The first scream came from the western watchtower.
It cut through the humid air like a blade, sharp enough to stop conversations mid-word. Aero spun toward the sound, catching sight of a guard pointing toward the horizon—toward a section of the wasteland where the ground shimmered unnaturally, heat haze twisting into spirals.
Then the tremor hit.
It wasn't like the faint pulses before. This one slammed through the earth like a giant's footfall, hurling people off their feet. The ground flexed—not cracked, flexed, like the surface of some great muscle.
Aero felt it in his bones. The heartbeat was no longer deep below—it was rising.
"Mica!" he shouted, reaching for her arm as the second tremor hit. It was followed by a sound—a deep, resonant thrum that rattled teeth and churned stomachs.
The western watchtower swayed, then collapsed in a groan of snapping wood and steel. Dust billowed upward, blotting the view. Somewhere in the haze, shapes moved—long, sinuous shapes, black against the swirling ash.
Kaelen's voice bellowed across the camp. "To the barricades! Get the wells sealed! Archers—north wall, now!"
The camp erupted into chaos. People scrambled to grab weapons, children were dragged into tents, and fires were kicked out to keep the smoke from choking visibility. Aero could barely hear over the rising roar, but his focus was locked on the distortion at the horizon.
The ground bulged upward, soil sliding off as if peeled by invisible hands. A jagged fissure split open with a sickening wet sound, and something vast began forcing its way out.
It wasn't a beast—not in the sense Aero knew. It was… root. Thick as tree trunks, the tendrils surged upward, their surfaces slick with a pale, sap-like substance that hissed where it touched the dirt. The roots writhed, feeling, searching, their tips flaring with faint green light—the same green that now pulsed in Aero's veins.
The connection struck like a hammer.
His vision snapped sideways—he was inside the roots, seeing through them as they stretched, sensing heat, movement, life. Every heartbeat in the camp rang in his skull. The hunger wasn't mindless; it was deliberate.
He stumbled, clutching his head. Mica caught him before he fell. "Aero—hey, what's happening?"
"They're… alive," he gasped. "And they know I'm here."
One root lashed forward, tearing through the western barricade like paper. People screamed as splinters flew. Archers loosed volleys, but arrows snapped uselessly against the slick, shifting hide.
Kaelen vaulted onto a barricade, a spear in each hand. His movements were almost casual—until the first root came within reach. Then he blurred, his weapons a storm of arcs and jabs. Sap sprayed, sizzling where it hit the ground. The root recoiled, writhing in the air.
"Don't just stare!" Kaelen roared at the soldiers. "Cut them back or we all die here!"
Aero's pulse matched the rhythm of the roots. He could feel the force moving through them—life force, older than any magecraft, flowing in waves. And he could pull it.
He didn't think—he acted.
Dropping to one knee, he pressed his palm to the dirt. The sensation slammed into him—raw, overwhelming power pouring through his arm, threatening to burn him hollow. His skin prickled, veins flaring bright green. The heartbeat in his chest stuttered, then surged.
He pushed back.
The root nearest him froze mid-swing, its glow dimming. For a moment, he held it, muscles screaming under the strain, the connection like trying to wrestle a river. Then, with a sharp exhale, he redirected the energy upward.
Vines exploded from the cracked soil in front of the root, coiling around it like snakes. They constricted, thorns piercing its hide. The root shuddered violently and tore free, retreating underground.
Mica's eyes went wide. "You just—"
"Later," Aero said, already searching for the next target.
More roots burst from the ground, some thick as buildings, others whip-thin and lightning fast. One lashed toward a cluster of children. Mica was there before Aero could move—her body blurring into a green-and-gold streak, wind magic propelling her. She caught the root mid-lash, her fists glowing as she hammered it into the dirt.
"Eyes open!" she shouted.
Another tremor hit—stronger than the last. The central fissure widened, and something massive began to rise from it. Aero's breath caught.
It wasn't just roots anymore.
A colossal heart, slick and glistening, forced itself partially into view. Its surface was a mass of pulsating ridges, every beat sending tremors through the ground. Roots extended from it in every direction, feeding into the earth. And inside its glow, for the briefest moment, Aero thought he saw shapes—humanoid, writhing as if trapped within.
Kaelen landed beside him, panting but still steady. "That's it. The Heart Below."
Aero swallowed. "It's… alive."
"And it's hungry," Kaelen replied grimly.
The heart's glow intensified, bathing the entire camp in sickly green light. The roots moved faster now, slamming into barricades, ripping up tents. Even Kaelen was forced back, his strikes no longer enough to keep them at bay.
Aero knew then—if he didn't act, the camp wouldn't last minutes.
He dropped into a crouch, both hands on the dirt this time. He reached for the energy again, ignoring the searing pain in his veins. It surged into him—pure, overwhelming life force—and he forced it into his own body. Muscles bulged, senses sharpened, his heartbeat syncing with the Heart Below's. The air around him shimmered, rippling like heat haze.
Then he moved.
He was faster—faster than he'd ever been. Each step was a shockwave, each strike a burst of green light. He leapt onto a root, running along its length, driving bursts of life energy into its hide. Each pulse tore through it like an explosion, sending chunks of sap and bark-like tissue spraying.
He reached the base of the fissure, staring up at the massive heart. It felt him—he could feel its attention turn, an ancient, alien intelligence brushing his mind.
A single thought pressed into him, not in words but in feeling: Return.
His jaw clenched. "Not today."
With a roar, he gathered every scrap of energy he could and drove it into the ground beneath the heart. The soil convulsed, then erupted with jagged spikes of living wood—his wood—piercing the heart's outer layer. Sap sprayed in torrents. The heart shuddered, roots thrashing wildly, then began to sink back into the fissure.
It wasn't dead—not even close. But it was retreating.
The remaining roots withdrew with it, dragging the fissure closed. The tremors slowed, then ceased entirely, leaving only the stench of sap and churned earth.
The camp was silent for several long seconds. Then the cries began—injured being pulled from rubble, names being shouted, the sob of someone who'd lost too much.
Kaelen approached, wiping blood from his jaw. "You bought us time."
Aero's vision swam, the glow in his veins dimming. "Not much."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. "Enough to prepare."
Aero staggered, but Mica was suddenly at his side, steadying him. "You're not dying here, idiot."
He gave her a faint grin, though his chest still echoed with the heart's beat. "Guess not."
But deep inside, he could still feel it—faint now, but steady.
The Heart Below was still awake.
And it knew his name.