"Well," August said, standing at the edge of what was supposedly a forest, "this is definitely contradictory."
The Contradiction Forest was, in fact, several forests occupying the same space simultaneously. Ancient oaks grew alongside tropical palms, which somehow coexisted with pine trees that were also, inexplicably, cacti. The undergrowth was a tangle of ferns, vines, and what appeared to be kelp that had given up on the ocean and decided to try land instead.
"I can see why they called it the Contradiction Forest," August said, consulting his map. "Though I think 'Deeply Confused Ecosystem' might have been more accurate."
The Sonorous Legion had given him excellent directions before he left their crystalline camp. Their conductor—a tall figure whose body chimed like wind chimes when she moved—had been particularly helpful.
"The forest asks many questions," she had told him in her musical voice. "Answer truthfully, but do not expect your answers to make sense once you give them."
August had thanked her for the advice while privately wondering what exactly that meant. Now, looking at trees that appeared to be having an identity crisis, he was beginning to understand.
A signpost stood at the forest's entrance, its arrows pointing in every direction simultaneously. The signs read:
"NORTH (Sometimes)"
"SOUTH (Probably)"
"EAST (Definitely Maybe)"
"WEST (We'll See)"
"UP (Worth A Try)"
"INSIDE (Obviously)"
"OUTSIDE (Paradoxically)"
"Helpful," August said. "Very specific."
He shouldered his pack and stepped into the forest, following what appeared to be a path that meandered between the confused vegetation. Almost immediately, the temperature changed—not consistently, but in patches. He'd walk through a section that felt like tropical summer, step into arctic winter for a few yards, then find himself in what seemed to be a pleasant spring afternoon.
"Microclimate confusion," August noted in his journal. "Trees can't agree on what season it is."
His Foundation monitor flickered green as he walked, constantly adapting to the shifting environmental conditions. By the time he'd been walking for ten minutes, August was apparently immune to temperature fluctuations, seasonal confusion, and what his monitor cryptically labeled as "botanical paradox exposure."
"Adaptive immunity for the win," August said cheerfully. "This is actually quite comfortable once you get used to it."
About twenty minutes into the forest, August encountered his first talking tree.
"Excuse me," said a massive oak that was also somehow a willow, "but could you settle an argument?"
August stopped and looked up at the tree. Its bark was simultaneously rough and smooth, its leaves both broad and narrow, its branches reaching both up toward the sky and down toward the ground.
"Sure," August said. "What's the argument about?"
"I'm having a disagreement with myself about what kind of tree I am," the oak-willow explained. "Half of me insists I'm clearly an oak. The other half is convinced I'm a willow. It's very distressing."
August considered this seriously. "Have you considered that you might be both?"
"Both?" The tree's voice carried a note of hope. "Is that allowed?"
"I don't see why not. The whole forest seems to be operating on expanded definitions of what's possible." August patted the tree's contradictory bark. "Maybe being both makes you more interesting than being just one thing."
"Oh!" the tree said, rustling with what sounded like relief. "I hadn't thought of it that way. Thank you, kind traveler. That's very enlightening."
"No problem," August said, continuing down the path. "Have a good day!"
"Days and nights!" the tree called after him. "I'm having both simultaneously!"
August grinned. The zones were full of such interesting people. Even the trees had personality.
The path continued to wind through increasingly impossible vegetation. August passed a grove of trees that grew downward into the sky, their roots forming a canopy overhead while their branches dug into the earth. He walked alongside a stream that flowed uphill while somehow also flowing downhill at the same time, creating eddies and currents that made his eyes water to look at directly.
"Physics seems more like a suggestion here," August observed, stepping carefully around a patch of flowers that were blooming and dying in rapid cycles, their petals falling upward like reverse snow.
He was making good time, according to his map. The path through the Contradiction Forest was surprisingly direct, despite the scenery's best efforts to be confusing. August's Foundation monitor continued its steady green flickering, adapting him to each new impossibility as he encountered it.
Around midday, he stopped for lunch beside a pond that was simultaneously frozen solid and gently rippling with warm water. August ate some of Marta's bread and one of the crystalline rations while watching fish that were clearly made of ice swim through water that should have been liquid.
"This is actually quite peaceful," he said to a nearby tree that appeared to be a hybrid of pine and bamboo. "Very zen, in a reality-bending sort of way."
The tree rustled agreement, its pine needles chiming like bamboo in the wind.
After lunch, August continued deeper into the forest. The contradictions became more pronounced—he walked through areas where it was clearly both day and night, where rain fell upward while snow fell downward, where the path was simultaneously a narrow trail and a wide highway.
His Foundation monitor had given up flickering and settled into a steady green glow. Apparently, August was now immune to logical paradoxes, spatial confusion, and what the readout labeled as "reality consensus variance."
"I'm getting really good at this adventure thing," August told himself proudly. "Maya and Marcus were way too worried. The zones are just… creative."
Late in the afternoon, August encountered something that made him pause.
A clearing in the forest where all the contradictions seemed to cancel each other out. Normal trees growing in normal soil under a normal sky. A simple wooden house with smoke rising from its chimney. A garden with vegetables that appeared to be exactly what they claimed to be.
"Huh," August said, approaching the house. "A pocket of normalcy in the chaos. Interesting."
He knocked on the door.
"Come in," called a voice from inside. "It's open."
