Below the Reflection

[System Active – Chapter 00020]

Status: Rooted

Primary Objective: Survival

Secondary Directive: Data Acquisition

Mana Core Activity: Slowly Increasing

The forest whispers, but I hear only silence where there should be sound.

That, more than anything, makes me act.

But before confronting the unnatural quiet, I return to a subject I’ve been circling for weeks: resin behavior under mana influence.

Today, I refine it.

I begin with the stimulative resin—a golden variant thinned to a near-liquid state. It hums faintly when pulsed with mana, vibrating in place like it holds excitement in its structure. I prepare a narrow thread of it and drip it across the back of a burrower. Mole-like, squat, its core pulses at a flat 3.2%—nothing special.

The reaction is immediate.

Its heart rate spikes. Breathing quickens. Its limbs twitch as if struck with a jolt of lightning. Then, it digs—faster than I’ve seen before. Claws blur through gravel. Dirt sprays in controlled arcs. The creature doesn't panic—it accelerates.

I log it:

> * Resin Variant: Stimulant

>

> * Subject: Burrower, 3.2% core

>

> * Response: Elevated speed, fine motor coordination improved

>

> * Side Effect: Possible adrenaline-like surge, minor tissue strain

Next, the defensive resin. Viscous, pale green, and cool to the pulse. It solidifies rapidly upon mana contact, forming a brittle crust.

I coat the feathers of one of the four-winged bird species nesting in the second ring. Carefully. It freezes—sensing something foreign—but doesn’t flee. I emit a minor predator pulse, simulating threat.

Instead of flight, it flattens, then angles its wings downward to shield its underbelly.

Seconds pass. The resin hardens—thin, but tough. When the serpent brushes nearby, the bird takes flight, clumsily at first, then settles back to the branch with no visible damage.

Log entry:

> * Resin Variant: Defensive

>

> * Subject: Avian quadriptera, 5.4% core

>

> * Response: Instinctual guarding behavior triggered, mild aerodynamic interference

>

> * Side Effect: Flight inhibited while resin active

The third variant—experimental and unstable—I dub the Mana Sponge. Created by over-saturating hardened resin with ambient mana and compressing it during its formation. The goal: see if the resin can store, and then transfer, mana.

I coat a root segment, wait for it to dry, and pulse mana into it. The resin absorbs it. Stores it. When I signal again—the stored mana releases in a quick burst.

Transfer rate? Rough. Directionality? Poor.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

But it works.

The implications settle in my core.

I could coat an area with this resin and trigger it remotely. A mana mine. A battery. A failsafe.

Log:

> * Resin Variant: Mana Sponge

>

> * Application: Root coating test

>

> * Response: 67% retention, directional pulse release upon second contact

>

> * Limitation: Fragile under pressure, shatters if stressed

It’s after these tests that I send out a pulse—not just to scan, but to call.

The serpent arrives within the hour.

It slithers from the second ring, scales gleaming where shed membrane hasn’t dulled them. It’s larger than it was weeks ago. Longer—thicker. Its mana hums deeper. Slower. Denser.

It coils near my core—closer than ever before—and waits.

I extend a single leaf. One formed from a side bud layered with internal mana over the last six days. When dropped, it doesn’t fall. It glides—guided by a small internal current I produce through micro-pulses.

The serpent swallows the leaf without hesitation.

For a moment, it goes still—not rigid, but alert. As if something deep in its body has been… rewritten.

Then it exhales, slow and heavy—and I feel the shift.

Its core flares.

Not a flicker, not a trickle—an eruption. Mana surges through its body like a second heartbeat, pulsing stronger, deeper, fuller.

49%.

51%.

58%.

It climbs, accelerating with every breath, until it crests at 68.9%.

A leap of nearly twenty percent—just from one leaf.

That shouldn’t be possible. Not so fast. Not so much.

But it is.

It was stuck for months. Frozen at the edge of growth. And now—one offering, and it's transformed.

I watch it coil, stronger now, denser. And in that moment, without ceremony or hesitation, I give it a name.

Ophion.

Not for symbolism. For efficiency. Names are shorthand. Structure.

Still, I remember the myth, Greek.

Ophion, the serpent who once ruled the heavens, coiled around the world before gods walked it. Cast down, but never erased. An origin, not an afterthought.

Fitting.

Ophion flicks its tongue toward me. I shift a nearby vine to mimic its rhythm. It copies. I pulse. It flinches—then mirrors me.

Training begins.

First, mana rhythm. Then directional influence. I encourage it to mirror pulses, then isolate them. With time, I want it to recognize threats through ambient distortion—primitive mana sight.

I coat its lower fangs with a light layer of stimulative resin. It gags, briefly, then recovers.

The effect?

Minor twitching. Enhanced reactivity.

Its next strike at a test vine is twice as fast. The mana-stimulated coating enhances its reflex loop.

This one has potential.

I assign it to the southern quadrant—closest to the stream network and natural watering hollows. There, the deer population has nearly doubled. Virex will keep them from overfeeding, from spreading too far, from growing cocky.

But before it leaves, I give it one last thing: a hardened resin core. Not to eat. To keep.

A signal.

If it flares with mana, I’ll know.

And I’ll come.

The quiet begins two days later.

Not total. But scattered.

I detect less movement in the water-adjacent areas. No deer hooves. No burrower claws. No bird landings.

At first, I suspect natural migration.

Then I find the first corpse.

A deer. Dead. Torn. Broken at three joints—ribs pierced and twisted inward. The bite radius doesn't match Virex. Nor the birds. Nor the burrowers. It’s too wide.

Too precise.

I probe deeper.

Another body. Then another.

Six total. All herbivores. All cleanly killed.

No excessive blood. No dragging. No root disturbance.

They died silently. Efficiently.

Predation is natural. I do not mourn death.

But these kills feel… invasive.

Calculated.

I trace root pulses along the deeper water paths—and find disturbances in the silt. Large. Deliberate.

Something’s hiding.

I narrow a deeper pulse.

A signature flickers.

Not strong.

10.2%.

That’s what I read.

But I’ve felt this before—when prey disguised its presence, cloaking core pressure. I isolate the trace. Analyze core density vs. physical pressure. And then, I log one final, alarming observation:

> Subject appears to have compressed core to mimic sub-15% mana class. Actual core pressure… estimate unknown. Possibly 30–35%, maybe higher.

But the data cuts off.

The next root tip I send through the stream?

Severed.

[System Summary – End of Chapter 00020]

Root Expansion: +132.1 m

Total Root Depth: 1,578.7 m

Mana Saturation Rate: +37.2 m/hr

Trait Unlocked: None

Core Status: 80.1% Saturation

Environmental Observations:

‣ Resin variants tested: Stimulative, Defensive, Mana Sponge

‣ First beast formally named: Ophion (Serpent)

‣ Animal behavior modified by resin interaction

‣ Multiple corpses found near southern water ring

‣ Suspicion of cloaked mana predator (~34% est)

Time Since Rebirth: ~3 years, 8.5 months