The Gaping Maw was silent, but it wasn't the kind of silence that was comfortable. The Last Breath had vanished. The warm air that used to blow from the god's fiery throat was gone. The inside of the mouth was cold and old air was noticed.
Bianca Frost was standing on the Epiglottis Ridge and her eyes were fixed on the Tongue Altar. The Symbiote's strange cathedral was still illuminated but softly, not harshly. The injury was sealed, absolutely healed.
Her followers were accompanying her and a few Symbiotes led by Rhiza, an old tendril-keeper were also there. They weren't going to take something, only listen.
The Voice is becoming feebler, Bianca said. Her words were like an echo. However, it is still there. Just... part of everything. The switch gave it structure. It's not a scream anymore, more like a quiet hum in the background.
Rhiza, who had bark-like skin and glowing spore eyes, agreed by nodding her head. The Host is less painful. The mycelium says that the distress is reduced. But the hunger... that's something new. The systems have stopped. They are bored and want something to do.
Bianca understood it. They had rescued the god from being eaten, but hadn't figured out what it should do. A huge, sleeping body is still alive and needs to function. It was all about becoming food before. Now it was lost and could cause problems.
We have to give it a new purpose, Bianca said quietly. Or at least a new job.
One of her followers, a former scribe, jumped in. The Lobe's map shows that the pathways for circulation, filtration, and repair are healthy. What if we did that? Not by cutting, but by… suggesting it?
Rhiza's spore eyes sparkled. The mycelium is capable of carrying intention. That is how we helped it heal. We could introduce a new song, a song of balance and self-care. Not a demand like before, but an… offering of a pattern.
It was a huge concept, using the very network that battled the Cult as its immune system to carry out physical therapy on a planet-sized scale.
We would have to collaborate with the Carvers to comprehend the systems, and Maxine Sharpe to understand the switch, Bianca said.
It would be like a collective prayer, Rhiza said, from the blight and the immune system co-operation, for the health of the body we share.
They descended to the Altar. The Symbiote construction unfolded for them, not like a fortress, but like a temple. The place where the wound had been was now a smooth, scar-like thing made of flesh and fungus.
Bianca touched it with her hands. She was not listening for the Voice, rather she was sending a message. She thought of Lucien's map, of flowing energy, of gentle repair. She softly hummed a note, the same one she used to lead.
Heretics around her also started the same action, humming focused will. The Symbiotes were not humming, they were pulsing. The light was moving through the fungus in the cathedral, mirroring the sound.
The scar under Bianca's hands got warm, not like a fever, but as if it were being turned on. She sensed something changing deep in the Altar, a shifting of very small energies. A leaking capillary closed. A nerve firing pain relaxed.
It was very little, just a drop in the bucket, but it was a start.
They were no longer just beggars and butchers. They had become physical therapists for a sleeping giant. Their worship was care, not consumption.
When they finished, exhausted but content, Bianca looked at Rhiza. We have to do this everywhere, at every harvest site, at every wound, she said.
Rhiza agreed by nodding. It will take a long time. But it is something to do, not just The End. That is new for this world.
While returning to the Ridge, a runner from Sanctum approached them, out of breath. He carried a message from the council: the Root-Bread was deteriorating. The mycelium was not growing well in Sanctum's soil. People were getting sick due to foreign molds. The Karu substitute was not working.
The difficult truth of survival came back with a bang.
Bianca's shoulders dropped, she then lifted herself up again. The work was not only a spiritual one but also farming, logistics, and medicine. The god was in need of care, as were its people.
Tell the council that we are coming, she said to the runner. And the old Karu vats should be prepared in advance. We are not processing marrow; we are brewing fungal cultures. We have a lot to learn and very little time.
It was not a simple task to stop the eating. The dream could be stopped from eating, but real food was still necessary.