The passage of cycles within the Still-Pool Nursery settled into a tense calm. Elmsa found a rhythm dictated by the Seedling's profound stillness, punctuated by moments of inexplicable activity. The reinforced ward around the isolation grotto, woven from her essence, the nursery's ambient mana, and the Moon-Whisper Caps, seemed practical; Lorin reported fewer disturbances in the nearby passages, though the Spore-Warden's watchful caution remained palpable whenever they brought fresh supplies or checked the area's energy fields. Elmsa divided her time between meticulous observation, careful tending of the immediate environment, brief periods of restorative meditation, and detailed entries on her fungal parchment scrolls.
She grew determined to understand more about the Seedling's energy dynamics beyond simply observing the pulsing essence marks. Recalling techniques used by Enclave scholars who studied mana flows and essence signatures in rare flora or geological formations, she requested a specific tool from Lorin – a small, clear crystal lens, cultivated over years within a mana-rich geode, known as a 'Resonance Scryer'. It wasn't designed to analyze living beings directly – that could be intrusive or even dangerous – but to observe the subtle interplay of energy fields around a subject without direct contact.
Holding the cool, faintly vibrating crystal, Elmsa positioned herself near the moss bed during one of the Seedling's quiescent periods. Focusing her essence gently through the lens – her mycelial mark glowing softly on her wrist – she peered at the air around the infant, not directly at the marks themselves. The Scryer filtered her perception, allowing her to see the invisible currents. What she saw was both fascinating and deeply unsettling.
The calm, stable mana of the nursery wasn't simply flowing around the Seedling's aura; it was being drawn towards it in infinitesimally fine threads. Close to his skin, these threads seemed to fray, dissolving into the chaotic field surrounding him. But within that chaos, glimpsed through the Scryer, there were fleeting hints of a terrifyingly complex order – fractal patterns like ice crystals forming and shattering in an instant, spirals echoing galactic arms, geometries that seemed to fold in on themselves. It wasn't the smooth, harmonious flow of a known cultivation path, nor the simple devouring signature of a Blighted Mark. 'It's like watching a storm trying to build its eye,' she recorded later, struggling for words. 'A self-contained, self-generating chaos that consumes ambient harmony not out of hunger, but as fuel for its own internal... process? It doesn't resonate with the Great Root; it resonates with instability itself.' This observation only deepened the mystery of his origin – if not Sky or Dimming, then what force followed such alien principles?
Her intense focus was broken by a small, unexpected sound. Elmsa was consuming one of the nutrient bars Lorin provided – a dense, slightly sweet cake of compressed fungi, spores, and essential minerals – when the Seedling, still seemingly asleep, made a tiny sighing sound. It was barely audible, far more conventional than the clear chime note from before. Simultaneously, his Essence marks pulsed a little brighter for a second. Elmsa froze. Was it a reaction to the scent of the nutrient bar? A sign of developing senses, perhaps even nascent hunger despite his refusal of direct offerings? Or merely another random internal fluctuation? She held a piece of the bar slightly closer, extending her senses. There was no obvious energy response this time, no defensive flare. Just that single sigh, and then the return to utter stillness. She noted it down, another piece added to the growing puzzle. 'Possible sensory response to external olfactory stimulus? Or coincidence?'
Feeling the need for perspective, Elmsa decided to report these latest findings – the observations through the Resonance Scryer and the potential sensory reaction – to Elder Rowan. She approached the communication nexus again, formulating her report with care, emphasizing the observed energy dynamics and the subtle nature of the sigh. The reply, when it came through the Root network, carried Rowan's characteristic coolness, but with perhaps a new undertone.
---Intriguing. The Scryer reveals the interaction, not the source. Some primal forces react not to intent or tender, but to resonance itself. Observe the echoes he leaves in the mana field after such events. Procure a Pure Quartz Resonator from the lower storage grottos. Once per cycle, place it near the niche – not within – and briefly channel a single, clear tone through it using your essence. Observe the Seedling's reaction, if any. Record duration, intensity, and any subsequent energy shifts meticulously. Proceed with caution.---
Elmsa acknowledged the instruction, a ripple of apprehension going through her. A Pure Quartz Resonator was used in advanced sound-based healing and sometimes in probing deep-earth Mana flows; using it near the Seedling felt like deliberately striking the strange chime he had produced. Was Rowan testing his reactivity? Trying to understand the nature of that sound? Or perhaps attempting to gently guide his chaotic energy using harmonic resonance? It felt like a step beyond passive observation, bordering on interaction, and it made her uneasy.
That evening, after Lorin had made their rounds – delivering fresh Moon-Whisper caps and casting a long, evaluating look at the Seedling before departing with only a curt nod – Elmsa found herself reflecting deeply during her rest period. She sat near the grotto entrance, the archival scrolls spread around her. The weight of her task felt immense. She was a Tender, trained to nurture, heal, and foster growth in alignment with the Great Root. Yet, her current charge resisted alignment, defied understanding, and potentially represented a threat requiring containment, more akin to the duties of a Warden.
'Am I helping him find balance?' she worried, tracing the glowing lines of her mark.
