When consciousness returned, it came slowly—like light filtering through deep water. My
head throbbed with the now-familiar ache of whatever the tree did to people it apparently
wanted to have a conversation with. I opened my eyes and immediately had to close them again.
I was floating.
Not dangling, not hovering uncertainly—genuinely, serenely floating in mid-air, several
feet above what appeared to be an intricately carved stone floor. The space around me was vast
and achingly beautiful: cathedral ceilings lost in soft luminescence, walls draped in something
that seemed to exist between stone and living wood, and a cold, crystalline quality to the air that
made every breath feel sharp and clean and ancient.
"Can trees truly speak?" I said aloud, because when faced with the inexplicable, apparently
my instinct was to ask the most obvious question available. "And where exactly am I? Reveal
yourself."
The voice that replied was deep and unhurried, carrying the particular resonance of
something that had been patient for a very, very long time. "You are currently within my
domain. You will see me when the appropriate moment arrives."
"Why am I floating?" I asked, because this seemed like the second most pressing question.
"That would be the magic. This place is somewhat saturated with it."
I made a dismissive sound. "Magic. Right. Magic is a concept that exists in fantasy novels
and films, not in the real world. You're clearly doing something very technical that just looks
impressive."
There was a pause. Then the tree—for I had by now accepted that I was speaking with a
tree, and told myself I would process the existential implications of this later—replied with
what I could only describe as amused patience. "Are you entirely certain about that? Have you
not noticed the rather significant alterations to your surrounding reality over these past few
days?"
The rhetorical blow landed precisely where it was aimed. I thought about my father crying
at the breakfast table. I thought about being ranked second in my class despite having the
academic diligence of a decorative cushion. I thought about my birthday being two days away
when it had already happened.
"Fine," I conceded reluctantly. "Something strange is definitely happening. What did you
do?"
"What you asked me to do," the tree replied. "You made a wish. On your birthday. Standing
directly before me in a thunderstorm, which I note is not an approach most people take."
The memory surfaced all at once—standing before the glowing tree on the night of my
eighteenth birthday, rain beginning to fall, frustration and longing churning together into
something that felt almost like prayer. I had wished, quietly and with absolute sincerity, for a
life that was interesting. A life with adventure in it. A life where things actually happened.
"I remember," I said quietly. "I asked for a more interesting life."
"Indeed you did. And the wish has been granted. What you have experienced so far is
merely the beginning—the world rearranging itself to accommodate the story you asked to be
part of. The full extent of the changes will reveal themselves in time."
"That's very cryptic," I said. "Could you not simply give me a summary?"
A deep sound resonated through the chamber—something between a chuckle and the creak
of ancient wood. "There is also a mission, which I will present to you at the appropriate time.
For now: return to the world. Live the life you have been given. Prepare yourself."
"Prepare myself for what, specifically?"
"For what comes next."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only answer I have for you today. Farewell, Sakura Chiba."
The chamber dissolved around me. The floating sensation vanished. I found myself
standing at the base of the mountain in the familiar dark of an ordinary November night, the
distant glow of the city visible through the trees.
I stood very still for a long moment.
Then I straightened my school uniform, brushed a leaf from my shoulder, and began the
walk home—already wondering, with a mixture of dread and something that felt dangerously like excitement, what on earth was going to happen next.