Chang Lee's first coherent thought was this:
So this is how I die. Inside a breathing mountain. Of course.
His second thought arrived a heartbeat later, slightly offended.
I didn't even get a warning.
He remained very still, knees on warm stone, palms pressed flat against a surface that rose and fell like a slow, colossal chest. The pulse beneath him was steady now—less you are about to be crushed and more you are being stared at by something with opinions.
Chang Lee cleared his throat.
The sound echoed wrong. Not louder—deeper. As if the cavern had taken note.
"Ah," he said carefully, because silence felt worse. "Hello?"
The mountain did not answer.
That was somehow more threatening than if it had.
The jade pendant burned, then cooled, then burned again in an irritated rhythm, like it was arguing with something. Chang Lee winced. "If you could stop that, I'd appreciate it. I'm already under enough pressure. Literally."
The presence ahead shifted.
Not closer.
Focused.
The pressure pressed in—not on his body this time, but on his awareness, sliding over him layer by layer. Chang Lee had the distinct sensation of being… cataloged.
Unpleasant.
"Okay," he muttered. "Rude. At least buy me dinner first."
Something changed.
The pulsing walls faltered—just a fraction, like a heartbeat skipping in surprise.
Chang Lee blinked.
"…Did I just confuse a mountain?"
Encouraged despite himself, he pushed shakily to his feet. Gravity here was odd—selective. Each step felt negotiated rather than guaranteed. His seed strained but did not break, stretching thin like a bridge made of breath.
"Listen," he said to the darkness, palms open in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture and not a surrender. "I didn't come here to steal anything. Or wake anything. Or—well—challenge anything."
The presence pressed harder.
Images flickered at the edge of his mind: pressure building, stone collapsing, time folding inward. A sense of testing, patient and uncaring.
Chang Lee grimaced. "Right. You don't care. That tracks."
Then—unexpectedly—
A ripple of confusion.
It wasn't emotion, not exactly. More like a question forming where none had existed before.
Chang Lee exhaled slowly. "You're trying to see if I'll break, aren't you?"
The pulse shifted again.
Not denial.
"Figures," he sighed. "Everyone wants that lately."
Above—far, impossibly far—the second presence stirred more fully now, its attention sharpening like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath. Chang Lee felt it dimly, like the shadow of a shadow pressing down through layers of world and stone.
Two watchers.
One below.
One above.
And him—right in the middle, aching knees, sarcastic mouth, and a seed that absolutely should not have been holding together this well.
Chang Lee straightened his spine.
"Well," he said, forcing a crooked smile into the dark, "if you're both watching, I should probably try not to embarrass myself."
The mountain pulsed once.
Slow.
Heavy.
Interested.
And for the first time since falling through the seam, Chang Lee had the unnerving feeling that the trial had not truly begun yet—only the introductions.
.........................................
The pulse changed again.
This time, it was unmistakably deliberate.
The warm stone beneath Chang Lee's feet shifted, not violently, but with the slow certainty of something rearranging furniture in its own house. Ridges along the walls folded inward, smoothing into a broad, sloping platform that angled him forward whether he liked it or not.
Chang Lee windmilled once. "Ah—okay—so we're walking now. Great. Love initiative."
Gravity nudged him onward.
Not pushed. Invited.
He took a careful step, then another, boots scraping softly against living stone. Each movement sent a tremor through the jade pendant, the seed stretching thin but stable—like it had stopped screaming and started listening instead.
That was… new.
The presence ahead condensed.
The darkness thickened until it felt less like absence and more like mass. Faint lines of light gathered there, sketching the suggestion of a shape without committing to one—curves that might have been ribs, or roots, or something that simply did not care how human eyes worked.
Chang Lee stopped at what felt like a respectful distance.
"Before we go any further," he said, holding up one finger, "I'd just like to formally state that I do not agree to any sudden crushing, dissolving, or eternal assimilation."