'Or am I merely tending a cage, delaying an inevitable, destructive bloom the Enclave will ultimately have to prune?'
As if sensing her troubled thoughts, a routine report filtered through her connection to the network – a general alert from the Outer Circle Guardians. Increased activity was noted along the northeastern border where the Umbralwood touched the edges of the Gray Wastes. Strange atmospheric mana surges correlated with specific alignments of the Shattered Sky fragments overhead, and sightings of mutated, aggressive wildlife straying closer to Enclave territory. Nothing critical, just another reminder of the constant pressure the broken world exerted, the lurking dangers, and the need for the Enclave's vigilance and balance. It grounded Elmsa's esoteric concerns in the gritty reality of survival that defined Aethelgard.
Later, back within the isolation grotto, she prepared for her next observation cycle. The Pure Quartz Resonator, retrieved from storage, rested beside her – a smooth, fist-sized crystal humming faintly with potential. Before using it, she checked on the Seedling. He lay still as always, but as she watched, his tiny hand, lying near the ironwood charm, clenched. Once. Twice. A small, distinct movement, fingers tightening around empty air inches from the wooden token. Then, stillness again.
Elmsa recorded it, her heart beating a little faster. She picked up the Resonator, took a deep breath, and prepared to follow Rowan's instructions, steeling herself for the response from the silent storm she guarded. The stillness held, but it felt increasingly precarious, like the surface tension on the water about to break.
.
.
.
Several cycles had passed since the Seedling's eyes had opened since the clear chime note had echoed in the grotto. A tense calm settled, but it was the calm of a held breath, not true peace. Elmsa continued her meticulous vigil within the Still-Pool Nursery's isolation niche, the weight of Root-Speaker Thorn's trust and Elder Rowan's cryptic instructions pressing upon her.
The reinforced ward, woven from mana, Moon-Whisper Caps, and her own focused essence, seemed to be holding, dampening the chaotic ripples emanating from the infant and reducing the frequency of Lorin's concerned visits about intrusions from the deeper woods. Yet, Elmsa knew this was merely masking the symptom, not addressing the fundamental imbalance churning within the silent child.
Today, she prepared to follow Elder Rowan's latest, more proactive instruction. Retrieved from the Enclave's deep storage grottos – places filled with geological anomalies, rare crystals, and dormant ancient spores – was the Pure Quartz Resonator. It rested on a soft fungal cloth beside her, a smooth, fist-sized crystal of absolute clarity, humming with faint internal energy, cool to the touch. These tools were typically used by Sound-Weavers or Earth-Sensitives to interact with deep mana flows or soothe fractured geological essences. Using it near the Seedling felt inherently risky. 'Proceed with caution,' Rowan had impressed upon her consciousness. The Elders wanted data, and wanted to understand the nature of the Seedling's unique resonance, but the potential for uncontrolled amplification was undeniable.
Taking several slow, centring breaths, Elmsa knelt a careful distance from the moss bed where the Seedling lay quiescent. She picked up the Resonator. It felt alive in her hand, eager to channel energy. Focusing her will, she drew a thread of pure, stable mana from the nursery's ambient field, filtering it through her Mycelial essence – her mark glowing softly on her forearm – and directed it into the crystal. She aimed for a single, pure harmonic tone, the kind used to calm agitated energy fields, not provoke them. A low, clear hum built within the Resonator, then flowed outwards into the grotto, a sound wave both audible and tangible as a subtle vibration in the air and mana.
The reaction was instantaneous and violent.
The Seedling didn't just stir; his tiny body convulsed, arching off the moss bed for a terrifying second. The essence marks erupted, not with their usual soft pulse, but with a blinding, chaotic flare that cycled rapidly through stark white, electric blue, deep violet, and an unsettling blood-red. The complex, star-scarred patterns fractured and reformed at impossible speeds, a maelstrom of light that burned itself onto Elmsa's vision.
Simultaneously, a wave of raw, untamed energy exploded outwards from the infant. It slammed into Elmsa's reinforced ward like a physical blow. The intricate weave of mana and calming frequencies buckled, visibly distorting. The Moon-Whisper Caps flared nova-bright, absorbing a massive surge of chaotic energy before several of them cracked audibly, their internal light extinguished. The air in the small grotto crackled with static discharge, and the still water in the corner pool sloshed violently, nearly spilling over its edge. The ironwood charm lying near the moss bed lifted into the air, spun erratically for a moment, and then clattered back down.
Worse than the physical manifestations was the psychic backlash. As the energy wave hit her ward, Elmsa felt a staggering wave of pure, raw sensation slam into her consciousness through her connection to the local mana field. It wasn't thought, not language, but an overwhelming feeling – immense confusion, stark terror, blinding rage, and beneath it all, a vast, crushing loneliness that felt as cold and empty as the void between stars. It was the soundless scream of a power that didn't understand itself or the world around it, reacting to stimulus with explosive, undirected force.
