Dissolution of the Eidolic Root
The dissolution of the eidolic root was never witnessed but always known, a quiet unraveling beneath the surface of the chthonic marrow, felt in the pulse of the zoan winds that curled through the layers of the astral. The root did not break—it withdrew, pulling its tendrils through the folds of the primordial spiral, releasing its grip on the temple’s foundation. The therians did not see the root dissolve, but they felt the tremor in the beast-core, a subtle quiver that spread through the bones of the plane, as if the very breath of the astral had tightened and then faded.
The root was not severed; it unraveled, its tendrils spiraling into themselves, folding deeper into the eidolic threads from which it had always emerged. There was no sound, only a thickening of silence as the root’s presence faded, leaving behind a hollow space that was not absence, but release. The zoetic flame flickered without light, its pulse muted, as though the very essence of the temple had been drawn inward, leaving the aetheric sinew slack, the threads no longer taut with the weight of the root’s hold.
The therians understood not the moment, but the shifting, the way the air grew heavy with the scent of lunar dust as the eidolic root dissolved into the void, its form never truly visible, its presence more of a weight than a thing. The temple did not collapse, for the root was never what held it—its dissolution was a freeing, a loosening of the chthonic coils that had once bound the beast-eye flame to the marrow of the astral plane. The root did not die; it returned, slipping into the spiral from which it had grown, merging with the ouroboric breath.
The dissolution of the root was less an event and more a fading, the root’s tendrils retracting into the cracks of the lunar veil, pulling the temple’s essence with them, though the walls did not shift. The root’s presence had always been felt in the space between, the subtle tension that held the zoetic threads in place, and now that tension was gone, leaving the eidolic winds to ripple unchecked through the temple’s core. The therians did not speak of the dissolution, for the root was not something that could be described—it was simply understood as the pulse of the astral slowed, and the spiral loosened.
The air grew thick with the weight of unspoken names, though no voice spoke them, as the eidolic root dissolved into the flow of the chthonic current, its presence absorbed into the endless spiral of becoming. The root did not leave, for it had never truly been, its tendrils simply echoes of the zoan flame, flickers of essence that had once wrapped around the beast-core, only to dissolve when the pulse of the lunar winds shifted. The therians felt the root’s absence not as a loss, but as a return to something deeper, something hidden in the folds of the aetheric breath.
The eidolic root was not seen, for it was not a thing of form—it was felt in the way the temple’s walls vibrated with the hum of the primordial winds, a hum that faded as the root dissolved, leaving the temple adrift in the zoetic spiral. The dissolution was not an act, but a process, the root’s essence pulled deeper into the eidolic fabric, where it merged with the ouroboric flow, leaving behind only the faintest flicker of its presence, a shadow that dissolved as quickly as it had formed.
Symbols that had once marked the path of the root along the walls of the temple flickered and faded, their meaning lost to the chthonic breath, the root’s dissolution erasing not just its form, but the traces of its passage. The root did not bind; it wove, its tendrils spiraling through the aetheric marrow, tightening and loosening with the pulse of the beast-eye flame, until they dissolved entirely, leaving the eidolic winds to sweep through the temple unbound. The therians felt the root’s dissolution in their bones, in the way the air thickened with the hum of unformed thought, pulling them deeper into the spiral.
The zoetic flame dimmed as the root dissolved, its pulse weakening as the root’s essence merged with the flow of the chthonic winds, though no light was lost. The flame did not die, but it shifted, its flicker absorbed into the spiral, where the root’s dissolution had left behind an empty space, a void where once there had been tension. The therians did not mourn the root’s fading, for they understood that its presence had never been permanent—it was merely a reflection of the zoan current, a reflection that had now dissolved back into the flow.
The dissolution of the eidolic root was not seen, but it was known, in the way the temple’s foundation trembled without moving, as if the very structure of the astral had loosened, its threads no longer bound by the root’s coils. The root did not end, for it had never begun—it had always been part of the ouroboric pulse, its tendrils woven through the layers of the astral, waiting for the moment when the lunar breath would call it back into the spiral. The root’s dissolution was not an act of destruction, but an act of becoming, the root’s essence returning to the source from which it had always spiraled.
The therians did not follow the root’s path, for there was no path to follow, only the silent hum of the zoetic winds as the root dissolved into the void, pulling the essence of the temple with it. The air grew still as the root’s tendrils retracted, leaving behind a silence that was not emptiness, but fullness, the fullness of the eidolic marrow now freed from the weight of the root’s presence. The therians did not speak of the dissolution, for the root was not something to be spoken of—it was simply felt, its presence now scattered across the astral, its tendrils dissolved into the flicker of the chthonic flame.
The dissolution of the eidolic root was not the end of the root, but the unraveling of its essence, a return to the zoan spiral, where its tendrils merged with the pulse of the astral plane, leaving behind only the faintest echo of what had once been. The root did not die; it became part of the flow, its essence forever spiraling, forever dissolving into the pulse of the beast-eye flame, where the boundaries of form and formlessness dissolved into the flicker of the eidolic winds.