Another beautiful day announced itself as the sun rose slowly from beneath the horizon, bathing the ocean in its orange glow. It chased away the depths of a dark sea, instilling it with color and life. The city of Atlantis welcomed the first rays of sunlight as they spread across long-abandoned waters.

  That light reached the towering structures scattered throughout the floating metropolis. One of those high-rise buildings held a dormitory, quiet in the early morning. Inside, a dozen young men lay asleep—except one.

  A strong, tan-skinned young man with light brown hair clutched his chest, his face contorted in pain.

  As golden rays crept across the floor, he let out a strained grunt, waking abruptly. Pain radiated from his chest to his stomach, like something alive was stirring within him. Gasping, he staggered to the bathroom.

  The door clicked shut behind him—and something inside him broke.

  If one could peer into the metaphysical realm, they would see it: a small kernel of light shattering, fracturing into pieces. With each crack, a wave of pain tore through him.

  "No, no, no... please, not this," he whispered through gritted teeth, his voice trembling as terror surged through him.

  He had heard tales of this agony, of the madness that took some, of the silence that claimed others. The ancient, dreaded process known as rooting was a death sentence disguised as rebirth: the awakening of dormant roots and their ruthless burrowing into the soul. It was the divine violation, the tearing open of the spirit.

  Nemo had, of course, never experienced it, but every fiber of his being screamed that this was no pain meant for flesh. It was originating from a place he had never once before in his life consciously been aware of.

  He collapsed to the cold tiles, trembling uncontrollably. His heart pounded, and sweat streamed down his face. _One in ten don't survive the awakening_, echoed in his mind—but numbers meant nothing in the face of his overwhelming fear. Despair clutched at him.

  Then everything vanished—the bathroom, Atlantis, even his body. He was weightless, disembodied, adrift in an endless expanse of shadow and light. All around him stretched a surreal void—neither dark nor light, but something beyond both, like being suspended in the mind of the universe itself.

  Before him hovered the shattered shell of the kernel, glowing softly as it vanished into glittering sand of light. Cracks spiderwebbed through it like a crystal vase dropped from on high. From within its broken core emerged the culprits of his torment: three small, worm-like roots.

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  They squirmed and pulsed with subtle light, trailing ethereal sparks as they slipped free of the kernel's confines. They began to orbit him slowly, deliberately, forming a precise triad. The motion was elegant, even beautiful—like planets circling a sun, except this sun was him, and the roots carried not warmth, but dread.

  Then, they dove.

  They began to dig into the very fabric of him. His soul. Each burrow was a slash of unbearable sensation, as though his essence were being pierced by glass dipped in fire. Pain surged through him in waves, stripping away all concept of time.

  Yet he could not look away.

  The first root shimmered like polished steel, its surface sleek and unforgiving. It radiated a cold, mechanical aura that made him shudder. When he reached for it, he suddenly stopped moving and could no longer approach—firm but smooth, like pushing against magnetic repulsion.

  Frustrated, he turned to the second.

  This one throbbed with a heartbeat-red glow, its edges oozing crimson light. It seemed to pulsate in rhythm with his own fear. As he neared it, he felt his incorporeal hand drawn toward it, as if gravity itself had reversed. Something inside him screamed danger, and with effort, he wrenched himself away.

  Then he examined the last.

  Pale and translucent, the third root floated with a grace that defied logic. It had no solidity, no edges—only suggestion. When he reached for it, his hand passed straight through as if it were made of fog or smoke. Was it incorporeal? Or was it the weird state he was in?

  He didn’t have time to find out.

  The roots stopped.

  Their motions ceased, and with it, the void began to crumble. The shimmering fragments of space folded inward. Reality returned with a lurch.

  He blinked.

  He was back, lying on the bathroom floor, eyes locking on a half-rusted ceiling fan. His chest heaved. The reflection that met him in the mirror looked pale, shaken, and haunted.

  A dark mark blemished the temple where he’d fallen, but otherwise, his body showed no signs of the spiritual violation.

  Staring into his own mismatched blue-brown eyes, realization hit him like a blade to the gut.

  _I’ve become tainted._

  There was no escaping it. Since the Cataclysm, being tainted meant one thing: being drafted into the brutal, short-lived life of a Rootbearer—those cursed by awakening.

  "No one knows," he muttered. "No one has to."

  But then he shook his head.

  _I can't. A tainted person is a danger to themselves and to everyone around them._

  Shivering, he splashed cold water on his face, desperate to cool the heat surging through his veins. The headache pulsed with fresh ferocity, and hunger gnawed at his stomach like a beast awakened.

  _Why am I so hungry?_ Pointless question.

  He reached for the door just as it opened.

  "Huh... sorry, Nemo, didn’t know you were in here." Fen, a fellow dorm mate peered in.

  Nemo gave a tight nod, brushing past. "I was finished."

  He didn't make eye contact.

  His bare feet touched the cool tile of their shared quarters, but each step felt heavier. An invisible weight pressed down on him, dragging him into a future he didn’t ask for.

  The calm morning was a lie, the sunlight a mask. Beneath the surface, the storm had already begun.

  Nemo knew nothing would ever be the same, at least for him.

  As he turned the corner, approaching his dorm room, his neck hairs stood up suddenly, a cold feeling washing over him, and then... a silent whisper caressed his ear and muttered.