NOVPUBThe crack didn't speak.
But it didn't need to.
Whatever was beneath the surface had already marked him.
Merlin didn't move. Just listened.
Elara hadn't lowered her spear.
And Cale… had finally stopped trying to smile.
His gaze dropped again to the vines. The edges of his shoes barely touched the line between courtyard tile and corrupted stone.
He stepped back.
Just one pace.
Enough to break the line of sight.
"I'm… going to pretend I didn't see this," he said carefully.
Merlin didn't respond.
Cale swallowed. His jaw worked once. He looked like he wanted to say something clever and then realized this wasn't the right audience.
Or the right terrain.
"I wasn't informed about anything like this," he muttered.
Still trying to sound like someone who was in the loop. Someone who belonged here.
Merlin's eyes stayed on the ground.
The vines hadn't moved again. But they hadn't stopped watching either. The subtle angle of the tips, the soft twitch in the fiber. It wasn't idle.
It was learning.
[SYSTEM ALERT: THREAD NETWORK ANALYZING BEHAVIORAL PATTERNS]
[USER PRESENCE: FLAGGED FOR RECOGNITION]
[SYSTEM CORE: 61%]
'Recognition.'
That wasn't standard for seed-stage domains.
Which meant this wasn't seed-stage anymore.
It was adapting faster than it should.
Cale took another half-step back.
"You didn't summon this," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Merlin glanced at him once.
Short.
Cold.
"No."
Cale looked away again. Back at the crack.
His hands had gone into his pockets. Not relaxed. Hiding the shake.
"I should go," he said.
Elara didn't answer.
Cale turned, more cautious now. His back wasn't fully to them. His posture had changed. Less self-assured. Less entitled.
He took two steps. Then three.
The vines didn't chase him.
But they didn't relax either.
When Cale reached the archway, he hesitated.
Turned back halfway.
"You're not normal students," he said.
Still quiet. Still measured. But not arrogant anymore.
Merlin didn't answer.
Because he wasn't wrong.
He didn't have to be told to leave this time.
He just did.
The moment his figure vanished from the hall, the tension in the air dropped—not completely, but enough to feel the edge dull.
Elara exhaled through her nose.
Her stance relaxed slightly, but her weapon didn't lower.
"That was close."
"Not close enough."
Merlin turned back to the crack.
The vines had stopped moving.
Still.
Flat.
Like they were waiting for a new order.
Or a better opportunity.
[THREAD INTERFERENCE: PAUSED]
[ENVIRONMENTAL PRESSURE: STABILIZED]
[SEEDLING STATE: PASSIVE HOLD]
'It's watching now. Not attacking. That means it got what it wanted.'
Information.
Not a fight.
He looked at the split stone again. The texture around the crack had changed. No longer brittle. More like hardened root bark. The color shift was almost invisible unless you were looking for it.
It had disguised itself again.
'Smart.'
He didn't like that.
He crouched, slowly, and tapped one knuckle against the stone beside the split.
No pulse.
No sound.
Still warm.
Still waiting.
He stood.
"Elara."
She looked over.
"We contain this. Quietly. If anyone else shows up, we push them out."
She gave the faintest nod. "And Reinhardt?"
"He'll handle the council."
"And if he doesn't?"
Merlin didn't answer.
Not because he didn't know.
But because the real answer wasn't something she needed to hear yet.
—
The door clicked shut behind him.
Reinhardt didn't bother waiting for an invitation. If she hadn't wanted him here, the hallway would've bent itself closed.
He stepped into the room.
Same deep carpet. Same heavy scent of burnt herbs and polished oak. The windows were half-shuttered, and the fire wasn't for warmth. It was for control. 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙥𝙪𝙗.𝒄𝙤𝙢
Morgana didn't turn from her desk. She was leaned forward slightly, one arm resting along the edge, the other stirring a silver spoon through an untouched cup of tea.
"I heard," she said. Voice even. Light, almost. "Something near the garden wing."
"You didn't hear it from me."
"I didn't say I did."
He moved to the center of the room. Didn't sit.
"It's real," he said.
Morgana set the spoon down. A soft tap against ceramic.
"How bad?"
"Quiet. Subtle. Too early to measure. But it's there."
Now she turned.
The light caught her just enough to show the edge of her expression. Not surprised. Just… adjusting.
"Vines?" she asked.
"Yes."
