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The plunge into the churning darkness was a baptism of terror and ice. The underground river seized them, its roar a physical force in the confined tunnel, stripping away breath and thought. Nian clung to Grandma Xiu with one arm, the Listener's flute a hard, unfamiliar shape clutched in her other hand. Mei Lin's torch, a defiant spark in the suffocating blackness, hissed and spat as water slapped it, threatening to drown their only light. The current was a living serpent, coiling around them, dragging them deeper into the mountain's bowels.
Time dissolved into the roar. They were ragdolls in the grip of primordial force, battered against unseen rocks, sucked under by sudden vortices only to be spat back gasping into the airless dark. Nian's muscles screamed, her lungs burned. Grandma felt terrifyingly limp in her grasp. Only Mei Lin's occasional, sharp tug on Nian's sleeve kept them oriented, a lifeline in the liquid chaos.
The Starfall fragment pulsed against Nian's chest, a frantic heartbeat trapped beneath soaked cloth. Its song was a desperate counterpoint to the river's mindless roar – a flare of emerald light in the blackness whenever they surfaced, revealing glimpses of slick, close walls rushing past. The flaw within it vibrated with each jarring impact, a discordant shiver that resonated through Nian's bones, feeding her fear.
*"Hold… Grandma!"* Nian screamed soundlessly into the water, pouring her dwindling strength into her grip. *"Mei Lin! Light!"*
The archer's torch flickered wildly, its resin core fighting the deluge. Just as darkness threatened to claim them utterly, the tunnel walls abruptly fell away. The roar deepened, echoing into vastness. The current slackened slightly, spreading out. Mei Lin gasped, kicking hard, thrusting the sputtering torch higher.
They surfaced in an impossible space.
Grey-green twilight filtered down from a canopy so high it was lost in mist. They weren't in a cavern, but a drowned forest. Enormous trees, unlike any Nian had ever seen, rose from the churning water. Their trunks were colossal, wider than Whispering Willow's meeting hall, buttressed by roots like petrified dragons coiling into the depths. Their bark was slick black, veined with phosphorescent moss that glowed with a soft, eerie blue-green light. Vines thicker than Nian's body draped from branches lost in the gloom, disappearing into the water or tangling in a vast, shadowy canopy hundreds of feet above. The air hung thick and humid, smelling of deep rot, rich loam, and something ancient and alive. The roar came from ahead, where the river plunged over a hidden cataract into even deeper shadow.
This was the Sunken Forest. The heart of the Verdant Veil, drowned millennia ago yet stubbornly, eerily alive.
"Spirits…" Mei Lin breathed, treading water, her face awestruck and wary in the ghostly glow. "It's real… the Sunken Grove of Ten Thousand Roots."
Grandma coughed violently, clinging to Nian, her eyes wide with wonder and pain. "The Veil's memory… made stone and spirit…"
The river, now more a wide, fast-moving channel through the submerged giants, carried them deeper into the grove. The glowing moss provided just enough light to see the nightmarish beauty: skeletal branches clawing at the mist, curtains of hanging moss swaying in unseen currents, pale, blind fish darting away from their splashes. The silence, beneath the river's rush, was profound and watchful. The whispers here were different – slower, deeper, resonant with the patience of stone and the sorrow of drowned centuries. Nian's Whisper strained to parse them: the slow groan of wood under immense pressure, the sigh of water through root tangles, the distant, rhythmic *drip… drip… drip* from the unseen canopy.
And beneath it all, a new vibration: a low, resonant *thrum* emanating from the colossal trees themselves. It pulsed through the water, through the air, synchronizing with the beat of Nian's own heart. The Starfall fragment flared in response, its emerald light casting long, dancing shadows on the monstrous roots. The flaw buzzed, not violently, but with a strange curiosity, resonating faintly with the grove's deep pulse.
"It feels us," Mei Lin whispered, paddling to steer them towards a massive root system forming a tangled island. "The Grove… it sleeps, but it dreams."
They hauled themselves onto the slippery, moss-coated roots. The ancient wood felt unnervingly warm beneath them. Grandma collapsed, shivering uncontrollably. Nian checked her frantically; she was cold, exhausted, but breathing. The fragment's warmth seemed to seep into her, offering a fragile comfort.
Mei Lin scanned the watery labyrinth. "We need dry ground. Real shelter. The river flows towards the cataract… and beyond it, the tales say, lies the Drowned City's outer rim. But the Grove guards its secrets." She pointed. Tendrils of glowing moss seemed to pulse brighter near a cluster of roots forming a natural archway leading away from the main channel, into a side channel choked with hanging vines. "That way… the resonance feels… quieter. Less watched."
