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Vine Loom · The Monster Catcher's Journal

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and Monster Catchers abound. I'm Stella Ferris
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and you have crash landed on the Monster Catcher
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Journal podcast. Welcome to today's episode and
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I do hope you enjoy as I tell you another story
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of my adventures as a Monster Catcher. And this
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story is about a glyph that we call Vine Loom.
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So, they told us not to go near the wet weather
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wilds. Not because of ghosts. Not because of
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monsters. But because the forest there remembers.
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It remembers who cut it, burned it, left it to
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rot, and it holds a grudge. We were tracing an
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energy spike, deep, ancient, floral, with an
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edge of something bitter. Orabeek's antenna kept
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twitching. Zena's glyph, Ignizura, refused to
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step past the tree line. Even the shadows were
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thicker here. We didn't walk into the forest.
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The forest closed around us. It was like Luna
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who saw the face first. There's a face in the
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tree, she said. She wasn't wrong. A massive trunk
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stood in the center of a clearing, gnarled and
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covered in moss. But deep in its bark was a face,
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half slumbering, half smiling, with vines spiraling
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out from its sides like limbs. Each vine ended
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in a wide, leafy hand, five veined and twitching.
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Then it opened its eyes. The glowed green gold,
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like dying starlight, it let out a groan that
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wasn't breath, but wind through time. The vines
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cracked the earth as they lifted, lashing out
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at anything nearby. One slammed the ground near
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me, kicking up roots like sharp knell. It wasn't
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trying to kill me. It was trying to judge. It
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had a name. I heard it echoed through my skull.
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And that name is Vine Loom. You've been alone,
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haven't you? For a long time. Another vine swung.
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I flipped back, sliding into the mud. My fingers
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found a shard of bark still warm. I'm not here
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to destroy you, I'm here to remember you. Suddenly
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the vine curled around me, not tight, gentle.
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It lifted me off the ground, held me in front
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of the massive face. Its leaf hand brushed my
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cheek like it was trying to understand what I
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was. I reached out and pressed my palm against
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its wooden brow. I see you, vine loom. Fine Loom
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did not hurt me, nor did he put me down. We lingered
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there together for a spell, suspended in an unspoken
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understanding. His eyes carved from the deep
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dark bark of an age older than memory met mine
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fleshy human fragile. And yet, in that moment,
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I did not feel fragile. I felt seen, as though
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the vastness of Nibiru itself had chosen to look
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through him and peer into me. I hadn't come here
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to catch him. The very thought of that would
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be heresy. It is against the Monster Catcher's
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code to even consider trapping the Ancient Tree
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of Valor. The being of the Elders call Vynloom.
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To do so would be a spit upon the soil that birthed
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us, to tear down the very roots that hold the
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world upright. No one truly knows how long he
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has stood guard in these groves. But every whispered
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tale claims he predates the rise of our kind.
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Some say his roots touch the heart of Nibiru
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itself. Others whisper that he was once night,
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transformed into bark and vine as punishment
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or blessing, depending on who tells the true
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story. But as his gaze pressed into mine, I felt
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questions form on my tongue. questions I did
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not dare to ask. What had he seen across the
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ages? What wars? What songs? What dying breath
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of civilization long buried beneath the moss?
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His silence was heavier than thunder, but it
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was not unkind. It was the silence of a guardian,
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a protector who did not need words to command
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respect. The longer I stayed, the more I realized
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how small I was in his presence. My boots pressed
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into the loom. And I felt the faint terror of
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his roots shifting beneath the earth reminding
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me that I stood Not above him, but within him
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in the very body of his dominion Catchers who
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break the code speak of power trophies glory,
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but in the presence of vine loom such ambitions
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wither into dust I Did not raise my net I did
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not reach for my glyph stone to do so would be
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a betrayal not just of the code, but of something
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deeper, something sacred. Instead, I bowed my
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head, letting the silence stretch between us.
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When at last I lifted my eyes, I saw him blink,
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a slow, grown shift of the wood upon wood, and
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I knew he had allowed me to leave. And so I did.
