I. When vibration became wound
The world didn't stop when the white root sprouted. The cities continued to roar. The rituals were repeated. The prayers rose like steam to skies that no longer heard. But something, beneath it all, in the most ancient part of time, broke soundlessly . It wasn't an explosion, nor a collapse. It was a silent crack. An invisible line that began to spread across the web, not like a fissure... but like a question.
Akihiko didn't sleep. Ever since the white root anchored itself to Tsugai no Oka Hill, the air had become too thick for rest. Not because of danger. Not because of threat. Simply because his body knew it was witnessing something sacred, something not to be looked at with closed eyes .
Beside him, Sora lay motionless. Sleeping, yes, but not entirely. The glow beneath her skin was stronger now. Her veins were white rivers that pulsed with an unbearable calm. Her body showed no wounds, but her soul seemed to expand beyond the limits of the flesh. Akihiko had seen her be many things: human, singer of the Tree, walker of judgment, vessel of the new sprout. But now, without name, without purpose, without judgment, he watched her become another form of root .
And the most disconcerting thing was that she didn't seem to fight it. She wasn't afraid. Just present.
II. The song that the world cannot translate
From the top of the hill, the white root had extended a second spiral. Not toward the sky. Not toward the net. But inward. Toward an invisible core in the earth that not even the Tree recognized. Where ancient roots had never dared to sprout, it did so silently , without disturbing the earth, without deforming the stone, without demanding space. It just was. And that "being" was the most unnatural thing the Twelve Families could conceive.
Because the white root had no lineage.
And without lineage… there was no control .
At various points across the continent, the sacred nodes of the Tree began to behave erratically. Some pulsed for no reason. Others closed spontaneously. The oldest, in the crypts of the primordial clans, began to bleed dark sap from their extremities, as if a silent pressure from the depths of the world were pushing a new truth upward.
The priests spoke of "white noise."
The elders called it "the echoless pulse." But the Patriarchs knew the truth: the Tree was no longer the only one who could sing.
III. The Council of Patriarchs and the Fracture of Dogma
Gathered beneath the Inverted Hall, in the chamber where the roots of judgment converge from all the cities, the clan spiritual leaders met face to face for the first time in decades. There, where the sap still sang in circles, something was wrong. The central root, the one that pierced the ceiling and hung over the hall like a vein of the world, no longer pulsed with the traditional rhythm. It was stiff. Tense. Silent.
"The Tree no longer responds," said the Patriarch of the Akashiro, his voice thick with old sap.
"He's not dead," the Zayun replied. "But he's retired ."
The words fell like a stone into still water.
—What if it's not the Tree that has withdrawn, but we who are no longer heard?
That was the real fear. Because if the Tree had disconnected, then the entire system would collapse. But if they were the ones who could no longer tune into its vibration… then the Tree had begun to judge its own guardians .
And even worse: if there was anything that could sing off the grid , anything that didn't need his approval, then the Tree could be forgotten.
A decree emerged from the vibration of the group:
—Locate the white root.
—Silence it before it blooms. —Burn the hill if necessary. —And declare heresy any soul who tries to protect it.
The Silent Judgment was underway.
IV. The Pain of the Tree
Far away, beneath layers of earth and time, the Tree felt .
Not as a creature does. Not with words, not with images. It felt as a being does, always part of the whole and now discovering emptiness .
He didn't understand what was eating away at him. The white root didn't touch him. It didn't pierce him. It didn't attack him. But something in its independent growth had fractured his deepest network. The younger roots were beginning to disconnect. The older ones didn't know whether to retreat or attack. Their sap circulated, but it couldn't find direction.
For the first time since its germination, the Tree wished it had never been born.
V. Mizuki prepares
In the Tower of Outer Judgment, Mizuki Inari observed the vibration maps. Every pulse, every song, every echo was a symphony that could predict movements, reactions, threats. But now, something marred the pattern. A white void that absorbed the vibrations without returning them.
"It's growing," he murmured.
"But not like a root." "Like an idea."
Naraka, standing beside him, narrowed his eyes.
—What are we going to do?
Mizuki did not hesitate.
—We will not destroy it.
—We will discredit it. —The world does not fear what flourishes. —It fears what makes it feel unnecessary .
VI. Sora's Awakening
Sora opened his eyes when the hill stopped shaking.
His body had changed. It wasn't stronger. Or more fragile. It was simply something else.
Akihiko looked at her with a mixture of reverence and loss. Because she wasn't just her anymore.
She was the first node of an undesigned system.
A vessel, yes, but also a boundary.
" Can you feel it?" he asked.
Sora nodded slowly.
—She has no name.
She has no mission. She doesn't want to change the world. She just wants to exist nearby .
—Close to what?
—Of that which does not seek to belong.
Akihiko closed his eyes.
Because for the first time, he understood that perhaps
he no longer belonged in the world to come.
END OF CHAPTER 99