Chapter 5: The Root in the Crib

🌱 Chapter 5: The Root in the Crib

🌕 The Night the Soil Whispered

The moon was high and full, silvering the fields like frost.

All across the Varenthor homestead, a hush had fallen. The wind curled around the thatched roof like an old lullaby. In the barn, the cows shifted in sleep. The chickens made soft cooing noises. The ducks snored in their pond, chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

And beneath the farmhouse floor, something ancient opened one leafy eye.

👶 Sylas Doesn't Cry

Inside the nursery, a cradle swayed ever so slightly on its own. Sylas lay nestled in a quilt hand-stitched from wool, his eyes glowing faintly with soul energy—unseen by mortal eyes.

He had not cried once since birth.

Instead, he watched. He listened.

Not with ears.

But with roots.

The spirit seed I buried beneath the cradle... it's ready.

It's no longer just a seed—it's becoming something else.

He felt it push upward, not violently—but reverently. The magic curled through the grains of wood, pressing through without damage, as if asking permission to be born.

thum... thum...

A heartbeat. Soft. Childlike.

The spirit budling was awakening.

🌱 Birth of a Companion

A glow began to bloom from under the floorboards. Dim green at first, then pale gold. It coalesced into a shape: a small shoot, a sprout no longer.

It had a head like a bean, stubby arms made of wrapped vines, and two bright eyes made from specks of polished amber sap.

The creature climbed into the cradle slowly, like a shy kitten climbing onto a sleeping master's chest.

And then—it reached out a tiny leafy hand.

Sylas raised his.

[System Notification]

Spirit Companion Detected: Root Echo Budling

Name: ??? (Unbonded)

Would you like to initiate Soulroot Bond?

—YES / NO—

Yes.

Their fingers touched.

And in that moment, the bond sealed.

The rootling blinked once, then smiled.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Morning Discovery

Sunrise rolled across the hills, golden and slow.

The Varenthor household came alive with the usual shuffle of boots, bleats, and bickering.

Maelis yawned as she carried milk buckets in from the goatshed. Lira stirred barley porridge over the hearth. Bran shouted from the porch about needing help with the wagon wheel.

Inside the nursery, Maelis froze mid-step.

"Mama," she whispered. "There's… there's a plant in the crib."

Lira turned, confused. "A what?"

"A little… green thing. It's sitting next to Sylas."

Bran stomped in. "What's this about a—by dirt's edge—what is that?!"

The whole family soon gathered.

There it was: a tiny plant creature, no larger than a carrot, seated beside Sylas like a cradle-mate. It had blinking amber eyes and was currently chewing on a button.

It looked up and waved.

Lira gasped. "It's not hurting him…"

Serra, the oldest, pale and soft-spoken, whispered: "I… I think it's protecting him."

Elly reached out with curiosity. "Can we keep it?"

Bran frowned. "Is it safe?"

Sylas lay perfectly still—then turned his eyes toward Bran and gave him the faintest smirk a baby could manage.

🪵 System Update

Spirit Companion Bond Complete

Name: Bud

Species: Root-Echo Budling

Function: Land Memory Conduit / Emotional Link / Spirit Detector

Trait Gained: "Memory-Sap" — absorb echoes from soil, trees, blood

New Ability: Shared Sight (Range: 10m)

Companion Emotion: Loyal Curiosity

He's not a weapon.

He's an echo of the land itself. A soul formed by dirt and forgotten dreams.

🚜 Neighbor in Need

The peaceful morning shattered with the sound of hooves and wheels.

A cart came barreling down the lane, pulled by a foaming donkey and driven by Old Marrun, a neighboring farmer with a sharp tongue and sharper worries.

His son Harke clutched the reins, pale and sweating.

"Baron Aldric!" Marrun shouted. "Emergency—rot's taken the east field!"

Aldric stepped off the porch with a grimace. "What kind?"

"Corn's collapsing. Stalks are black, leaves twisted. No bugs. No sign of drought. It's like death crept up overnight!"

"We saw silver moss," Harke added. "And we heard... whispering in the rows."

At that, Maelis and Lira exchanged glances.

"Whispering?" Thira muttered, stepping out with her herb pouch.

"That's no crop disease," Bran said. "That's spirit-born rot."

Lira looked down at Sylas. "We'll go."

🌾 Helping Hands

Aldric and Bran hitched up the old mule cart with digging tools. Maelis packed herbs and salts. Serra stayed behind to care for the little ones. Lira tucked Sylas into her sling, Bud curling up beside him like a mossy doll.

At Marrun's fields, the rot was worse than they'd imagined.

Blackened stalks twisted like burned hands. Silver moss pulsed at the base of the stems. The soil stank like wet iron.

Harke pointed. "It spread from that corner. Three days ago, there was a crow. It wouldn't leave."

A crow… Sylas thought, listening through Bud.

A cursed carrion host. Used by poison spirits in the old ages.

Through Bud's link, Sylas reached into the soil.

[Soil Pulse Initiated]

Path: Varenthor Farm > Marrun Acres > Northbed Corn Rows

Memory Echo Detected: Spirit Pest Infection (Crow-Carrier)

He saw it all: a dark crow, beady-eyed, scratching cursed sigils in the dirt. A whispering fungus coiled in its feathers. It died—but the spores lived.

It's not just rot. It's a planted curse.

💧 Cleansing the Fields

Sylas guided Bud from the cradle across the soil-thread link. The little rootling, now glowing faintly green, extended one vine into the earth at home. The soil around Marrun's field quivered.

Then—a pulse.

Soft. Subtle. A wave of warmth rolled through the cursed cornrows. The moss curled, hissed, and began to shrivel.

Maelis gasped. "Something just… neutralized it."

Harke fell to his knees. "You saved us. How?"

Aldric simply said, "The land doesn't forget its own."

Marrun stared. "You Varenthors… you're not ordinary."

"We never were," Bran muttered.

🍂 Return and Reflection

Back home, Lira tucked Sylas into his crib, placing Bud beside him. The little rootling made a sound between a chirp and a snore, curling one leafy limb protectively around the baby's arm.

Lira stared for a long moment.

"You really are something else," she whispered. "A blessing in small hands."

Sylas closed his eyes, not in sleep—but in thought.

One seed. One sprout. One problem solved.

Not with fire. Not with war. But with care.

This… this is my new empire.

And I will grow it season by season.

The wind rustled the thatch.

And deep beneath the field, something old opened a second eye.