Page 56 of Dark Shaman: Eternal Hope
"Yes. But this time, it's a different soldier. His name is Malak." Navuh gestured to the guards, who left to retrieve the prisoner. "I've learned that he was one of their strategists. Perhaps his mind will be more organized than Nahil's."
When they brought Malak in, the soldier didn't resist the chains, didn't even seem aware of them. His eyes were open but unfocused or perhaps focused on something only he could see.
"He's either in their shared space or his brain is fried," Eluheed observed.
He approached the guy slowly, noting how Malak didn't track his movement. The soldier's breathing was deep and regular, almost hypnotic in its rhythm.
"Malak," Eluheed said.
There was no response.
"I'm going to touch your arm now."
Still nothing. Malak might have been carved from stone.
Eluheed placed his hand on the soldier's forearm, prepared for the violent pull of consciousness he'd experienced before.
Instead, he found himself slipping into something that felt almost peaceful. The transition was smoother this time, like slipping into water instead of being pulled under. The chaos he'd encountered before had evolved into something more organized—still turbulent, but with patterns, currents, and an underlying rhythm.
Another visitor,one of the voices in the void, said.
The bounded one,another said.
He brings the earth with him.
That last thought made Eluheed freeze. In this space, everything about him was more exposed—not just his thoughts but the essence of what clung to him.
Soil. Growing things. Life and death and life again.
He tends the gardens.
More than that. The earth knows him.
The attention of multiple consciousness turned toward him, drawn by something in the soil under his nails, the plant oils on his skin. In the physical world, these were just dirty hands. Here, they carried stories, and these men were hungry for something to occupy their shared mind.
Eluheed reinforced his mental shields, trying to pull back, but the curious presence from before was there again, stronger now.
An old dirt. Much older.
From another place. Not Earth.
Eluheed severed the connection, jerking his hand away from Malak's arm.
The interrogation room slammed back into focus, harsh lights reflecting off concrete, the astringent smell of industrial cleaning products tickling his nostrils.
"What happened?" Navuh demanded. "You pulled away violently."
Eluheed's heart was racing. "It's much less chaotic in there, and they are perceptive." He looked at his hands. "Malak shared with them that he smelled earth on me, and they wanted to find out more. They are bored and hungry for stories."
Navuh's eyes sharpened. "What kind of stories?"
"Anything. They were fascinated by the idea that I work with plants. That I tend gardens." It was true enough, though incomplete. "One consciousness in particular is very curious about external stimuli. It latched on to these details and tried to construct a picture of who I was."
"Could they have learned anything they were not supposed to know?"
Eluheed shook his head. "I disconnected before they could go deeper. But they're definitely evolving. The isolation is allowing them to explore their connection without distraction."
Navuh began his characteristic pacing—three steps one way, three back. "So, they're using the imprisonment to grow their abilities."
