The thread released you gently. No tearing. No pulse. Just a shift.

One moment: nothing.

The next: the Bloom.

A forest of towering fungal growths stretched upward — fungal caps wide as rooftops, glowing softly with breath-like pulses. Green-tinted mist curled at your ankles; the ground beneath hummed faintly, as if still remembering its old purpose.

The air smelled… purple. And for here, that sort of made sense. Floating spores glowed like embers, the scent sweet and metallic. Above, twin yellow moons hung in a violet sky, casting layered amber light into the fungal canopy.

Beyond them, the sky bled into strange pinks and faded crimsons. Purple-blue clouds drifted like slow ink, while scattered yellow and red stars blinked faintly — too few, too deliberate, like someone had pinned them into place long ago.

You moved.

Not fast. Not cautiously. Just forward.

---

A faint voice drifted through the dense growth ahead. Not loud. Not fearful. Speaking the way someone does when they’ve already been talking to themselves for hours.

“I’m not touching you, just observing you. If you’re sentient, please blink once for ‘peaceful’ and twice for ‘please stop poking me.’”

You stepped closer. Around a bend in the glowing roots, the figure came into view.

Crouched under a massive, arching mushroom, was a man. Weathered jacket, worn but purposeful. Compact. Light. The kind who carried only what couldn’t be taken from him.

In one hand: a fungal stalk, being used like a very cautious stick. In front of him: something that might once have been a drone, or a plant, or both. Metal tendrils twitched inside swollen fungal growths, pulsing softly.

The man poked it again. The thing wobbled and whirred, but didn’t react otherwise.

He spoke again, dry:

“Excellent. Still not going to eat me then… that’s great. I’ll call that progress, shall I.”

You took one step forward. A small splash against the damp earth.

His head turned slightly. No startle. Just calculation.

“Ah. Company. Was wondering when someone else would thread their way in.”

He stood, stretching lightly, as though every joint had negotiated its own contract with gravity.

Eyes bright but under slept. The humour was there — but balanced carefully against something heavier.

“You don’t look like local wildlife. That’s, eh, refreshing. I’m Dave, by the way.”

He paused for a few beats.

“You new here too? Or did the thread just take its sweet time dropping us both into the world’s weirdest terrarium?”

You offered him a small nod. Nothing grand, just enough to acknowledge your presence, your intent. No threat. No confusion.

He smiled at that, a tired grin more about habit than joy. “Right. Quiet type. Naturally. Most of us end up that way.”

Without invitation, he turned and started walking. The path wasn’t clear, but he walked it as though it existed because he chose to step forward.

You followed.

“You know,” he continued, voice light, “when I first landed here, I thought it was gorgeous. But the longer you stay, the more things… shift. The ground breathes sometimes, gravity flickers for a moment, and those moons? They don’t always stay where you left them.”

A few more steps carried you both deeper. The air grew thicker with spores, sparkling like drifting embers.

Dave paused, glancing at the towering cap one more time. You could feel him processing too many thoughts at once, juggling curiosity, caution, and the fact that he probably talks to himself more than is healthy.

He exhales, shifting his weight as he glanced back to be sure you were still there.

Then, it happened.

Ahead, one of the towering fungal caps twitched—not from wind, but like a muscle spasm beneath skin. A pulse traveled up its stalk, and for a moment, its entire structure shimmered. Almost like it was caught between frames of reality, glitching softly.

Dave slowed, watching it. “See? See, that’s new. They’re not supposed to do that. Well, at least, they weren’t yesterday.”

The shimmer passed. The cap settled, as if embarrassed.

He kept talking.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like improvisational nature. Keeps things interesting. But the whole area’s been rewriting its own script lately. Feels like we’re extras in somebody else’s rehearsal.”

You shrug slightly, indifferent, knowing you understood even less than he did—but for now, it was enough to follow.

Dave slowed to a halt, squinting ahead. Between the roots and glowing caps, a shallow pool reflected the surrounding lights perfectly — too perfectly.