August pushed open the door and found himself in a cozy cottage kitchen where an elderly woman was making tea. She looked completely ordinary—gray hair, kind eyes, practical clothes that had seen better years but were well-maintained.
"Traveler," she said without surprise. "Have a seat. Tea's almost ready."
August sat down at the wooden table. "Thank you. I'm August."
"Martha" the woman said, setting a steaming cup in front of him. "You're heading toward the deep zones."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes, I'm looking for someone. Arthur Solvain."
Martha's hand paused for just a moment as she poured her own tea. "Arthur. Yes, I know Arthur. He stops by sometimes, when the work gets too heavy for him."
"You know him?" August leaned forward eagerly. "How is he? I mean, everyone keeps telling me these terrible stories about what he's become, but—"
"Arthur is…" Martha sat down across from him, her expression thoughtful. "Arthur is exactly what you'd expect someone to become after years of doing impossible work alone. He's effective. He's dedicated. And he's very, very tired."
"Tired how?"
"The kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix." Martha sipped her tea. "The kind that comes from carrying weight that was meant to be shared."
August felt a surge of optimism. "That's exactly why I'm going to find him! He doesn't have to carry it alone anymore. I can help."
Martha studied him with eyes that seemed much older than her face. "Can you? Have you ever killed someone who was trying to have a conversation with you?"
"What? No, of course not."
"Have you ever had to destroy something beautiful because it was too dangerous to exist?"
August frowned. "I… no. But I don't think Arthur has to either. I've been meeting Forsaken all through the zones, and they're not dangerous. They're just different. The Sonorous Legion was incredibly friendly and helpful."
Martha's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes grew sadder. "The Sonorous Legion. Yes, they're lovely people. Very artistic. Very peaceful."
"Exactly! So Arthur doesn't have to fight them. He could try talking to them instead."
"August," Martha said gently, "what do you think happens to a zone when its King dies?"
"I… well, I assume it goes back to normal? The reality distortions fade?"
"No, dear. When a Zone King dies, the zone collapses. All the Forsaken in it die with their King. And all the reality storms, all the impossible beauty, all the contradictions that make these places unique—they all get compressed into a single moment of devastating force that spreads outward and destroys everything for kilometers."
August stared at her. "That… that can't be right."
"It is right. Arthur doesn't fight Zone Kings because he enjoys it. He fights them because if he doesn't clear the zones properly, both the Forsaken and the reality storms will destroy everything." Martha refilled his tea cup. "First, he has to hunt down and kill every single Forsaken in the zone. Every last one. Then, and only then, can he kill the Zone King. If he kills the King first, or misses even one Forsaken, the zone collapses and every remaining Forsaken breaks free to rampage across the countryside." "The Sonorous Legion has maybe six months before their zone becomes unsustainable. Their beautiful music will become a sonic weapon that will shatter every structure within fifty kilometers of their desert."
"But… they don't seem dangerous. They're artists. They're peaceful."
"They are. Right now. But the contradiction between what they were and what they've become grows stronger every day. Eventually, it will tear them apart." Martha's voice was infinitely gentle. "And Arthur knows this. He's seen it happen dozens of times. So he kills them while they're still beautiful, while they still remember being human, before they become the monsters they're doomed to turn into."
August felt something cold settling in his stomach. "You're saying he's mercy-killing them."
"I'm saying he's preventing catastrophes. Each zone cleared properly saves thousands of innocent lives. But one mistake—missing a single Forsaken, killing the King too early—and you get both a reality storm and an army of monsters loose in the world." Martha reached across the table and patted his hand. "Arthur isn't a monster, dear. He's just the only person willing to do a job that destroys everyone who tries it."
August sat in silence for a long moment, processing this information. His tea had gone cold.
"But maybe there's another way," he said finally. "Maybe someone with the right Foundation could stabilize the zones instead of destroying them."
Rina smiled sadly. "Maybe. Arthur thought the same thing, once. He spent the first two years trying to save Zone Kings instead of killing them. Do you know what happened?"
"What?"
"Seven zones collapsed while he was trying to cure them. Not only did the reality storms kill forty-three thousand people, but hundreds of Forsaken escaped into the countryside. It took three years and the entire military to hunt them all down." Rina stood up and walked to her window, looking out at the impossible forest. "After that, Arthur stopped trying to save them. He just kills them as quickly and cleanly as possible."
August stared into his cold tea, feeling his comfortable certainties crumbling around him.
"I still want to help him," he said quietly.
"I know you do," Martha said. "And maybe you can. But not the way you think. Not by convincing him to spare the Zone Kings. The only help Arthur needs is someone strong enough to share the burden of systematically clearing entire zones of Forsaken."
August finished his tea in contemplative silence. When he stood to leave, Martha handed him a small wrapped package.
"Food for the road," she said. "And August? When you find Arthur… don't try to save him from his choices. Try to save him from having to make them alone."
August left the cottage and stepped back into the contradictory forest, his mind churning with new and uncomfortable thoughts. The impossible trees seemed less whimsical now, more like symptoms of an underlying sickness that would eventually need to be surgically removed—every last trace of it.
But he was still going to find Arthur. Even if helping him meant something different than August had originally thought.
Even if saving the Zone Kings wasn't the answer.
Even if the real question was whether August was strong enough to help with the kind of precision work that one mistake could doom the world.