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I walked back through the grove, my heart heavy
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and my mind burning with the weight of that wordless
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encounter. For the rest of my life I would carry
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the memory of those bark -edged eyes, and the
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truth they impressed upon me. Not all monsters
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are meant to be caught. Some are meant to be
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remembered. Some are meant to be revered. I could
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still feel the weight of his eyes, even as I
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turned my back to the grove. Each step away from
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him was like trying to walk against a current,
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as though the roots themselves were reluctant
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to let me go. There was no anger in it. Only
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an echo of sorrow. Ancient sadness that clung
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to the air like morning fog. I didn't dare speak
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while I was there, but once I crossed the boundary
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of the clearing, words finally crept back into
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me. They spilled out in a whisper I hadn't meant
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to release. You're not meant to be caught. You're
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meant to be honored. The wind shifted at that
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moment, carrying the scent of old rain and cedar,
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and I wondered if Vine Loom had heard me, or
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if he even needed to. The code tells us not to
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bind the Tree of Valor, but it says little of
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what to do once you find him. I had expected
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fear or awe, maybe even temptation instead. What
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filled me was something stranger, reverence,
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yes, but tangled with guilt, as though simply
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standing before him had revealed every flaw I
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carried in myself. My impatience, my pride, my
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reckless hunger to prove I was more than a child
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with a net and a name. He saw all of it, and
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still he let me leave. I reached the edge of
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the grove and looked back only once. He hadn't
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moved, not in the way mortals would notice, yet
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the branches overhead, swayed through the air,
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was still, and for the briefest of moments I
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thought I saw faces in the knots of his bark.
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faces of those who had stood before him long
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ago. Some looked weary, some looked proud, all
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seemed bound to him, part of his endless vigil.
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I do not know what story Vyandloom carries, nor
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if it will ever be told in full, but as I walked
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back toward the sanctuary, I knew one thing for
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certain. This encounter was no mere accident.
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Nibiru had placed me in his path for a reason.
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The question that remains is, why? I had to tell
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Professor Oren about my encounter, keeping something
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like this to myself would have been a betrayal
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of the code. Plus, the way he acted after the
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last encounter that I had, and I didn't tell
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him, was a pretty bad reaction, so telling him
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was the perfect thing to do. So, my legs carried
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me faster than my thoughts, straight toward the
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Luan Academy. The campus sprawled along the cliffs
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overlooking the misted valleys of Nibiru, its
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tall spires etched with glyphs that pulsed faintly
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against the evening sky. The run felt endless.
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My breath came sharp and ragged, and the forest
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path seemed to lean in on me with every step,
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branches whispering as though Vine Loom's presence
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still lingered behind me, his eyes, the spark
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carved sorrowful eyes. were imprinted in my mind,
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following me, no matter how quickly I moved.
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By the time I reached the great bronze doors
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of the Academy, the lanterns had already been
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lit. Students in slate -blue coats drifted across
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the courtyards, carrying stacks of glyph scrolls
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and speaking in hushed tones. Some paused to
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look at me, their conversations faltering. When
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they caught sight of the dirt on my boots and
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the panic written across my face, I ignored their
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stares. The Luan Academy was more than a school.
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It was a sanctum of monster lore, a repository
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of all the whispered truths Nibiru had yet to
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surrender. Its vaulted halls smelled of ink,
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candle wax, and the faint metallic tang of binding
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glyphs. The walls bore paintings of past catchers
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standing beside creatures I could scarcely imagine
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meeting, let alone recording. Every time I set
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foot in this place, I felt like a child standing
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among giants. But this was different. Tonight,
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I wasn't just another student or field catcher
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reporting her findings. Tonight, I carried something
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heavier, something older, and I knew Professor
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Orion was the only one who could help me to carry
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it. Professor! I burst into the chamber nearly
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out of breath, chest heaving as though I'd run
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the length of Nibiru itself. My lungs burned,
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my throat was raw, and the words clawed their
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way out of me in a ragged gasp. Borean study
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was dim, but alive with light. Candles gathered
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in wrought iron sconces. their flames casting
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wavering shadows over the star maps spread across
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his white oak table he had been tracing them
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again charting constellations with his endless
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patience mapping the heavens as if the answer
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to every riddle of this world could be found
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written in the stars for once he looked up from
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them his brows knitted together his deep set
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eyes narrowing as he studied my face stella ferris
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his voice was low but edged with concern Are
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you all right, Quasar? The name struck me like
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it always did, heavy with weight and history.
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He only called me that when the matter was dire.
