Chapter 55 – The Roots Beneath (Part 2)

The bark shut after them, and Yusuf was consumed by darkness.

It was complete at first. A suffocating black, solid and immovable. He thought of tombs. Coffins. The museum's basement warehouses, where he once separated artifacts by dim light, breathing dust older than nations. But here there was no dust, no air, no sound—only the weight of emptiness.

And light crept in.

Not lanterns. Not fire. Veins. The Tree's inside was softly aglow, streaks of radiant sap flowing through bark as though the entire structure was alive. Yusuf's breath froze. The walls pulsed. Slowing. Steadily. As though a heartbeat too large for him to comprehend.

The faceless boy tugged his hand, sending him farther.

The floor was not board but interwoven roots, cushioned beneath his feet, giving a little as if he trod upon muscle instead of wood. The air was pungent, metallic-smelling, and every breath scraped his throat raw.

"This is…," Yusuf swallowed, searching for words. ".alive."

"Yes," the child answered briskly.

They walked through convolutions of twisting tunnels that divided and wound, sometimes breaking into dozens of separate passages, merging at other times into one artery-sized hall. Yusuf lost all sense of direction. Up, down, forward, backward—none of it mattered. Only the Codex in his hand, still warm, still pulsing like something confined.

Then, the voices.

Whispers at first, too low to catch. Yusuf walked more slowly, tilting his head.

He caught snatches.

".don't forget."

".too late."

".he is already.".

The sound was originating from the walls themselves. He pressed his palm onto the bark. Below, shapes contorted—faces, human faces, stretched and thin as if molded into the wood from the opposite side. Their mouths opened and shut in silence before the whispers erupted again.

Yusuf recoiled, bile caressing the back of his throat. "What—what are they?"

The child looked up at the walls. "Roots remember."

"People," Yusuf said. His voice cracked, his chest tightened. "They're people, trapped in there—"

"They were."

The word hung like a boulder.

Yusuf longed to scream, to claw at the bark, to tear them free. But even as he lurched forward, one of the faces relaxed its mouth more and more until flesh tore like wet paper, revealing only more wood beneath. The entire face dissolved into pulp, disappeared in an instant.

His stomach rolled over. He clutched the Codex more tightly, as if it were anchor, weapon, shield.

The whispers grew. Too many voices at once. He reeled, hands clasped across ears, but the sound crept past flesh, into bone. Names, hundreds of names, thousands, wailed and whispered, mounting and falling in a rollercoaster of bereavement.

Then—one louder than the rest—

"Yusuf."

He froze.

It was not Rae's, though for a moment he dared hope. No—it was his father's. Dry, commanding, every syllable weighed.

Yusuf’s chest seized. “No. You’re not—he’s not here. He’s trapped somewhere else—”

The bark shifted. Ahead, the corridor widened into a cavern hollowed from the Tree’s core. Its walls were alive with faces, overlapping, countless. And in the center of it all, rising from the floor like a growth, was a pedestal of root and bark. Upon it lay something wrapped in threads of glowing sap.

Yusuf's heartbeat raged against his chest. He edged closer.

The threads of sap-liquid threads parted.

And there—bound, knotted into the Root itself—was his father.

Or something that had been him once.

So pale a skin, so thin as parchment. Eyes shut, lashes tacky with sap. His chest rose shallowly, as though the tree itself breathed for him. Roots curled into his arms, his legs, even his neck.

"Father…" The word slipped out of Yusuf before he could stop himself.

The Codex trembled in his fingers. Pages burst open, words pouring out more quickly than he could read.

Found: Archivist. Bound. Name unstable. Memory shattered.

Yusuf dropped to his knees next to the pedestal. Hands quivered above, hesitant to touch. "I—I found you. After all this, I—"

The faceless child retreated, silence. Observing.

His father's lips moved. Barely. No sound.

Yusuf leaned in closer, pleading. "Say it. Please. Say something."

And then he heard it—not with his ears, but in his mind.

Yusuf.

The voice was thin as reed, stretched, scraped glass-like.

"I'm here," Yusuf breathed. His eyes ached, his vision clouded. "I came for you."

Memory… fragments. Name… forgotten.

"No." He held his father's cold hand, roots pounding beneath the skin. "No, don't—don't say that. I can mend this. I'll get the fragments, I'll mend the Codex, I'll—"

You… broke yourself… to find me.

The words pained. Wounded. He shook his head back and forth, harshly. "No. That's not—I didn't—"

You are no longer whole.

Whole.

The Codex pulsed around him in harmony, brutally, traitorously. Its warmth was agonizing now, almost burning. Yusuf wished he could get rid of it, but he couldn't. It was his.

The child stepped forward. "This is the Root's gift," it said. "Truth. Nothing can hide here. Not even him.".

Yusuf gazed up, wide-eyed. "He's alive. That's all that counts."

The mask shimmered again, and for an instant the child's voice was nearly soft. "Alive. But empty."

"No!" Yusuf's voice splintered. His hands shook as he shoved them against the roots digging into his father's chest. He tugged, pulled, ripped until sap spurted across his arms like blood. "I won't let him away from me. Not like the others."

The Root responded. Its pulse thundered, sap vessels scorching, roots writhing in agony. The faces in the walls wept in silence, mouths stretching wider than humanly possible.

"Yusuf," his father panted—or perhaps only memory panted in him. You… will be forgotten… too.

Yusuf wailed.

The cavern shook. Roots rent asunder, walls convulsed, faces crumpled into splinters. The Codex's pages thrashed wildly, tearing themselves against unseen gusts.

The child did not move. Its blank face tilted, eyes that were not eyes regarding Yusuf.

"Pull harder," it ordered.

Yusuf pulled.

Roots exploded. His father convulsed, sap flowing from his chest like water from a broken dam. His eyes flew open, wide and empty. For an instant, Yusuf thought he saw recognition. For an instant, he thought he would be alright.

Then the light in those eyes flickered. And went out.

The Root boomed.

Yusuf backed away, Codex in hand, his fingers dripping with sap. His father's body leaned against the pedestal, roots still wrapped around him, but now limp, dead.

"No…" Yusuf's voice broke. "No, not again. Not now—"

The child stepped closer, voice firm. "You can't hold what's already gone."

Yusuf's body shook with sobs he could not contain. He slammed the Codex shut, held it pressed to his forehead, as if by sheer force of will he could force memory into his father, love into loss.

The cavern walls shuddered again. And deep in its depths, Rae's voice fluttered—tenuous, almost gone—whispering his name.

It was enough to stand him.

It was enough to go on.