Chương 35: Chapter 30 – The Knot Beneath

Cade was licking the last traces of cinnamon-sweet beetle goo from his fingers when Varosk, the Second Elder, finally stirred from his quiet contemplation.

"Pearl," Varosk said, glancing to the side without turning his head.

"Go wake Esmerelda. The day begins soon, and she will want to meet our guest." Cade didn't miss the twitch in Pearl's jaw or the slight delay before she answered. Her nostrils flared, and for a moment it looked like she wanted to argue. But instead, she dropped into a curt bow, one hand pressed to her chest in the same salute she'd used earlier.

"As you say, Second Elder." She spun on her heel and stalked off across the broad lily pad, vanishing behind a veil of mist and vines. Varosk's throat sac expanded, humming low.

"Pearl was born to lead, not to fetch and run errands. But respect is in the marrow of our line." The toad's words hung in the warm air. Cade sat with the now-empty leaf at his side, the oddest meal of his life digesting in his stomach. He felt quite a bit better. Not full exactly, but no longer on the brink of collapse. The silence between him and the Second Elder stretched. Cade wasn't sure what to say, so he didn't say anything. He kept quiet, letting the stillness settle. Mist curled around the pad.

A distant croak echoed from somewhere deeper in the swamp. Then Varosk turned to him.

"From what you've said," the elder began, "your path has been short but harsh. Marked by confusion and the fear of not belonging." He spoke slowly, each word heavy with thought.

"That path may or may not change. But you need not walk it alone." Cade blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you may stay," Varosk said simply.

"Our ways may not match your own. But our ancestors taught that knowledge is not meant to be hoarded. If you are willing, we will teach you. Perhaps, in our paths, you will find one that resonates with the shape of your breath." A strange tightness built in Cade's chest. An odd mix of relief, gratitude, and the feeling of being accepted for the first time in what felt like ages.

"You'd really let me learn?" he asked quietly.

"Even though I'm not one of you?" The golden toad nodded its large head but didn't speak.

"Then yeah. I'd like that. Thank you." Cade said. Varosk didn't smile—Cade wasn't sure the massive toad could smile. Moments later, Pearl returned and she was not alone. A new figure shuffled behind her—stooped, slow, and quiet as creeping moss. Cade's first impression was of age—not in the way of wrinkles and wear, but of deep stillness. Of responsibility and respect earned over a lifetime. The frog who followed Pearl had skin that might once have been a brilliant green, now dulled to a mossy gray.

Patches of it had cracked, and one arm bore the pale lines of countless old scars. Her eyes were clouded, milky and half-lidded, and she leaned heavily on a carved staff etched with curling egg patterns. Each notch in the staff had been polished smooth by long years of handling. Her throat sac rose and fell with effort. Pearl stepped aside to let her pass, and Cade noticed something else—Pearl bowed and saluted again with her fist to her chest. The old frog—Esmerelda, he assumed—didn't.

She stepped lightly onto the pad, the moist plant creaking under her feet, and came to a halt before the Second Elder. Varosk inclined his head.

"You did well, Pearl," he said, his voice warm but formal.

"Bringing the human here was the right choice. He is a hatchling in truth—newborn and fragile. Left alone, he would have withered. You showed great wisdom and even greater bravery." Pearl nodded once, stiff but silent. At Varosk's gentle wave of dismissal, she bowed again and turned to leave without another word. Cade watched her go, then turned to the old frog. Esmerelda stood still as stone, her cloudy eyes fixed looking up above Cade's shoulder. The Second Elder turned to her.

"This is Cade. His 'System' has cast him adrift. He comes to us without root or guidance. He may yet die here, or he may rise. I would like to see which. You will take him. Instruct him as you would the younglings. Show him our ways." Esmerelda tilted her head slowly toward Cade. Her mouth didn't move, but Cade felt a pressure against his thoughts. Not a voice—just a presence. Like warm mud closing gently around his mind. She nodded once. Cade swallowed.

His journey into the corrupted dungeon had been chaos, pain, and confusion. But for the first time, he felt like something solid had formed beneath his feet. Esmerelda turned without a word and began walking, her staff butting up softly against the slick surface of the lily pad. After a beat, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder, giving Cade a patient tilt of the head. He took that as his cue to follow. Cade braced his hands on the pad and pushed himself up with a grunt.