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When the girl before him was not just his student,
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but something more. Something bound by the old
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lineages. I shook my head, swallowed again, the
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dryness in my throat. I saw him, I managed at
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last, everywhere dragging itself free from like
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stone pulled through mud. Orion stilled his hands,
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which had been resting lightly on the star map,
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curled his fists, smudging ink across the parchment.
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He leaned forward, and the candlelight carved
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hollows in his face. Saw who? The question was
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soft, but there was iron beneath it. The one,
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I whispered. The one you said we must never meet.
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The one you warned me about. My voice cracked,
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a tremor, threading. Through the words I had
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sworn, I'd never speak. His chair scraped against
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the floor as he stood so suddenly and sharp,
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the air itself seemed to flinch. Tell me you
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didn't. His tone was clipped, but beneath it
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trembled something I had rarely heard from him,
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fear. I closed my eyes, the image flooding back,
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unbidden, relentless, towering bark, ancient
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limbs, eyes that hollowed me out to the core,
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I met Vine Loom. The silence that followed was
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suffocating. The Academy walls groaned faintly
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as though even the stones recoiled from the name.
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Orion's breath caught, and for a long moment
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he didn't speak. His gaze darted to the shelves
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that lined his chamber. Rows of tomes bound in
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leather, scrolls sealed in wax, glyph stones
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locked in iron cages. Some of those relics pulsed
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faintly, as if awakened by the mention of the
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forbidden name. You should not have gone there,
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he said at last, his voice low and strained.
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You should not have even sought the Grove. I
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didn't. I shot back, though my voice was weaker
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than I intended. I didn't speak to him, Professor.
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He found me. He looked at me. He didn't harm
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me, but my throat tightened. I can't get his
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eyes out of my head. They were hollow, hollow,
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but alive, bark and sorrow all at once. Oren's
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hands trembled ever so slightly. He pressed them
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flat against the table to steady himself. His
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rings glinting in the candlelight, hollow bark
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eyes, he repeated, as though testing the words,
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weighing them against a hundred old stories.
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He saw you then, truly saw you. on it, though
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I could barely meet his gaze. My heart still
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raced from more than the run. I felt small. Not
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the way a child feels small, but the way a spark
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feels against the endless dark. I don't think
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I'd breathe until he let me go. He could have
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crushed me, rooted me where I stood, swallowed
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me in the earth, but he didn't. Which means,
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Orion murmured, more to himself than me, that
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he chose restraint. He began to pace, his robes
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whispering against the hard floor. Every few
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steps he would pause, glance towards the window
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where the night sky stretched fast and unyielding,
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then turn back again, his brows furrowed deeper
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with each pass. I could feel the storm of thoughts
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inside him, calculations, old lessons, legends
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he had prayed wouldn't remain just that. Finally,
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he stepped Sorry, he stopped and looked at me,
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his eyes usually calm as the scholars burned
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with the weight of something unspoken. Do you
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understand what this means, Stella Ferris? You
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have brushed against the Force older than the
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Capture's Code itself. Vyinloom is not merely
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a guardian of the Grove. He is memory, he is
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oath, he is punishment and mercy woven together.
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For you to stand before him and walk away unbound?
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He trod off, shaking his head. This will change
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things. I swallowed hard, my palm clammy. Change
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what? Orion didn't answer at first. He crossed
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to a high shelf, pulled down a tome bound in
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cracked bark, and set it on the table with a
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dull thud. Dust curled into the air as he opened
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it, flipping through brittle pages inked with
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ruins I didn't recognize. His fingers stopped
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on a passage, trembling slightly as he traced
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the lines. The last written account of Vyandloom
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was three centuries ago, he said softly. And
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the catchers who saw him did not live to tell
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it. Their words were carried back by their glyphs
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before the bond severed. Since then no one has
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claimed to stand in his presence and survived.
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He looked up at me, his gaze sharp as a blade,
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until you. The words twisted in my chest, heavy
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and terrifying, why me? I whispered. That, Orion
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said, closing the tome with a shuddering sigh,
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is the question we must answer, and soon, for
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Fine Loom has chosen to reveal himself again,
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then the age of quiet is ending. His eyes lingered
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on me filled with something I couldn't quite
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name, fear. Yes, but also a flicker of awe. And
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you, Quasar, you may be the key to what comes
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next. For weeks I couldn't escape. Those eyes,
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they lingered in every corner of my vision. Rising
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up, when I tried to sleep, burning in my thoughts
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when I tried to eat. Hollow, wooden, lifeless.
