With the changes in fauna and flora, new entities began to emerge, manifestations of the world's new balance (or imbalance). Among them were born the ents: creatures originating from ordinary trees, but transformed by a profane fusion of wood, soul, and regret. Beasts, or perhaps spirits, formed when the essence of a dead being, laden with remorse or unfinished desires, merged with the life cycle of a tree.
The first ents, born from particularly powerful or tormented spirits, became formidable monsters. Some were so colossal and violent that they could, alone, devastate an entire village with the fury of their roots and branches. They were living laments of what could not be forgotten—and had no desire to be forgiven.
In the beginning of their existence, ents act like beasts driven by instinct. But over the years, as they absorb the world around them, they develop awareness. In time, they become intelligent, and, in some cases, all too conscious of who they once were… and what they have become. But one thing was common among all intelligent ents: they loved seasoning their prey.
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"That bitch was toying with me…" he growled through gritted teeth, wine-colored eyes scanning the surroundings, searching for any way to escape what was coming.
From the ground before him, a colossal root erupted, like a living spear, shooting straight toward his chest. Ezra reacted in the last second, hurling his body sideways in a desperate leap. But it was a trap.
Another root emerged from the side, as if sprouting from the shadow of the first, aimed directly at his still-airborne body.
No time to think. Ezra drew the knife he had taken from one of his captors—cheap steel, unbalanced, but it was all he had. He twisted his wrist midair and deflected the living tip of the root with the blade.
A sharp crack rang out.CrackThe blade fractured. Shards flew. But it was enough, at least, that's what he thought.
Ezra hit the ground hard, slipping on the damp earth, his shoulder throbbing, heart pounding. He had barely drawn breath when he had to move again.
More branches burst from the ground, some twisted in spirals, others stretched like whips, lunging at him like starving serpents.
He ran. Vaulted over one, twisted to dodge another. The trees groaned all around, and the space began to close in. The sky, once peeking through the canopy, vanished.
The path had become a living trap, as more and more branches of varying shapes and sizes surged forth.
One branch grazed his leg. Another nearly caught his neck. He stumbled sideways, tried to rise—but a root wrapped around his ankle and yanked with force.
"When?!" He fell onto his back, and that's when he saw them: dozens of eyes carved into the trunks, glowing amber like coals about to ignite.
The forest had made its decision. This was no longer an accident. Ezra was an intruder. And now, an offering.
The ground shook. Something massive rose behind him.Shadows passed over his vision.
"I told you not to underestimate them," Mazzareth's voice echoed from somewhere deep in Ezra's mind.
But it was already too late.CHAK.
The giant tree did not hesitate.
Its branches descended like living chains, striking Ezra's body with cruel precision, their speed matched only by overwhelming force.
The sharp crack of flesh being pierced by wood echoed among the trunks.And then came the blood.
"AH!" The scream tore from Ezra's lungs like a gash, as his body lunged forward in an awkward leap. The vis surged through his muscles like a wild current, amplifying his strength… but also his lack of control.
One second, his feet were on the ground. The next, there was nothing beneath them. Below, only a dizzying abyss of leaves, roots, and twisted branches spreading like a living web dozens of meters down.
"Shit…" Ezra cursed through clenched teeth, his body spinning in the air, eyes wide as gravity claimed what was hers.
The wind slashed across his face. Leaves hissed past like green blades. And then something—someone, caught him.
Tap. A soft but firm snap echoed as a hand gripped his wrist tightly.
"Tsk. Can't take my eyes off you for a second or you're throwing yourself out of life again, is that it?"
The voice was muffled, but clearly feminine. Not harsh, but laced with a familiar kind of weariness. The kind that comes from having done this before.
Ezra tried to see her face, but the light against the sky filtered everything into gold and white. She was just a silhouette, a figure carved out by brightness. But the touch, the tone… he knew it.
Something burned inside him as he was yanked upward with a harsh jerk, his shoulders protesting, his body twisting, feet flailing until they found solid ground again.
But his mind hadn't returned yet. It stayed, frozen in that moment where death nearly took him, and something stopped it, pulling him back toward the skies.
"You really want to keep your status as dead in the convention's system?" the voice now carried less weight, dulled by the wind, gentle, though ironic and slightly annoyed.
"I could say the same. Who would've thought the great Asheras would end up a debtor?" Ezra shot back, his eyes tracing the figure who'd saved him.
