The forest did not forget.
Jin learned this slowly, over the course of days that blurred together without sunrise or sunset marking them in a way that felt meaningful to a former human. Time passed differently now—not in hours, but in cycles of hunger and fullness, danger and calm. His roots stretched wider, deeper, threading through soil like veins beneath skin. With every passing day, his awareness sharpened.
And with it came understanding.
Creatures avoided the clearing.
Not all of them—not yet—but enough that a pattern formed. Small animals would skirt the edge, hesitating before darting across open ground. Predators prowled the perimeter but never lingered long. Even insects altered their paths, instinctively choosing routes farther from Jin's trunk.
The corpse of the beast had long since been drained dry, reduced to fur and bone tangled in his roots. Jin had considered releasing it—letting the remains rot naturally—but something in him resisted. The carcass served a purpose. It was a marker.
A warning.
"This place isn't safe," Jin thought. "Not for you."
[Blood Sense: Passive scan active.]
The system's presence had become less jarring over time. It spoke rarely unless prompted or necessary, and Jin appreciated that. Silence, he'd learned, was precious.
But today, silence broke.
A ripple passed through the ground—not heavy like the beast before, but deliberate. Controlled. Footsteps.
Jin focused immediately.
The vibrations were light, evenly spaced. Bipedal.
Humans? Jin wondered.
No—something else. The rhythm was wrong. Too balanced. Too practiced.
Three figures emerged from the underbrush, stepping cautiously into the clearing. They were humanoid, but not human in the way Jin remembered. Their ears were slightly elongated, skin tinted faintly green or bronze depending on how the light hit it. Leather armor clung tightly to their frames, worn but well-maintained. Each carried a weapon—short spears and curved blades etched with unfamiliar symbols.
Elves?
The word surfaced unbidden, pulled from Jin's old memories of games and novels. He didn't know if it was accurate, but it fit well enough.
They froze when they saw the carcass.
One of them crouched, inspecting the bones, fingers brushing lightly over dried blood stains in the soil.
"This wasn't scavenged," the crouched one said quietly. "It was drained."
Another frowned. "A vampire beast?"
The third shook his head slowly. "No signs of tearing. No struggle marks beyond the initial contact."
Their eyes lifted.
And landed on Jin.
Jin's awareness tightened.
They're looking at me.
The tallest of the three approached cautiously, stopping just outside the reach of Jin's surface roots. His gaze swept over Jin's trunk, lingering on the faint green glow that pulsed beneath the bark when Jin absorbed light.
"…A Bloodroot," the elf murmured. "But this young?"
The others stiffened.
"That's impossible," one said. "Bloodroots don't manifest outside cursed zones."
"And they don't kill iron-fang beasts alone," the crouched one added grimly.
Jin's mind raced.
They know what I am.
Or at least… what they think I am.
He felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with vulnerability. For the first time since reincarnating, Jin was being seen—not as a harmless object, but as something dangerous.
Something noteworthy.
"Should we destroy it?" one asked bluntly, fingers tightening around his spear.
Jin felt the pressure of the words settle into his roots like ice.
[Threat assessment: Moderate to high.]
"No," the tall one said after a long pause. "Not yet."
He stepped closer, slowly, deliberately, making no sudden movements.
"Bloodroot," he said aloud, voice calm but wary. "If you are sentient, show it."
Jin froze.
Sentient?
He had assumed—wrongly—that no one would ever think to speak to a tree.
"What do I do?" Jin asked the system urgently.
[Recommendation: Non-hostile signaling.]
"How?" Jin snapped.
[Leaf movement. Sap modulation. Energy pulse.]
Jin focused.
It took effort—more than draining blood ever had—but he willed his leaves to move. Not with the wind's randomness, but with intention. They rustled once, sharply, then stilled.
The elves stiffened.
The tall one exhaled slowly.
"It responded."
"By the roots…" one whispered. "It's awake."
Jin felt a strange swell of pride mixed with anxiety.
Great, he thought. Now I'm a talking point.
"I will not harm you," the tall elf said carefully. "And I ask that you do not harm us."
Jin considered his options.
He could attack.
He could drain them if they stepped closer—he felt their blood pulsing vividly beneath skin, rich and potent. But the thought left a bitter taste in his mind.
These weren't mindless beasts.
They were people.
"…I won't," Jin decided.
He pulsed faint energy outward—a controlled release of vitality that rippled through the air like a subtle shimmer.
The system chimed softly.
[Intent recognized: Neutral alignment established.]
The elves relaxed—slightly.
"What now?" one muttered.
"We mark it," the tall elf said. "And we report it."
Jin didn't like the sound of that.
Report it to who?
Before he could dwell on it, the tall elf stepped forward and pressed his palm against Jin's bark. A symbol flared briefly—soft blue light sinking into the surface.
Jin felt it immediately.
[External mark detected.]
[Function: Territorial Record / Awareness Beacon.]
"They tagged me," Jin thought. "Like property."
He didn't resist. Not yet.
The elves withdrew quickly after that, retreating back into the forest with frequent backward glances.
When they were gone, Jin released a long mental breath.
"That could've gone worse."
[Correction: Probability of hostile outcome was 67%.]
"…Thanks," Jin muttered dryly.
The forest changed after that.
Not visibly, but subtly.
Creatures passed closer now, curiosity outweighing fear. Some were drawn by the residual energy Jin gave off; others by rumors passed through instinctual networks Jin barely understood.
Blood was spilled nearby more often.
Fights. Hunts. Accidents.
Each death fed him.
Each feeding made him stronger.
But strength came with consequence.
[Warning: Reputation forming.]
"What kind of reputation?" Jin asked.
[Designation emerging among local sapient groups:]
["The Watching Tree."]
Jin felt a chill.
"That's… unsettling."
[Reputation impact: Neutral leaning toward fear.]
Jin absorbed sunlight quietly, considering.
He hadn't chosen this.
He hadn't chosen to die, to reincarnate, to become something rooted and monstrous in the eyes of others.
But he had chosen to spin the wheel.
And this—this strange existence balanced between life and death—was the result.
"If they're going to watch me," Jin thought, resolve hardening, "then I'll give them something worth watching."
Deep beneath the soil, his roots stretched farther than ever before.
Seeking.
Learning.
Waiting.
Far away, something ancient stirred—something that recognized the mark placed upon Jin's bark and smiled, unseen.
The forest had noticed him.
And the world soon would too.