⊹ SYSTEM UPDATE ⊹
Sunlight Detected
Dormant Phase Ended
Vital Sap Restored: +1
Photosynthesis Cycle: Complete
Passive EXP Accrued: +8 EXP
I thought I would wait longer but when the light returned, so did the curiosity.
The moss wall hasn't moved, hasn't changed—yet something in me has.
I feel a pull, gentle but steady, like a root following warmth in the dark.
So I inch closer.
The moss wall is no longer just a strange shape in the dark. It's a presence—a curtain of life and mystery that beckons with silence.
I shift forward slowly, pushing through loam and tangled roots, inch by inch. I don't know what draws me back to it. I told myself I'd wait. That I'd grow stronger but the curiosity is too much.
And the quiet isn't as lonely today.
⊹ SYSTEM UPDATE ⊹
Agility: 1
— Stat increased due to continued movement and vine activity.
You may grow passively through use or spend Vital Sap to upgrade.
I hum softly inside my mind—more sensation than sound, like a vibration made of thought.
It's strange, this feeling of… readiness.
Like my leaves are lifting just a little higher. My roots stretching just a little farther.
I reach out with my vine.
It glides along the moss. Thick. Cool. Dense.
And then—
A shift.
A breeze? A breath? A trick of touch?
The moss is layered in a way I didn't notice before.
Its texture thickens, deepens, twists into something that isn't quite natural.
No… it is natural.
Just hidden.
Like something wants to remain unseen.
I explore carefully, mapping the curvature with vine and root. It's not a wall at all, not really. It's a curtain. A camouflage.
Camouflage…How do I know that word?
The meaning comes so easily, like it's always lived inside me but I don't remember learning it. I don't remember anything.
Not really.
What else is buried inside me? What other forgotten things still sleep?
Something powerful weaves through the air here—dense, masking, meant to blur reality but it's not watching me.
It's not sentient.
It's not alive in that way.
It's just… hiding.
Who made it? And why?
I withdraw my vine.
Whatever lies beyond this moss—it doesn't want to be seen and I don't want to be seen either.
The air shifts again.
Not cold. Not hot. Just quiet.
I press deeper into the soil nearby, anchoring myself once more.
Letting the moss be what it is:
A veil.
A boundary.
Not just a wall anymore.
I rest. I try to empty my thoughts but something interrupts the stillness.
Soft taps. Tiny, scattered impacts across the ground above me. A pattern of weight and rhythm, like pebbles dropped in a dance.
Then—a faint thump.
A hop.
Another.
Something small has landed near me.
It jumps.
Hops.
Scratches gently at the dirt.
Each time it moves, the earth vibrates in short, delicate bursts. My leaf trembles from a sudden rush of air as something flutters—quick, light, and gone just as fast.
Wings?
I don't know what it is but I really want to.
I focus.
Stretching a bit of vine in its direction—too slow, too careful.
Whatever it is, it's already gone.
But I remember the sensation of motion. Of curiosity.
I want to see it. Whatever see means.
I want to know what it looked like.
I want to name it.
I want it to come back.
And the moment is gone.
But I stay still.
And listening.
Just in case, I wait all day.
⊹ SYSTEM NOTICE ⊹
Environmental activity low.
Photosynthesis suspended.
Vital Sap conservation active.
Cognitive awareness entering low-energy mode.
You are now entering Dormant State.
Sunlight required to resume active function.