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And yet, not lifeless at all. They were watching.
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Sometimes I would catch myself staring at the
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walls of my sanctuary, convinced that the lines
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in the stones had twisted into shape, or into
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the shape of Vineloom's gaze. Other times I'd
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wake in the middle of the night gasping, certain
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that the roots had crept beneath my bed, curling
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up toward me in silence. Why? Why did I keep
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seeing them? He hadn't touched me. He hadn't
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spoken. Yet I was tethered to him as though the
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encounter had stitched something invisible between
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us. The answer came a week later. Professor Orion
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arrived at my pyramid sanctuary just after dawn,
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his knock sharp enough to shake me from a restless
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sleep. I stumbled to the door, hair unkept. Eyes
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sore from the nights without rest. When I opened
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it, I saw the urgency written plain across his
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face. His robes were disheveled, ink stains smudged
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across his sleeves, and he clutched a book so
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tight it seemed he feared it would vanish. Still
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fierce, he said, not even waiting for me to speak.
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You must talk now." I ushered him inside. The
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sanctuary felt colder that morning, as though
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it, too, had been waiting for his words. Orin
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laid the tome upon the table, its cover cracked
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and darkened with age, spinding a little more
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than thread. He flipped it open into the page
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inked in glyphs. I could barely understand, and
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his hands trembled as he pointed to the passage.
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I was right to be afraid, he said, his voice
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low. Your visions are not madness. They are the
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mark of an ethereal line, an unbroken tether
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formed when Vyn Loom fixed his gaze upon you.
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My stomach dropped, my mouth suddenly dry. A
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tether? Yes, he shut the book with a heavy thud,
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the sound echoing in the chamber like a warning
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bell. When you met his eyes, he reached for you,
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not to destroy, but to wind. Vine Loom has chosen
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you, Stelliferous. He is trying to make you his
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new host. The words carved into me like blades.
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Host? Orion nodded grimly. Vine Loom has no vessel
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of his own. For centuries he had drawn strength
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from the roots of Nibiru, but his essence is
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not fixed. It seeks form. It seeks flesh without
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intervention. The line between you will completely...
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or will complete itself in thirty days' time.
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And when it does, he has hesitated, his jaw tightening,
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you will die. Your body will be hollowed, your
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soul consumed, and vine -lume -loom will walk
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the world in your stead. I staggered back, my
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hands gripping the edge of the table. For support,
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the room seemed to tilt, shadows stretched along
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against the stone walls. My pulse thundered in
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my ears. I had See, I had faced monsters before.
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I had looked into eyes filled with fire, venom,
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and a hunger. But none had ever followed me home.
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None had ever reached so deeply into me that
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I could not shake them free. There has to be
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a way to stop it, I whispered. There is, Orion
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said, but it's not without risk. You must return
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to him. You must face Vyandloom again and sever
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the ethereal line yourself. Speak to him. Demand
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release. Only then can the tether be broken.
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If you refuse, he let the world's trail off,
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but his silence spoke louder than anything. I
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looked towards the tall windows of my sanctuary
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where sunlight spilled across the floor like
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broken glass, the thought of going back of standing
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once more beneath those towering limbs and staring
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into those hollow eyes. This sent chills through
22:01
me, deeper than any winter storm, but I had no
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choice. Thirty days, that was all the time I
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had before the hollow gaze became my own. So
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I returned to Vynloom. This time he was waiting,
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a malicious smile twisted across his bark -carved
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face. The air trembled as his roots beneath the
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soil, reaching for me. I met his hollow eyes
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without flinching, and I said, I reject you.
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He did not go down without a fight. The grove
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shook, branches groaned, roots snapped like whips
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against the ground. Every step I took forward
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felt like waiting against a storm, but I refused
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to let his gaze consume me. I, Stella Ferris,
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reject you, Vine Loom. I shouted, my voice echoing
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through the grove, shaking the very roots beneath
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our feet. And at once he finally disappeared
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out of sight, never returning to the grove again.
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And that, my friends, is another episode of the
23:05
Monster Catchers Journal podcast. I'm really
23:08
happy that you guys are coming back and listening
23:11
to my episodes and supporting me. And always,
23:15
from Nibiru, have a good day. Goodbye.