"And the ground?"
"Breathing."
She picked up the teacup. Didn't drink.
"Do we have a name for it?"
Reinhardt nodded once.
"It's some kind of a Hollow Labyrinth."
That made her pause.
Just for a second.
Then she sat back slowly, like the name had weight and she needed to shift to carry it.
"That's not something that shows up on its own."
"I know."
"No host?"
"Not yet."
Morgana's eyes drifted to the fire. It popped once, like it was listening.
"You think it's a bleed?"
"No," he said. "Too focused. It's reacting to attention, not ambient mana. Like it knows when it's being watched."
She didn't answer right away.
Then, after a moment: "Who found it?"
"Two first-years."
Her brow lifted slightly.
"Which ones?"
"Merlin and Elara."
Now she turned her full attention on him.
"Those names come up too often."
"I know."
"You trust Merlin?"
"I don't trust anyone."
Morgana smiled faintly. Not amused. Just old.
"And yet you brought this to me."
"I didn't have a choice."
Her smile disappeared.
"You think it followed him?"
Reinhardt's jaw shifted. Just barely.
"I think it recognized him."
Morgana leaned forward again. Her fingers drummed once on the desk, slow.
"You think he's a breach point?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"I think he's standing where something wants to be."
The silence settled between them.
No alarms. No panic. Just pressure.
Eventually, Morgana stood. Her hands were steady. Her steps slower now. She moved toward the shelf near the wall, tracing her fingers along a row of locked scroll tubes without picking one.
"We'll keep this quiet," she said. "No notices. No council briefings."
"I figured."
"If it spreads?"
"Then it spreads," he said. "And I kill whatever walks out."
She turned back to him.
For a moment, she looked younger. Not softer. Just sharper.
"Watch the boy," she said.
"I already am."
"Good. Don't let him know."
"I don't think he'd care if he did."
That made her pause again. Then she smiled—thin, tired, but real.
"That's what worries me."
—
The vines hadn't moved in ten minutes.
That was the part that bothered him.
Not the growth. Not the pulse.
The stillness.
Like the thing beneath the floor had decided it didn't need to stretch anymore. Like it had learned what it wanted to know.
And now it was watching.
Merlin crouched again. His fingers hovered near the edge of the cracked tile. Still warm. Still humming underneath.
But the cadence had changed.
No longer curious.
Just patient.
Elara hadn't spoken since Cale left. She stood a few steps behind him, posture still in guard, but looser now. Not out of relief, just fatigue. Even tension had a time limit.
"We should tell the others," she said quietly.
"No."
"You think this stays contained?"
"No."
She didn't say anything else.
She knew he wasn't wrong.
Merlin tapped the stone once. Nothing triggered. No new twitch. No pressure response.
[SYSTEM CORE: 63%]
[THREAD ACTIVITY: PASSIVE MONITORING MODE]
[STABILIZATION LEVEL: HOLDING]
'It's waiting for something. A signal. A host. A mistake.'
The problem was, he didn't know which.
And that meant staying near it was a risk. But leaving it alone was worse.
He stood.
The courtyard felt smaller than it had a moment ago. The space between the walls had started to fold in around the air, like the light couldn't quite decide how to sit on the stone.
Subtle.
Not real yet.
But getting closer.
Elara shifted her grip.
"So what now?" she asked.
He looked at her. Then at the vine stump still curling near the bench leg. It hadn't regrown. Just rested.
"We mark it," he said.
She raised an eyebrow.
He pulled a strip of thin white thread from his coat. Standard field-issue ward line. Harmless unless charged. But visible.
He crouched again, looped it once around the base of the crack, then tied it loose.
If it shifted, the thread would snap.
If someone stepped too close, they'd see it.
He stood again. Adjusted his coat sleeve.
Elara watched his hands.
"No one's going to believe a thread keeps this thing in place," she muttered.
"They don't need to believe it," he said. "They just need to hesitate long enough for us to know."
A beat of silence passed between them.
She looked back at the vines.
"You think this was random?"
"No."
"You think it's here for you?"
He didn't answer.
Not because he didn't want to.
Because he didn't know the answer yet.
And that was worse.
He stepped back once, toward the courtyard exit.
"Let's go."
She didn't argue.
They left the vine behind.
But it didn't leave them.
'This is starting to get way too troublesome, we need to deal with it quickly before it spreads too much.'