As they prepared to push off the root island, the water near the archway rippled. Not from current. Something large and sinuous glided beneath the surface, a shadow against the glowing moss below. A long, scaled back broke the water for a moment, glistening black and iridescent, before vanishing into the murk.
"Serpent-kin," Mei Lin hissed, nocking an arrow to her bow, though the string was soaked. "Or worse. Move silently. Quickly."
They slipped back into the water, kicking gently towards the vine-choked archway, trying to mimic the river's flow. Nian kept the fragment pressed close, willing its light to dim. The Listener's flute felt heavy in her belt. Could it speak to stone here? Or only awaken deeper dangers?
The side channel was narrower, darker. The glowing moss was sparser, the oppressive weight of the colossal trees even more profound. The *thrumming* pulse was fainter here, replaced by a deeper silence broken only by their own careful movements and the constant, unsettling *drip… drip… drip*.
Suddenly, Grandma gasped, pointing a trembling finger upwards. "Nian… look!"
High above, tangled in the roots near the cavern's unseen roof, something glimmered. Not moss. Metal. Caught in the monstrous embrace of a root as thick as a house, tilted at a perilous angle, was the shattered hull of a ship. Imperial design. Crimson lacquer peeled from splintered wood. A tattered, waterlogged banner bearing the Eye-and-Flames sigil of the Ministry of Celestial Phenomena hung limply. It looked decades old, perhaps centuries.
"A Ministry vessel?" Nian whispered, horrified. "How…?"
"Others sought the Drowned City," Mei Lin said grimly. "The Grove consumes the reckless. Or the unlucky." She gestured forward. "Keep moving. Don't linger on the dead."
They navigated the treacherous channel, passing beneath the ghostly wreck. The sense of being watched intensified. Nian's Whisper caught flickers of movement in the dark water below – swift, eel-like shapes with too many eyes. Something brushed against her leg, cold and leathery, making her stifle a scream. The flaw in the fragment gave a sharp, sympathetic twinge.
Finally, the channel opened into a slightly wider pool. Here, a section of the colossal cavern wall sloped up out of the water, forming a muddy, root-tangled shore. Ancient stone blocks, smoothed by time and water, were half-buried in the silt – the first hint of worked structure they'd seen since the sanctuary.
"Land," Mei Lin breathed with relief. "We rest here. Briefly."
They dragged themselves onto the muddy bank, collapsing amidst giant, gnarled roots that formed natural hollows. The air was marginally drier. Mei Lin managed to coax a feeble flame from damp tinder under an overhang, its warmth a profound comfort. Nian checked Grandma again; she was asleep now, her breathing shallow but steady, her face pale in the firelight.
Nian sat with her back against a warm root, the Starfall fragment cradled in her hands. Its emerald light flickered in the small fire's glow. She focused inward, listening to its song, feeling the persistent, discordant vibration of the flaw. The Grove's deep pulse seemed to press against it, a vast, patient presence. Tentatively, Nian reached out with her Whisper, not to command, but to *introduce*. She let the fragment's song brush against the Grove's ancient resonance, hoping for harmony, fearing another catastrophic feedback loop like the Heartspring.
For a moment, nothing. Then, a subtle shift. The flaw's buzzing didn't cease, but it softened, dampened. The fragment's light steadied. It felt… *acknowledged*. Not healed, but momentarily soothed by the immense, grounding presence of the Sunken World.
A low, mournful sound echoed through the grove, distant but clear. Not the river's roar, not the drip of water. It was music. Faint, ethereal, played on some unseen instrument – pipes, perhaps, or a stringed zither. It was a melody of profound sorrow and timeless waiting, weaving through the dripping darkness, speaking of sunken spires and forgotten streets.
Mei Lin froze, her head tilted. "The Lament," she whispered, awe and dread warring in her voice. "They say the Drowned City sings to those who draw near… or warns them away."
The music swelled slightly, carrying on the thick, wet air. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, resonating with the colossal roots, the dripping water, the very stone. The Starfall fragment pulsed gently in Nian's hands, its light dimming as if listening. The flaw was quiet, momentarily hushed by the ancient dirge.
They had reached the threshold. The Sunken Forest had spared them, for now. Ahead lay the source of the Lament, the place whispered by the dead Listener: the Drowned City. And within its drowned heart, awaited the Weaver – their fragile hope for mending the fractured star, and the architect of fates yet unwoven. The song of stone and shadow had brought them this far. Now, the Lament of the Drowned City called them deeper into the Veil's ultimate secret. Rest was a stolen luxury; the final current of their journey was pulling them towards the city's silent, singing grave.