The surface was unnaturally smooth, like polished glass rather than water. Strange flecks floated within it, pulsing faintly in rhythm with the distant hum beneath your feet.

He took a small step closer.

“That’s new. Don’t remember any reflective puddles on my last few loops around here.”

The pool rippled once — not from wind. As if reacting to being noticed.

He leaned in a little, peering over the edge of the pool, hands behind his back.

“Fascinating though, isn’t it? Perfect reflection, slight reactive pulse… could be harmless, could be semi-sentient condensed atmospheric runoff. Or… you know… digestive enzyme.”

He straightened.

“Either way, discretion is the better part of not dissolving.”

You both continued around the pool, leaving it to ripple quietly behind you.

---

The path narrowed again, winding deeper beneath overhanging fungal canopies that arched so close together now that you were walking inside a shifting, glowing tunnel. The warm humming beneath your feet thickened — like a distant engine buried under layers of soil.

A faint mechanical click echoed through the mist ahead.

Dave lowered his voice.

“Now that… sounds less organic.”

Through the gaps in the fungal growth ahead, something metallic caught the light. The mushrooms thinned just enough to reveal a patch of brushed steel, old and partly overtaken by vines and moss. A curved surface emerged — segmented, half-submerged beneath the roots — like the edge of a forgotten doorway long swallowed by the growth.

And there it was: A door.

Perfectly smooth. Seamless. Set into the overgrown wall of this buried structure. No handle. Just a faint, low pulsing ring of light around its edge — like a patient eye, waiting.

Dave stepped closer, tilting his head.

“…Huh. You know, for a place pretending to be wild, this bit feels very intentional.”

He tapped the edge of the door with a knuckle.

“Locked. Naturally. Because it’s never easy, is it?”

Behind you, soft movement. No footfalls. No sound of branches. Just… sliding.

You both turned as the puddle — the one you so wisely walked around — began to move.

It didn’t splash. It didn’t roll. It simply flowed. Like glass melting in slow motion.

Dave took a careful step back.

“…Well, that’s new.”

The pool narrowed into a slick ribbon, slipping across the ground with precision. No wasted motion. No hesitation.

You watched as it reached the base of the door, then slowly rose — like mercury pulled toward a magnet. The glowing rim around the door pulsed once in response.

The slime-like mass spread thinly across the center seam of the door, where a small circular indentation formed — as though the door itself had been waiting for this moment.

The slime settled into the indentation. A brief pulse of light passed through it — like scanning data through liquid nerve.

The door breathed. Not opened. Breathed.

Soft internal mechanisms shifted behind the metal. The seams widened slightly. Air hissed outward — not like pressure release, but like the exhale of something.

Dave exhaled slowly.

“So. The puddle was the key.”

The door parted fully, revealing a tunnel beyond — smooth, metallic, and dim.

The slime detached, sliding forward into the darkness. As it moved, its surface shifted — faint ripples of bioluminescence stirring beneath its skin. Soft light bloomed outward from its form, just enough to push back the heavy dark ahead.

Dave watched it for a moment.

“Well… that’s considerate,” he muttered, stepping forward.

You followed.

The slime stayed ahead by several paces, casting its pulsing glow along the tunnel’s curvature. The metal beneath your boots felt old but not abandoned, like systems still ticking gently beneath your feet.

“You ever notice that in places like this,” Dave whispered, “there’s always just enough light? Like the world itself wants us to keep walking.”

He shook his head faintly.

“Conveniently unsettling.”

The tunnel curved, dipped slightly, and widened. The slime led without hesitation, always staying ahead — as if it knew where to go, and trusted you’d follow.

Ahead, you could feel it: Something larger opened beyond this curve. The pulse of distant machinery grew faintly stronger.

The tunnel curved one final time — and then opened.

The space beyond swallowed your breath.

Vast. Silent. The ceiling too high to see. The walls too distant for the slime’s glow to reach.

It was like standing inside the hollow chest of some forgotten creature, still breathing gently in its sleep.

