The oil lamps in your rented room in Greyhaven flickered weakly as another wave of the dream struck you. For weeks now, the same vision haunted your sleep: colossal roots of living metal and crystal reaching through darkness, a slow, thunderous heartbeat echoing in your bones, and a voice like grinding stone and whispering leaves calling your name.

You awoke with a start, sweat-soaked. On the small wooden table beside your bed lay something that had not been there before — a Root Token. A living shard of bark, warm to the touch, pulsing faintly with inner bioluminescent veins. Tiny silver-green leaves sprouted along its edge.

As you picked it up, the token flared. A soft, resonant voice echoed directly in your mind:

“The Heart-Trees stir. Those who dream with dragons are called. Come to the Underdeeps… if you dare.”

A knock sounded at your door — sharp, deliberate. You opened it to find a tall, hooded figure. Their cloak was woven from what looked like blackened root fibers and dragonscale fragments. When they lowered their hood, you saw a lean dragonborn woman with deep obsidian scales and glowing amber eyes. Two small living brands pulsed slowly on her cheekbones.

“I am Sylra Thornvein,” she said, her voice low and rasping, like wind through ancient boughs. “A Warden of the Outer Roots. The Choir has marked you. I have been sent to guide those the Wyrms have called… before the dreams consume you.”

She glanced past you at the Root Token in your hand.

“You are not the only one. Three others have already been gathered. The journey to the nearest Root Entrance is perilous. Rust Storms, shadow beasts, and Synod spies hunt those who bear the mark. Many who answer the Calling never return. But if you survive the Trial of Roots… you may walk among dream-speakers and dragon-hearts.”

Sylra stepped aside, revealing three figures waiting in the dimly lit hallway.

A broad-shouldered orc with metallic bone piercings and a heavy axe strapped to his back, grinning with sharp tusks. “Name’s Gorzod Bloodroot. Ex-mercenary. Tired of surface wars. Hoping the dragons have better stories than blood and coin.”

A nervous but sharp-eyed half-elf woman, her fingers twitching with faint shadow energy. “Lirael Voss,” she murmured. “I was born during the Veilfall Eclipse. The dreams won’t let me sleep anymore. They say this place can teach control… or destroy you. I’m willing to risk it.”

A quiet, heavily augmented dwarf with crystalline growths sprouting from one arm. “Thrain Deepvein,” he grunted. “My clan delved too close to a Wyrm heart. It spoke to me. Now I can’t go back. Either I master this… or it eats me alive.”

Sylra looked at all of you, her amber eyes solemn. “The path ahead is no simple road. The Underdeeps will test your mind, body, and soul long before you reach the Trial of Roots. You may lose memories. You may gain mutations. Some of you may not survive the Descent. The Wyrms do not suffer the weak or the unworthy.”

She extended her clawed hand, revealing a small cluster of glowing Root Tokens. “If you accept, take the token fully into your blood. There is no turning back once the bond is made. The academy does not recruit students… it awakens dreamers. But know this — the Veiled Synod watches those who bear the mark. They would sooner kill you than let another balanced soul join the Rooted Choir.”

Sylra’s gaze settled on you.

“Well, called one? Will you answer the Heart-Trees? Or will you let the dreams slowly devour you from within?”