Elmsa staggered back, cutting the mana flow to the Resonator instantly, throwing up a reflexive shield of her own essence. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the psychic echo leaving her momentarily disoriented, and nauseated. 'By the Deep Roots…'
Just as abruptly as it began, the surge ended. The chaotic light from the marks vanished, returning to their baseline soft pulse, though perhaps slightly dimmer now. The Seedling slumped back onto the moss, utterly still, looking almost smaller, drained. The ambient mana in the grotto slowly settled, though the air remained thick with the scent of ozone and the lingering psychic 'scent' of raw fear and power.
Shaken but driven by her training, Elmsa forced herself back into observer mode. She quickly checked the Seedling's vitals – breathing was shallow but regular, and the temperature hadn't spiked. He seemed unharmed, merely… spent. She examined the ward; it had held, barely, but was significantly weakened, the cracked Moon-Whisper Caps useless now. Her hands trembled slightly as she meticulously documented everything on her scroll: the resonator tone frequency, the precise sequence of the reaction – convulsion, mark flare (colours, patterns glimpsed), energy wave intensity, ward strain, psychic feedback (sensations noted), physical effects (water, charm), duration, and the Seedling's post-event state.
'Chaos responds to resonance… but with overwhelming, defensive force,' she analyzed, her thoughts racing. 'This wasn't communication; it was sheer reaction. Like striking a dissonant chord on an instrument strung far too tight. The power isn't just chaotic; it's volatile, potentially self-destructive.' The primordial, untamed nature Rowan had hinted at felt terrifyingly real. 'And that feeling… that emptiness… is that the core of his essence? Or the echo of the void his unknown path borders?'
Knowing the severity, she immediately sent a detailed report to Elder Rowan via the communication nexus, including the damage to the ward components and the intensity of the psychic backlash she had experienced. The response was swifter this time, carrying an edge of something that might have been a concern, filtered through Rowan's usual reserve. Report received. Cease resonator experiments immediately. The risk of uncontrolled amplification is confirmed. Focus solely on baseline observation and strengthening containment fields. Primordial essence reacts unpredictably to structured harmonics. Echoes attract echoes; do not invite further instability. We will analyze the resonance feedback data. The message carried a finality that chilled Elmsa. The Elders were worried.
Her fears were confirmed moments later when Lorin swept into the grotto, their usual calm replaced by undisguised alarm, two stern-faced Wardens flanking them. The spore-casing marks on Lorin's neck were pulsing erratically. "Tender Elmsa! Explain this energy surge! The entire nursery grid fluctuated! Initiate Faelan was severely distressed!"
Elmsa met Lorin's glare calmly, though her nerves were frayed. "Elder Rowan instructed me to conduct a controlled resonance test using a Pure Quartz Resonator, Spore-Warden."
Lorin blinked, taken aback by the mention of Elder authority. "Rowan ordered… this?" They looked from Elmsa to the drained-looking infant, then back again, suspicion warring with deference. "The results?"
"Significant instability," Elmsa stated truthfully. "The Seedling reacted violently. The test has been countermanded by Elder Rowan. My instructions are now solely baseline observation and containment."
Lorin slowly relaxed their stance, though their disapproval remained evident. "See that you adhere to that, Tender. Another surge like that… the Still-Pools cannot tolerate it. The balance is too fragile here." They gestured to the Wardens. "Assist Tender Elmsa in reinforcing this niche. Use deep-channel insulators this time." The Wardens nodded silently and began assessing the grotto walls, preparing to install more permanent energy dampeners. Lorin gave Elmsa one last sharp look before departing.
Elmsa felt trapped. Caught between the Elders' remote pursuit of knowledge and Lorin's immediate, practical concerns for safety. Her role as Tender felt increasingly inadequate for the reality of her charge. This wasn't nurturing a delicate sprout; it was guarding a sleeping volcano. She spent the next cycle assisting the Wardens, watching as they integrated strips of dark, porous material – cultivated deep underground, designed to absorb stray mana and essence – into the grotto walls. The ambient connection to the Great Root felt slightly muted afterwards, the isolation more profound.
Once alone again, Elmsa felt a deep weariness. The path forward seemed fraught with danger and devoid of clear answers. Direct stimulation was forbidden. Simple observation yielded only more questions. Was she merely delaying the inevitable? Was the Seedling destined for a violent 'bloom' like the anomalies in the archives? She looked at the infant, now truly asleep, perhaps recovering from the energy expenditure. His hand lay near the ironwood charm. On impulse, Elmsa gently pushed the charm closer until it rested against his small fingers.
There was no conscious reaction, but Elmsa, her senses heightened after the day's events, felt… something. A fractional easing of the tight knot of chaotic energy at his core? A faint resonance, not of violence or fear, but something quieter, deeper, triggered by the simple wooden object saturated with human emotion? It was too faint and too subjective to record as data. Yet, the impression lingered. 'Can a simple anchor to a lost past truly soothe such primordial power?' she wondered.
The grotto felt intensely silent now, insulated, cut off. Elmsa settled back into her vigil, the events of the cycle weighing heavily. The Seedling was a nexus of unknown power, reacting violently to direct stimulus but perhaps subtly responding to something as simple as a memory-laden piece of wood. The way forward was obscure, the stakes immeasurable. Her watch continued, under the watchful gaze of the Elders and the wary eyes of the Spore-Warden.