His legs protested immediately, still shaky from fatigue. He staggered once but caught himself before he could fall again. Cade turned, hobbled the few paces back to where the shell lay, and bent to pick it up. His fingers brushed its cool, matte surface, and the weight of it shocked him. It felt heavier than before. Not impossibly so, but enough to make his arms tremble as he hoisted it against his chest. Maybe it was just his body, still hollow and burnt from everything he'd been through.

Maybe he was just weaker than before. But even so he couldn't shake the feeling that the storm had somehow changed the shell too. He hugged it to his chest, turned again, and saw Esmerelda still waiting near the edge of the pad. She hadn't rushed him. Just watched in silence. With effort, Cade shuffled toward her, the shell weighing on his arms and shoulders. As he crossed the edge of the pad, he looked down in time to see its massive root-legs shift.

The Second Elder's platform—which had lain grounded for the entire time he spoke with Varosk—was beginning to rise again. Cade paused to watch, stunned as it lifted smoothly into the air. The enormous lily pad swayed, then strode forward with startling grace, its tangle of vine-thick roots moving like the legs of some ancient beast. It moved fast—faster than Cade expected—as though catching up to its place at the front of the moving village. This story has been stolen from Royal Road.

If you read it on Amazon, please report it Esmerelda began walking again. Cade followed, stepping onto the soft, moss-strewn earth below. The swamp floor was still wet from the earlier storm, mist hanging low to the ground. They walked in silence between the shifting legs of the village—pads of all sizes striding lazily on thick, rooty limbs. Cade wanted to say something but he didn't know where to begin. Something about Esmerelda's quiet grace made him nervous to break the silence without invitation. So he walked.

One step at a time. His breathing was shallow and his muscles ached. His bare feet squelched in the wet earth as he dragged the shell behind him. Most of the walker-lilies moved slowly enough that even in his current state, he wasn't in danger of falling behind. Still, it felt like everything around him pulsed with a kind of rhythm he couldn't quite hear. A tempo that belonged to the frogs. And then Esmerelda veered suddenly toward one of the largest pads Cade had yet seen.

It towered over the others, its perimeter lined with bioluminescent vines and trailing moss. The roots beneath it dragged in slow, patient arcs. As soon as Esmerelda saw it, she quickened her pace, her staff tapping a little faster against the wet ground. Cade guessed she didn't like being on the ground for long. And if he were her age and a swamp witch frog thing, he probably wouldn't either.

They came within twenty meters of the massive walker when Esmerelda stopped and released a sound unlike anything Cade had heard before. A high, birdlike chirp rose from her throat. Then came a deep, resonant bass note, so low it vibrated through the air and settled in Cade's bones. The two tones together had an eerie musicality. Cade blinked. The mucus translation effect didn't render it into speech. Maybe it wasn't meant for him. Or maybe it wasn't speech at all—more like a song. Whatever it was, it worked.

The massive walker lily groaned as it slowed, the damp thudding of its roots growing still. A ripple passed through its underbelly, and then from its center, a twist of roots and vines began to unwind. They moved in deliberate spirals, forming a staircase gently curving and layering down to the swamp floor. Cade stood frozen, mouth half open. She had just made stairs out of a plant like it was nothing. Esmerelda didn't pause. She started up the stairs with a slow, practiced rhythm, her staff tapping on each root.

Cade hesitated for only a second longer, then hoisted the shell and followed her upward. His thighs burned almost immediately. Every step upward dragged at muscles that had already given everything just to stay upright. And hauling the shell? That felt like climbing a hill with a boulder strapped to his back. He gritted his teeth and pressed on anyway. He kept telling himself not to drop it. Don't stop. Just a few more.

Esmerelda climbed steadily ahead of him, her staff ticking like a metronome against the staircase. She didn't look back once. Didn't ask if he needed help. Somehow, that made Cade more determined to keep going. By the time they reached the top, Cade's legs were shaking and his breath came in shallow gasps. He felt like his body was one solid bruise. But the moment he stepped onto the pad, awe flooded him. This lily pad was enormous—easily three or four times the size of Varosk's.

The surface was a lush carpet of moss and soft fungus, but what truly caught his eye was the structure at the center. A pavilion. Open-air, wide and low, built of a dark, knotted wood that fanned out like tree limbs. The wood wasn't carved or nailed together—it looked grown, as if it had sprouted whole from the pad itself and then shaped into beams and columns over time. Its edges curved naturally, flaring outward in graceful lines that looked both ancient and elegant.

