Michael felt uneasy.
The calm of the room wrapped around him like a blanket, but instead of comfort, it made the distant sounds beyond its walls feel heavier.
He pushed himself up slowly.
The roots loosened their hold at once, reacting to his movement. The green paste on his skin dried slightly as the roots retreated, flaking away in thin layers that crumbled into the floor and vanished.
Michael swung his legs down and stood.
There was no dizziness. No physical weakness. His balance was steady, his breathing even. Yet the strange hollowness inside him remained, faint but undeniable.
He clenched his fist once, then relaxed it.
I cannot stay here.
The thought came naturally.
Michael turned his head toward the far side of the chamber. A doorway stood there.
It was open. Beyond it, soft green light spilled inward.
His heart began to beat faster.
As he took his first step forward, another instinct rose inside him.
His undead.