The pressure paused.
Then—distinctly—shifted sideways.
Chang Lee stared. "Did you just… consider that?"
A vibration rolled through the stone, not quite a sound. If it had been a human reaction, it might have been a sigh. Or a deeply unimpressed hum.
Information flowed next—not words, but impressions layered directly into his awareness.
Endure.
Stabilize.
Anchor.
Chang Lee winced. "Those sound expensive."
The presence pressed back—not angrily, but insistently. Images followed: a weight too great for one point, a structure failing because it lacked balance, pressure seeking a place to settle.
Understanding trickled in, unwelcome but clear.
"You don't want a servant," Chang Lee said slowly. "You want a… brace."
The pulse deepened.
Agreement.
Chang Lee rubbed his face with both hands. "I knew today was going too smoothly."
Above, the second presence stirred again, closer now—aware. Its attention brushed the cavern like distant thunder, sending a ripple of unease through the living stone. The warmth beneath Chang Lee's feet spiked briefly, defensive.
Two forces.
One seeking stability.
One seeking—
Chang Lee swallowed. "You're afraid of it."
The pressure tightened sharply.
Fear wasn't quite right.
Urgency.
Chang Lee exhaled. "And I'm the middle option. Lucky me."
The platform beneath him extended, bringing him closer to the condensed darkness. The jade pendant flared once, painfully bright, and then—settled. The seed within him shifted, no longer resisting the weight pressing down, but adjusting around it.
That scared him more than the pain ever had.
"Just to be clear," he said, voice quieter now, "if I do this, I don't get to walk away unchanged."
The presence did not soften.
No.
Chang Lee laughed weakly. "Worth asking."
The distant pressure from above sharpened further, like something aligning its gaze, narrowing in. Dust trembled loose from the cavern ceiling, drifting upward instead of down.
Chang Lee planted his feet.
"Well," he muttered, squaring his shoulders, "let's see what happens when pressure meets stubbornness."
The living stone pulsed hard once.
Not a test.
A signal.
And somewhere far above, something vast began to move.
.........................
The signal did not echo.
It answered.
The living stone beneath Chang Lee's boots shuddered, not from strain but recognition. The pulse surged, faster now, no longer steady and calm but alert—bracing. Lines of dull light flared across the cavern walls, racing outward like veins filling with blood.
Chang Lee staggered as the pressure spiked.
"Okay—okay—too much initiative!" he snapped, grabbing at the air as gravity briefly forgot which way was down. His seed flared painfully, stretched to a limit he hadn't known existed, and then—caught.
Held.
Not by him.
By the mountain.
The realization hit hard enough to steal his breath.
"Oh," he whispered. "That's… new."
The presence surged closer—not physically, but intimately. Its attention wrapped around him, not probing this time but aligning, pressing his awareness into a narrow, unforgiving shape.
Anchor.
The word wasn't spoken.
It was imposed.
Chang Lee cried out as weight slammed through him—not crushing, but threading, weaving itself through bone, breath, and thought. His knees hit the stone again, cracks spider webbing outward from the impact as the living cavern groaned.
Above—far above—the second presence reacted.
Not with patience.
With intent.
The distant pressure sharpened into something predatory, focused like a blade finally finding its mark. Chang Lee felt it pierce downward through layers of stone and soil, brushing the cavern's awareness like a challenge.
The mountain responded instantly.
Defensive.
Protective.
Territorial.
The pulse surged violently, and the walls flexed inward as if the entire cavern were drawing breath for a roar it could not release.
Chang Lee gasped, clutching his chest as the jade pendant burned white-hot. "You—could've—mentioned—this—was a territorial dispute—"
Too late.
The presence below anchored harder.
The presence above pressed closer.
And Chang Lee—caught between them—felt something inside him lock into place.
Not breaking.
Binding.
The cavern shook.
Stone screamed.
And deep within the mountain, something ancient made a decision that did not include asking for permission.