It was a woman, if she could still be called that. She bore a curvaceous figure rarely seen outside the upper echelons of society, and even more rarely caked in dust, oil, and, at that moment, dirt and grime. A narrow waist curved with effortless grace into full hips and a firm stance, as if natural elegance had been long buried under the weight of mechanical routine.
Her already sun-kissed skin was further bronzed by the sun, highlighting the contours of her form. Her orange-tinged hair, tied high in a ponytail, gave her a wild, untamed air. A long fringe fell rebelliously over her eyes, trying, and failing, to hide their gleam. Large, light amber eyes, almost golden, reflected light like freshly forged metal, intense and impossible to ignore. Just above and below her left eye, two symmetrical beauty marks marked her skin, like commas in a sentence still being written.
She wore an old, worn coverall full of pockets, some stuffed with tools that had seen better days, others empty like unfulfilled promises. And yet, she carried an unexpected beauty: dirty, worn, and still, irrefutably captivating.
"Watch your tongue, Ezra," Asheras replied with a half-smile and a gaze filled more with pain than anger. "Being exiled and 'executed' made you forget your manners?"
Ezra swallowed hard. For a moment, falling had seemed easier to face than that look.
"Ah…" He drew a deep breath, and the memory struck like a slow punch: what had happened, what he'd barely survived to remember.
"My fault. Thank you for saving me again, Asheras." He placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head, a simple gesture, yet one filled with more sincerity than any formal salute.
Asheras raised an eyebrow. The sarcasm that had coated her demeanor melted away like an old coat dropped from her shoulders. She sighed, not from exhaustion, but that rare kind of relief that's only born between survivors.
"No problem…" Her eyes lingered on his face, as if still unsure whether what she saw was real.
"But… I must say, at least I'm glad to see a familiar face after all this time." There was a brief pause. Her eyes scanned their surroundings: unstable, faded lands, like a half-erased painting. "Though, of course… these aren't exactly ideal conditions."
Ezra followed her gaze, letting himself sink, just for a moment, into that warped world.
"I agree. To think that right after coming back, I'd end up inside a dimensional rift…" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "...this doesn't even feel like irony anymore, it feels like a damn vendetta."
He turned back to her, his tone shifting, becoming more intimate, and concerned. "But what about you… what happened, Asheras? I went looking for you. Filip was… acting weird."
She raised an eyebrow. "Way weirder than usual," he added with a dry laugh. "Something was off, and then… you disappeared."
The question lingered in the air, unanswered. Instead, Asheras's expression changed, like a veil lifting. The warmth vanished from her eyes, replaced by a coldness Ezra didn't quite recognize… or maybe just didn't remember well.
"I see you've forgotten the rules." Her voice was firm, but heavy with something intimate, almost sorrowful. "To get information… you have to offer something of value in return."
Ezra froze for a moment. He hadn't expected that, or maybe he had, but had hoped it would be different.
The silence between them stretched long enough to become uncomfortable. But he didn't argue.
"...Tell me what you want to know."
Asheras hesitated. Her answer came softer. "Everything… I heard you were dead…"
Ezra took a deep breath. The air felt thicker here, like every word pulled something from deep inside.
"Well…" He lowered his gaze, fixing on his hands. His fingers flexed slowly, as if unsure they still belonged to him. "I'm here, aren't I?"
Asheras didn't respond right away. She only let out a short, discreet sigh, yet laden with weight. Like someone steeling themselves to face something they'd rather leave buried.
Tired of stalling, Ezra began to speak. But he spoke like someone choosing the stones for their own path, carefully, avoiding the sharp ones.He spared names. He spared meanings.The conversation with his grandfather, omitted.The name Mazzareth, swallowed.The Order's gate, mentioned only as a "mistake."He said he was sent on an expedition, then betrayed, accused of something he barely understood.Exiled.Executed, at least on paper.And then saved by something he still couldn't name.An entity, calling itself his patron.And how, eventually, he was cast into the underlayers.From there… everything was a fall.Literally.
"And that's how I ended up here. A tear in the world, and one more debt on my back."
Asheras listened without interrupting, her eyes narrowing into an expression somewhere between anger and concern. But when Ezra finished, she finally spoke, almost laughing, though without any humor:
"Ouch… You really went through hell and back…" She crossed her arms. "And your 'execution'... well, anyone with half a brain saw through that act. But your family, and the system, made it look like it was the work of revolutionaries. Convenient, huh?"
"I figured as much." Ezra's voice came out dry, like burned paper. No emotion. No surprise. Just resignation.
He turned to face her more directly now, his gaze steady.
"Now it's your turn. What the hell happened during these four years?"