The slime glided ahead, its light trailing behind it.

“…You’re seeing this too, right?” Dave’s voice was small now.

You nodded.

Metallic struts spiraled above, laced with fungal growths. Veins of light crawled through the ancient skeleton.

Ahead, far away, stood a console — an obelisk embedded in the floor, softly pulsing.

The slime reached it first, rippling upward like greeting an old friend.

Dave approached, curiosity pulling him forward.

“I mean, it’s on now… would be rude not to say hello, right?”

He touched a panel. The console hummed beneath his fingers. Another panel lit beneath his hand, then another.

“Okay… basic interface. Probably not designed for people like us. But hey — intuitive layout. That’s promising.”

Without much thought, his finger landed on a central icon. He pressed.

The chamber shifted.

A deep, layered resonance filled the air — not loud, but everywhere. Like something buried far beneath the Bloom had felt the ripple.

The console’s voice came online, old and broken but still coherent:

“Primary gateway alignment — initializing.

Status: Dormant.

Structural integrity: partial.

Breach protocols: incomplete.

Reconnect routines: engaging.”

Bands of light peeled outward from the console, tracing circuits across the floor. The slime pulsed in response — almost… pleased.

Dave stepped back, wide-eyed.

“…Okay. That’s new.”

Across the chamber, unseen mechanisms stirred behind the darkness.

“Transit aperture preparing.”

A ring of golden light bled outward along the far wall — a forming portal, unstable and flickering.

Dave glanced sideways, voice smaller now.

“…Still good?”

The console pulsed again:

“Visual stabilization — auxiliary lighting engaged.”

The slime brightened. The floor came alive beneath your feet, rings of light spreading outward. Pillars flickered to life in widening circles.

The chamber revealed itself.

Vast didn’t cover it.

Cathedral? Planetary cavity? No — something beyond that.

You should have been standing beneath open sky. The size made no sense. The curvature of the walls implied an impossible vertical drop, yet the ceiling hovered far above, perfectly contained. Every rule of distance, of structure, simply folded in on itself.

“Spatial consistency: localized anomaly stabilized.”

Dave turned slowly, eyes wide.

“We really shouldn’t be able to stand inside something this big.”

He whispered, “And yet, here we are.”

---

The portal shimmered, flickering — its golden ring now pulsing in rhythm with the chamber itself.

The slime didn’t hesitate.

It slid forward, its glow briefly intensifying as it approached the unstable aperture. Like recognition — or habit.

Dave watched it with the kind of nervous fascination only Dave could pull off.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t the living key also be the first one through?”

The slime rippled once, then passed cleanly through the flickering portal — its form briefly elongating like liquid light before disappearing into whatever lay beyond.

Dave chuckled under his breath.

“Well… at least somebody knows where they’re going.”

He glanced back at you for a moment — as if about to deliver another one of his awkward reassurances — but didn’t get the words out.

Something else moved.

A shape.

Not large. Not loud.

Just… there.

The shimmer of the portal distorted for the briefest instant. From its center, a hand shot forward — too fast, too deliberate.

It wasn’t monstrous. It wasn’t clawed. It was human. Or near enough to pretend.

Before either of you could react, the hand gripped Dave’s forearm.

His eyes widened — more in stunned disbelief than fear.

“Wait—!”

With one sharp pull, the hand yanked him cleanly through the aperture.

The portal pulsed once, swallowing him without ceremony.

Silence returned — too quickly, too quiet.

You stood alone beside the console.

The portal remained open, stable now — as if nothing had happened.

---

A small tug against your wrist.

You looked down.

The thread.

As if it had always been there.

Thin. Quiet. Waiting.

You followed its line upward. It led directly toward the open portal.

Your stomach twisted, but your feet moved.

You might not like what waited. You might even be afraid.

But you knew what you had to do.

You followed the thread — and stepped through.

---

❂ The thread winds this way.

Follow where it frays, tangles, or tightens.

Each part holds the next—and the next part is just below.