Nothing But Dirt

The morning sun filtered through low clouds as Jalen made his way along the well-worn path to the hills. The light had a muted quality to it, like the whole world hadn't quite shaken off sleep.

There was no dew on the grass today. No sparkle. Just a dull dampness in the air, heavy and unmoving.

Birdsong came in fragments—one chirp, a pause, then silence. Usually, it was scattered and bright by now.

The forest edge that hugged the slope offered no hum of insects. Even the breeze seemed reluctant, brushing past his cheeks as if distracted.

Like the land was trying not to be noticed.

His boots crunched softly over loose gravel and damp earth as he stepped beyond his usual path into less familiar ground.

Up here, the smells changed—less farmland, more bark, old roots, and mineral-rich stone.

His bag was slung over one shoulder, half-full with the herbs he'd gathered earlier that morning. Still, something in him had pulled him toward the hillside instead of home.

Not out of need. Not even curiosity.

Just that same faint pull in his chest, like something just beneath awareness tugged gently at his ribs.

He crouched near a patch of earth where the grass thinned and gave way to something not quite right.

The soil here wasn't dead. It wasn't dry. It was just… wrong. Off.

Not rot. Not drought. Just stillness.

The ground here didn't breathe.

Jalen ran his fingers across the soil. It didn't recoil, but it didn't yield either. It was firm, but not solid. Cool, but not cold. As if it had chosen to stop being anything at all.

There were roots here—coarse ones, tangled like veins beneath skin. Their color was pale, off-white tinged with green. But not the healthy kind.

A ghostly hue. A hint of something left too long in the dark.

There was no rot. No mold. No scent. Only that faint shifting in the earth's texture and the silence pressing down around him.

He leaned closer, holding his breath.

Something shifted.

Not the ground. Not the trees. Something… else. A sensation more than a sound. Like movement in his peripheral vision. A flicker. Gone the moment he turned.

He stayed crouched there, unmoving, the weight of the stillness pressing on his shoulders.

The air had a strange taste—moss and metal, like the inside of a forgotten pipe.

His thoughts drifted back to the stillness of yesterday.

Some parts of the land felt wrong. Still. Like they were waiting for something.

Jalen stood slowly, dusting off his palms. He looked around one last time—nothing but trees, low hills, and windless silence.

"Probably nothing," he muttered, though he didn't believe it.

He turned and started back toward the village.

The village was awake when he returned, but it felt like the world hadn't noticed.

Traders were unpacking crates, voices low and practical. The same two old men sat beside the well, throwing dice onto a worn cloth and arguing over the results, just as they had for the past twenty years.

A few children darted past, barefoot and shrieking, their laughter cutting across the square like birds startled into flight. One chased the others with a stick, claiming it was a sword. Another pretended to cast spells, eyes wide with made-up magic.

But something about it all felt thinner than usual.

Like a stage play with half the cast missing and no one in the audience.

Jalen passed through it unnoticed, like he always did.

Familiar. Quiet. Not quite part of it.

He was almost to the baker's stall when he spotted Marta near the edge of the square, apron dusted in flour, arms folded, staring at the breeze as if it had offended her.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she called before he even reached her. No smile. Just the usual Marta edge.

"Just…" He paused. "Nothing but dirt. South side of the hill."

She wiped her hands slowly on her apron. "Well, Mom says that's just bad soil. Always has been. At least that's what she said, Mr. Gilbert says."

Her tone was casual, but her eyes flicked to his. Then narrowed.

Not in suspicion. Not in thought.

Something older passed through her face.

Like the world had blinked through her for just a moment.

Jalen stopped. A chill strolled down his spine.

"You feel it too, don't you?" she asked. Her voice was different now. Thinner. Hollow in a way that didn't match her body.

He hesitated. "Feel what?"

"The quiet," she whispered. "The waiting. The land's been holding its breath."

Her voice echoed too closely to his own thoughts.

"There was something strange," he said slowly. "Like… the land was holding something back. I kept waiting for something to move. But it never did."

Marta didn't react right away. Her hands were still pressed to her apron—but now they gripped the cloth like it might slip from her entirely.

"I've felt it," she said after a beat. Her voice had grown quieter still. Drier. "The flickers. They happen just before the System tries to speak. But then it doesn't."

He stared at her.

"You're saying the System tried to talk to you?"

She exhaled. "It used to. A long time ago. Sent warnings. Messages. Quests. Not often. Not clearly. But sometimes. And then…"

Her eyes unfocused.

Something shifted behind them.

"It just stopped," she whispered. "For everyone."

The wind picked up, sudden and sharp. It rushed through the alley behind them like a gasp.

Marta didn't flinch.

"But sometimes," she said, "if you're very quiet… you still hear it breathing."

Jalen didn't laugh.

He remembered the way the soil had stayed warm beneath his hand. Like something breathing through the dirt.

Then Marta smiled.

But it wasn't her smile.

It was too slow. Too smooth.

"Only the lucky ones get whispers," she said.

And chuckled.

A dry, crooked sound.

Then she blinked. Once. Twice.

She stood straighter, like someone waking from a long nap, and let out a soft huff.

"Still," she said, brushing flour from her arms, "you haven't even gotten your System yet, have you? Probably just a shimmer in the mist."

"Yeah," Jalen replied, but his voice was low, uneven.

He started walking away.

Behind him, Marta stared after him for a second longer than necessary.

Then, with a slight shake of her head, she muttered under her breath, "What was I even saying to him? Bad soil, I think… huh. Oh well."

She turned back toward the bakery, humming something tuneless as she walked.

Jalen didn't look back.

But the cold stayed with him.