Watching Eyes

Consciousness returned, but not gently. Instead it arrived like surfacing too fast from crushing depths.

Huff...Huff

Riven gasped for air as his senses flooded back into a world that felt strangely muffled, and sterile. He lay on a simple pallet, not of soft moss, but of tightly woven, non-reactive grey fibres. The air tasted filtered, and neutral, lacking the rich, loamy scent of the heartwood or the sharp ozone of the Crags.

He was in one of the Deep Observation Cells.

Riven knew this place from fragmented explanations Elmsa had given him over the years – chambers deep within the Enclave's core, lined with materials designed to absorb or nullify extreme energy fluctuations, reserved for studying highly unstable phenomena or containing dangerous entities. He'd never imagined being brought here himself.

Panic flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly suppressed by ingrained habit.

He assessed his condition. His body ached with a bone-deep weariness, unlike anything he'd felt before. His head throbbed dully. He cautiously tried to sense his internal essence. It was there, but felt… sluggish, depleted, like a starved fire. And his marks – usually a constant, faint thrum beneath his skin – were terrifyingly quiet. He pushed up slightly, pulling aside the simple tunic they'd put on him.

In the cell's cool, even light emanating from the walls themselves, lacking the warmth of fungal glow, the intricate star-scarred patterns were visible, but they were dark, inert, like dead tattoos rather than conduits of living power. Only the faintest, almost imperceptible silver trace remained within the complex lines.

'Gone?' The thought brought a sharp, cold fear.

Was the power that defined his strange existence, the storm he wrestled daily, simply extinguished by the backlash? Or merely dormant, recovering? He tried to consciously channel a flicker of Essence to the Marks on his hand. Nothing. No response, no glow, no chaotic surge. Just… emptiness. The silence from his own power was more unsettling than its usual chaos.

The faint hiss of the cell's sealed entrance sliding open broke the silence. Elmsa entered, her expression carefully neutral, though her aura felt tighter, more guarded than usual. She carried a tray with water and a small bowl of nutrient paste – the standard Enclave sustenance he usually refused, but today might desperately need. Her own mycelial Marks glowed with their typical controlled, healthy light.

"You are awake," she stated, her voice calm, and professional. She placed the tray on a simple stone ledge extending from the wall. "How do you feel?"

"Drained," Riven answered honestly, his voice raspy. He pushed himself up fully, sitting on the edge of the pallet. "My Marks… they don't respond."

Elmsa nodded slowly, her analytical gaze sweeping over his inert Marks, then meeting his eyes. "The energy signature collapse was total. The Healers who examined you upon return detected near-zero essence activity – only a baseline life-trace remaining. They believe the interface with the sky-resonance overloaded your system, forcing a protective shutdown." She paused. "Or perhaps, a fundamental depletion."

Riven processed this. Shutdown or depletion? One implied recovery, the other… permanence. He didn't know which was worse – regaining the chaotic power he fought daily, or losing the core part of himself, however dangerous?

"The Elders?" he asked.

"I reported immediately upon our return. Elder Rowan convened with Root-Speaker Thorn," Elmsa confirmed. Her expression remained carefully neutral, but Riven sensed the underlying gravity. "They have analyzed the sensor data from the Crags, my report, and the Healers' assessment."

"And?" Riven pressed, needing to know their verdict.

"They concur the event was unprecedented," Elmsa said. "The energy you perceived, interacted with, and momentarily channeled… its signature matches nothing in the Enclave archives, though it shares characteristics with certain theorized 'primordial resonance' patterns speculated to exist before the Great Root achieved full consciousness or before the Dimming." She took a breath. "They were… deeply concerned by the intensity, the backlash, and your subsequent state. Direct interaction with such forces is deemed exceedingly perilous."

"So I remain here," Riven stated flatly, looking around the featureless, energy-dampening cell. It felt like a cage.

"For now, yes," Elmsa confirmed.

"Absolute containment and observation are paramount until your Essence field stabilizes and we understand the nature of this shutdown. Further external missions are forbidden indefinitely. The risk is too high – both to you and to the Enclave." She softened her tone slightly. "The Healers believe recovery is possible, given the resilience your essence has shown previously. But it may take time. Rest. Attempt basic internal cycling exercises only when you feel ready, and report any sensation, however minor."

She gestured to the nutrient paste. "You need energy. Consume this."

Riven looked at the grey paste, then back at Elmsa. For sixteen cycles, she had been his guide, his teacher, the one constant presence. Now, she was also his observer within this cell, relaying orders from Elders who saw him as a dangerous variable. Did she still see the 'potential' she once spoke of to Thorn? Or just the danger? He couldn't read her impassive face. He felt a pang of the old isolation, sharper now in this sterile confinement. He thought fleetingly of the ironwood charm – it wasn't here, likely removed with his clothes. He missed its simple, solid presence.

'Did I hear it?' his own waking thought echoed. The memory of the resonance surged – the overwhelming power, the clarity of the 'warning', the feeling of connection just before the agonizing severance. It hadn't felt like mere energy. It felt like… something vast, ancient, and trapped, reaching out. Had touching it broken him? Or woken something else?

"The resonance," he said aloud, his voice low. "The pattern I perceived… the warning… did the Elders offer any interpretation?"

Elmsa hesitated. "Elder Rowan noted the complexity. They spoke of ancient warnings, echoes in the Root related to profound cosmic imbalances, often preceding major sky-fall events or reality shifts. But they offered no definitive interpretation of what you specifically sensed or channeled. It remains unknown." She met his gaze directly. "Riven, the power you touched... it is beyond our current understanding. Caution is not merely advisable; it is essential for survival – yours, and potentially ours."

He nodded slowly, understanding the implicit warning. He was under suspicion, and his power was deemed a critical threat. The path forward wasn't one of training now but of careful recovery under intense scrutiny.

He reached for the bowl of nutrient paste. For the first time, he ate it without protest, feeling the bland, energy-rich substance slowly begin to replenish his utterly depleted physical reserves. His essence remained silent, his Marks dark, but deep within the echoing void left by the resonance, Riven felt a new, cold resolve forming.

They didn't understand. They feared it. But he had touched it. He had heard the sky sing. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that his long watch was only truly beginning. He needed to recover, regain his power – perhaps even learn to control it differently now – and find a way to hear that song again. Understand its source. Understand his connection to it. Even if it meant defying the Elders, the Enclave, and the very balance they sought to protect.