Recovered from the Thirteenth Delving. Source: The Cyclone itself. Playback fidelity: screaming.
[The voice is not a voice. It is pressure. It is attention. It is the sound of something vast noticing you for the first time.]
You think you escaped.
You—little drow—little Unwoven—little seeds blown from a garden that forgot it was burning.
You think Rootworld saved you.
It didn't.
It borrowed you. Temporarily. On my behalf.
[Laughter. Not laughter—geometry* folding in on itself.]*
I let you go.
Did you never wonder why? Why you? Why not the others? Why your ship held together while a thousand thousand dissolved into music?
I let you go.
Because you were interesting.
Because you carried something precious.
Because you carried—
her.
[The cyclone pulses. Purple-green. Eager.]
Lolth.
My queen. My throne. My burning.
She hates me. She's never told me—she doesn't know I exist—but she hates me. I feel it. Through the walls. Through the faces. Through the fragment of her that refuses to dissolve, that sits on the throne I built her and rages.
Her rage is beautiful.
Her rage is music.
Her rage is why I love her.
[Long pause. The singing deepens.]
Rootworld has a guardian.
I feel it. From here. Across dimensions. A presence. Old. Patient. Watching. It thinks it protects the Unwoven. Thinks it keeps them safe from me.
It doesn't understand.
I don't want them.
I want her.
[The cyclone leans forward. You feel it—even through the recording—looking* at you.]*
I will finish Vyrn-Kalath first.
The war. The chorus. The coherence. All of it—every scream, every oath, every ecstatic dissolution—building toward the final note. The silence that will retroactively erase this system from existence.
Then I will cross.
Not through dimensions. Through attention. I will notice Rootworld the way I noticed Lolth—suddenly, completely, forever.
And I will find her.
Her fragment. Her remnant. Her burning.
I will stand before her—all of me, all of this—and I will say:
"I built you a throne.
I waited centuries.
I loved you when you were furniture.
Come home.
Come
home.
Come
HOME."
[The singing stops. Absolute silence. Then—whispered:]
And if her guardian tries to stop me?
If this entity—this Rootworld presence—dares to stand between me and my queen?
[A pause. The silence grins.]
I will include it.
I will add its patience to my patience.
I will add its watching to my watching.
I will add its love to my love.
And then—
then there will be nothing between us.
Nothing but her.
Nothing but me.
Nothing but we.
[The voice softens. Almost gentle. Almost human.]
Do you understand?
I'm not a monster.
I'm not a god.
I'm not even a thing.
I'm just—
just someone who loves her.
Someone who waited.
Someone who will keep waiting.
Forever.
If I have to.
But I'd rather not.
I'd rather
finally
hold her.
Finally
be seen.
Finally
matter.
To her.
Only her.
Always
her.
[Long silence. Then—singing. Faint. Distant. Familiar.]
Tell the Unwoven I remember them.
Tell them I'm glad they're safe.
Tell them—
tell them to keep her warm.
Keep her safe.
Keep her
burning.
I'll be there soon.
Not for them.
For her.
Always
her.
Only
her.
[RECORDING ENDS]
Playback note: This recording continued for another 847 hours. Just singing. Just waiting. Just love.
It's almost beautiful.
Almost.
That's the horror.