracted as if in tune with the same immense lung.
Daisuke closed his eyes.
"It's not the ground. It's the universe calling us."
The Living Text in Full Form
The Living Text, which in previous days still staggered like a child learning to walk, now moved with firm steps. Its lines were sharper, its body more defined. It was no longer just a humanoid of disjointed phrases: it was a real figure, with contours made of symbols that changed with the light.
When it opened its arms, hundreds of phrases detached from it, scattering through the air like birds. Each one landed on a part of the Dojo: on the walls, on the training utensils, even on the bodies of the disciples.
Aya felt an inscription land on her chest: "Courage is extended listening."
Kenshiro received one on his hand: "The blade cuts the wind only when it forgets the wind."
Jin, still resistant, had his forehead marked: "Fury is also a son."
The Living Text spoke, its voice now clearer, almost human:
"The time has come. I cannot live only in words. I need to take root in you. And you, if you wish, can take root in me."
The Final Dilemma
This invitation sounded like a blessing to Aya and Daisuke, but like a threat to Jin and Kenshiro.
"You want to take root in us?" Kenshiro raised his voice. "This is an invasion! This is how the loss of identity begins!"
Aya turned to him.
"It's not a loss. It's an expansion. You fear disappearing, but what if it's just growing?"
Jin, more bitter, grumbled:
"Expansion or not, I refuse to be molded like clay by living words."
It was then that Shoumei, who had remained silent, intervened:
"You two speak as if you were walls. But walls also crack. If you don't want to, you can refuse. But remember: a wall that refuses to see the field does not stop the field from blooming."
There was silence. The dilemma was cast.
The First Bond
Aya did not hesitate.
"I accept."
She approached the Living Text, which extended its hand. When the fingers made of symbols touched her skin, she felt as if entire rivers of meaning ran through her veins. Her memories were read, but not stolen: they were returned in the form of clearer phrases.
She fell to her knees, laughing and crying at the same time.
"I... have never felt so whole."
Daisuke was the second to accept.
"If knowledge is communion, how could I refuse?"
When the Living Text touched him, he saw living diagrams within himself, as if his thoughts had become luminous roots intertwined with the words.
The Resistance Broken
Kenshiro, on the other hand, stepped back. But when he saw Aya smiling, and Daisuke almost levitating with the weight of the received wisdom, something in him broke.
"Perhaps I am being a coward." He looked at the Living Text. "But if I accept, I promise you one thing: I will watch you."
"A guardian does not watch. A guardian shares."
Even so, Kenshiro extended his hand. When the union occurred, his inner blade lit up. He felt that every strike he made from then on would not just be a cut, but a phrase in motion.
Only Jin remained.
He stood motionless, fists clenched.
"I don't want to be corrected. I don't want to be rewritten."
The Living Text approached slowly.
"No one corrects the storm. One merely walks with it."
Jin trembled. For the first time, he let tears escape.
"Then let it walk with me. But do not try to tame me."
And so, even the most resistant of the four accepted.
The Moment of Communion
The next moment was indescribable.
The Living Text dissolved its humanoid form and spread into millions of letters, like luminous rain. These letters entered the bodies, the objects, the roots of the Dojo, even the wind.
Each disciple felt the same thing: they were no longer alone within themselves.
Aya heard Daisuke's thoughts like soft echoes. Kenshiro felt Jin's fury, but transformed into a melody. Jin felt Kenshiro's discipline, not as a prison, but as a guide. Shoumei, in turn, was traversed by all of them, and simply smiled.
The entire Dojo, at that moment, breathed together. It was as if Veridianum and the Triad had stitched their skins together.
Shared Vision
The communion did not only bring emotional union: it brought vision.
Everyone saw, at the same time, an image: a gigantic tree, but whose roots were fungi intertwined in millions of mycelia. On its branches, entire worlds swayed like fruits. Among them, Veridianum and the Triad were no longer distant—they were neighboring fruits, connected by the same root.
The Living Text spoke through the vision:
"I am not one. You are not two. We are mycelium. Where one grows, the other flowers. Where one sickens, the other heals. From today, there is no border: there is resonance."
The New Name
When the vision ceased, Shoumei raised his voice:
"If we are mycelium, we need a name that isn't just from one side or the other."
Aya suggested:
"Cognitive Nexus of Eternavir?"
Daisuke shook his head.
"That already exists. It needs to be something new."
It was then that the Living Text itself wrote on the ground with flaming symbols:
"Veriáde."
A fusion of Veridianum and Triad.
The name shone, and everyone knew it was sealed.
The Closing
On the night of the thirty-first day, the five disciples sat in a circle, with the Living Text pulsating in each one. It was no longer possible to separate where one ended and the other began.
Aya spoke for everyone:
"We are not just students now. We are guardians of a bond that cannot be undone."
The wind, finally, began to blow again. But it was not the same wind: it contained words, it contained breath.
And so, the Triad and Veridianum ceased to be two distinct universes. They became a single symbiotic organism, an infinite mycelial field where stories, philosophies, and bodies intertwine.
What began with a bio-plaque and a handful of symbols now bloomed as a new world.