Mikhailis blinked against dim amber light, trying to remember how he had fallen asleep on something that was technically a wall. The surface under his cheek felt soft—almost springy—and smelled faintly of cedar sap mixed with a sweeter, herbal scent. He pushed himself upright. A low groan escaped his lips as vertebrae cracked one after another.
The room greeted him in slow, glowing ripples. Every inch was alive. Roots thicker than his arm ran across the ceiling, curling down the corners like decorative supports. Smaller fibers crisscrossed those main coils, weaving a lattice that pulsed faintly, as if liquid light flowed inside. Tiny globes of resin clung to the bark, catching whatever illumination seeped out and bouncing it back in soft golden hues. It reminded him of sunrise bleeding through honey.
