Rootbound
The world was still when he woke.
No flickers. No vines. No illusionary sky.
Just cold stone and a pale light bleeding in through tall windows. The silence wasn't empty—it was dense. Waiting. As if the room itself was holding its breath.
Aoto sat up, slowly.
No chains bound him.
No Queen stood above him whispering riddles.
But he could feel her—somewhere in the castle. Still watching. Still believing this was her story.
He stood, barefoot on the marble floor, and let the stillness wrap around him like a cloak.
But his breath had steadied.
He walked out the door.
The castle felt different now. Not in shape—but in response. The torches leaned toward him. The walls whispered, but not in words—just in the rustle of shifting grain. The structure, once neutral, now bent softly toward him.
He passed through a wide corridor toward a ritual hall lit by green fire.
At its center stood the Queen.
Barefoot. Graceful. Her robe darker now, marked with silver veins.
A circle was etched into the floor around her, pulsing with soft bioluminescent runes. The altar beside her bore a scroll, unfurled and blank—waiting to be filled.
"You came," she said.
He didn't answer.
She gestured to the center of the circle.
He stepped in without hesitation.
"This is the final rite," she said. "The contract that will bind you to the Seed and awaken your purpose."
"You'll remember everything once it's signed."
She lifted her hands and began to speak in a language he did not need to understand.
But the castle—did.
The ground trembled.
The vines that had once obeyed her recoiled from her wrists.
The scroll blackened, then burst into glowing ash.
And from the ashes, a new form of writing appeared—etched in red light.
The mark of the Rootbound.
The Queen froze mid-sentence.
"...This isn't the rite."
The circle flared. The magic folded backward. And the light traced not around Aoto's feet—but into his chest.
The altar cracked.
The air warped.
And the castle knelt.
So did she.
Not by choice.
Her knees buckled softly to the floor, like the vines themselves had made the decision.
She stared at him, breathless.
"H-How?"
Her voice wasn't angry.
It wasn't frightened.
It was small.
"How did you know?"
For a moment, Aoto simply looked down at her.
His shadow stretched longer behind him.
Then finally, he spoke.
"I met something once."
"Intelligent. Hungry. Wrong."
"It didn't kill me."
"It wanted to talk."
The Queen's eyes widened. The roots around her flexed tighter.
"I asked it questions. Gave it something in return.
"It told me of you."
"And what you were trying to become."
A pause.
He took a step closer.
"I let you test me."
"I let you think I didn't know."
"Because I needed to get close enough."
She trembled.
"Close enough to do… this?"
Aoto tilted his head.
"No."
"Close enough to bind you."
The castle groaned.
A second circle formed beneath her—this one older. Hidden. Not hers.
She was now part of his contract.
She looked down as the sigil traced itself under her palms.
No chains.
No screams.
Just a quiet, impossible truth.
And she said nothing.
Not a word.
She couldn't.
Not from awe. Not from pain.
But from understanding.
That this boy—this forgotten human without legacy, without classification—
Had played the long game.
And won.
Aoto turned.
He walked toward the open doors of the hall.
The Queen remained kneeling as the light from the shattered contract dimmed.
Not imprisoned.
Just bound.
Silently.
Forever.