At the heart of the pavilion sat a hearth made of river-smoothed stones, stacked with care. A faint orange ember glow pulsed from its center, the kind of warmth that lingered more than it burned. Around the hearth, thick woven mats had been arranged in concentric circles. No other frogs were present, at least none Cade could see. The space was quiet. Esmerelda shuffled to one of the innermost mats—a large one, thicker than the rest—and slowly lowered herself onto it with a heavy exhale.

She turned slightly and motioned toward a nearby mat with a flick of her staff. Cade didn't need to be told twice. He half-staggered toward the mat and collapsed onto it, groaning as his body folded in on itself. His arms trembled from the exertion. The shell slid from his grip and landed beside him with a soft thump. He didn't have the strength to pick it up again right now. The mat wasn't comfortable, not really—but his body didn't care. Every fiber of him was grateful to not be moving anymore.

He sat hunched, elbows on his knees, breath slowing as the rhythm of the swamp settled around him. The faint pop of the hearth embers, the whisper of wind through moss-draped beams, the echo of distant frog calls—it all blended into something that felt almost peaceful. Then Esmerelda turned her cloudy gaze to him. Her throat sac puffed once, gently, and for the first time since they'd met, she spoke. Esmerelda's voice was not what Cade expected.

It was higher than Varosk's deep resonance, yet still carried a weight that felt older than the time itself.

"Varosk spoke true," she said.

"You have walked a path without guidance. No teacher. No hand to steady yours." Her clouded eyes locked on his face.

"Is this so?" Cade's throat tightened. He nodded.

"Yeah, pretty much." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat rise with embarrassment.

"I've seen what other humans could do—people with Cores. They had a wide range of magic abilities from their classes or profession and I had a million questions. But nobody wanted to explain anything. They mostly just moved on without me, too focused on themselves to help me. Given the situation, I don't blame them for that but it still kinda sucked." Esmerelda made a low sound—something between a sigh and a croak.

"Then your footing is weaker than I feared." She tapped her staff lightly on the mat, the sound soft but decisive.

"I can try to help you. But I make no promises. Our ways may not fit you, human. Your breath may not match our paths."

"I get that," Cade said quickly.

"But I want to learn. Anything. Whatever you can teach me, I'll take it." The old frog inclined her head, the motion slow and deliberate.

"Then there is one thing I must do before any instruction. I must look."

"Look?" Cade repeated. Esmerelda shifted closer, her staff resting across her knees.

"I can look into the body's channels—the conduits where breath and essence travel. Some call them threads, some call them lines, some call them rivers. Names are nothing. Structure is everything." Cade swallowed.

"Okay…"

"It is invasive," she warned, voice dropping low.

"To look inside is to brush the inner knot of who you are. It reveals truths the tongue cannot speak. I will not do it unless you consent." Cade hesitated only a moment. He'd been stumbling blind since the System arrived. If this could give either of them a clearer picture of what he was working with he'd take it.

"Do it. I don't mind." Esmerelda nodded. She set her staff aside, leaned forward, and raised both webbed hands, palms outward.

"Mirror me," she said. Cade matched the shape, and when his fingers brushed hers, a chill ran up his arms.

"Good," Esmerelda murmured.

"Now breathe. Do not think. Simply be." Which, of course, made Cade think very hard about not thinking. The world narrowed to her fingertips against his. Black pinpricks widened, swallowing the milky green ring of her irises until nothing but dark pools remained. Cade felt something slip through the contact. Ten thin filaments, delicate as hair and sharp as static, threaded into him.

He gasped as the sensation raced up his arms, spiraled through his chest, split and darted down his legs, and then climbed his spine like searching fingers. The filaments converged behind his eyes, humming there in a tight cluster, vibrating with quiet judgment. His breath stuttered. Esmerelda's throat sac rose once, then lowered in a long, slow release. Cade had the uncanny feeling of being observed, of being read, of having his very being witnessed by someone else. The pavilion blurred. The swamp sounds dimmed.

All he knew was her presence, cold and absolute, combing through him with an almost surgical precision. Then— —silence. The filaments dissolved like smoke. Esmerelda pulled her hands away. Shock rippled across her face. Her pupils returned to almost imperceptibly small pinpricks and her milky eyes widened. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed. Her fingers curled reflexively. And then pity softened her features. Cade's heart dropped.

"What?" he blurted.

"What did you see?" Esmerelda's gaze flicked to the tortoise shell lying beside him, then back to his face, then away—as though looking at him too directly hurt. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

"How," she said.

"How are you even alive?"