I. What cannot be erased
Akihiko woke up surrounded by warm roots that moved slowly, as if they were breathing beside him. The air was thick, humid, filled with murmurs that came from no mouth. He found himself in the heart of Ryousa, beneath the sunken shrine, in what the ancients called the Chamber of the Unfinished Root.
The ground trembled beneath him. But not from fear. From conscience.
His hands were covered in sap. It wasn't red. Nor was it clear. It was dark gray, thick like ancient memory.
On his chest, where the ancient tattoo had once shone, there was now a new symbol: a broken spiral, with a vertical line running through it. The carving was embedded in his skin, alive, pulsing with every heartbeat.
Ikari, who had been silently watching over him, approached as soon as she saw him open his eyes.
—What did he do to you?
Akihiko tried to speak, but his voice was a whisper of dust.
—I don't know if he chose me... or if he just used me.
Ikari looked at the symbol with respect, but also with fear.
—That's not a mark. It's a door.
II. Those who remember too much
In the Crypt of Broken Echoes, the nomadic headquarters of the Sap Brothers, news of Ryousa's awakening arrived in the form of a chant. The monks of the sect didn't read scrolls or receive messengers: they received visions through their soul trees, small root fragments embedded in their spines.
Father Goran, the cult leader, writhed on his living wooden throne as he felt the tremor in his vertebrae.
"The Wounded One... has been marked," he said, his eyes rolling back.
The Brothers prostrated themselves before him, trembling, repeating the phrase like a litany.
—The Wounded walks… the Tree no longer sleeps… the Wounded walks… the Tree no longer sleeps…
A new cycle had begun. And they knew the next step was inevitable:
The Uprooting.
III. Mizuki in the Crystal Net
In the merchant city of Valtoria, the Inari mafia held a false truce with the Fumetsu clan. Between music, banquets, and gambling, Mizuki moved through the halls like a demon disguised as a courtesan.
His network of informants had confirmed the unthinkable:
Akihiko not only survived the Sanctuary… but he came out scarred.
"This changes everything," he whispered into the ear of his chief spy, a fallen exorcist known as Shunji.
—Do you want us to delete it?
—No. Not yet. If we touch it now, the Tree might... react.
—So what?
Mizuki looked out the carved-glass window. Outside, the citizens lived as if the world weren't about to come crashing down.
—Let's observe it. Study it. And when it blossoms... we'll know what to cut first: its branch, its root, or its soul.
IV. The voice of the root
That night, Akihiko had a dream.
He stood on dry ground, littered with ancient bodies. You couldn't see their faces. They all bore the mark of the broken spiral. One by one, they pointed at him.
Behind him, the colossal Tree watched him. Its branches swayed in the wind. And from deep within its trunk, a figure emerged.
It was himself.
But older. Scarred. With one eye empty.
"This isn't a dream," his other self told him. "It's a rehearsal."
—A rehearsal for what?
—For when you can't choose... and you have to become a root or an axe.
When she woke up, her throat was dry and her nails were dug into the ground.
Ikari was sleeping a few feet away. Seiji wasn't there.
Only the root throbbed, as if the Tree also breathed through it.
V. In the Raven's Hall
Renjirō Kurobane, on his throne, looked at a new piece on his board: a hand-painted portrait of Akihiko, with the spiral engraved in the center.
"He became a catalyst," said his daughter Naomi, who was carrying a spear made of bone and metal.
"Yes," the Patriarch replied. "But he's not a symbol. He's not a leader. He's a rift."
—So what are we going to do?
Renjiro smiled.
—If the Tree awakens… and he is its Wounded… we will water the roots with the blood of the other eleven clans. And when they are all dead, Akihiko will come for us.
Naomi didn't look scared. Just excited.
—And you, Father… what will you do when he comes?
—I'll be waiting for you… with the final seed.
VI. In the throat of the world
In a deep cavern, forgotten by maps, the remains of the Old Readers stirred.
An underground murmur was awakening.
An unwritten text began to reveal itself.
And at the end of the corridor, where the roots intertwined with bones and rock saliva, an inscription appeared in the stone, carved by the Tree's own sap:
"The Wounded One will bring balance, or break the definitive root."