I opened my eyes and realized I had accidentally fallen asleep on a bench again.
The wooden slats dug into my back, my neck felt stiff, and my lips were cracked dry. A faint drizzle hung in the air, not enough to soak me but just enough to make the cold sink into my bones.
"Well… to be honest," I muttered to no one in particular, "I'm not too surprised I doze off like this. Considering I've been barely scraping by—eating just one slice of bread a week for the past ten years… Honestly, it's incredible I'm still alive."
It was almost like I had some kind of superpower.
Ah, who was I kidding? I was just a worthless, gloomy kid who'd spent his life in the slums. If surviving counted as a power, then sure, I was a hero… a pathetic one.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a cigarette that was bent but still smokeable, and lit it. The first inhale burned my lungs in that oddly satisfying way.
"That feels nice," I murmured, letting the smoke curl up into the foggy night sky.
It was starting to get late. I should head home. Luckily, the bench was only a few minutes from where I lived.
I turned down a narrow, dark alley, weaving through the familiar labyrinth of crooked paths, broken fences, and trash heaps that stank of rot. After a few turns and narrow squeezes between leaning brick walls, I reached my house—or what passed for one. More of a shack than a home, really. The roof sagged like it was tired of existing, and the wooden planks were warped and splintered.
I reached for the rusted doorknob, but then—
A sound. Soft. A shuffling whisper.
I turned my head slowly.
At the far end of the alley, where the shadows were thickest, stood a figure cloaked in black. They were hunched slightly, speaking in a low tone to a homeless man slouched against the wall. In their gloved hands, they held something—an object I couldn't quite make out.
Normally, I'd have ignored it. People exchanged strange things in these streets all the time—most of them dangerous. But then I saw it.
A dragon.
Not a real one. A symbol—stitched in shimmering silver thread around the neck of the cloak.
And the moment my eyes landed on it, my chest tightened.
Memories crashed over me like a tidal wave.
Before the darkness came, my life had been… light.
A quiet village. Rolling hills of gold where I'd race the wind with my sister. My mother's gentle hands in my hair, my father's laughter ringing like a bell. Nights by the hearth, warm stories filling the air, safety wrapping around us like a blanket.
But safety is fragile.
One night, without warning, they came. A band of ruthless strangers. They tore into our village like wolves, speaking of something I had never heard before—the "Will of the Tree." A legend whispered about in bedtime tales. My parents… they tried to protect it, though I don't think they even understood it fully. But they resisted. And for that, they…
My sister's laughter went silent that night. My father's strong hands never reached for me again. My mother's voice—gone. The fire that burned my home took everything with it.
When the smoke cleared, I was alone. The very thing they'd died to protect… was somehow mine to bear.
My breath quickened. That symbol—the dragon—was burned into my memory from that night.
Before I even understood what I was doing, my legs moved. My body lunged forward. My fist clenched, my teeth grit. I didn't even think—it was like something inside me had seized control.
The cloaked figure turned just as I closed the distance. A gloved hand shot out, catching my wrist with unnatural speed.
Pain exploded in my ribs as they drove their knee into me. My vision blurred. A second blow to the side of my head sent me stumbling. I swung wildly, but my arm was caught again and twisted. I felt something sharp jab into my side—a pressure point? My knees buckled.
The world spun. My body hit the cobblestones. The figure loomed over me, their face hidden in shadow. I tried to speak, to demand answers, but the darkness swallowed me whole.
When I opened my eyes, everything was… wrong.
I was lying in soft grass—cut grass—fresh and green, stretching endlessly in all directions. Flowers dotted the landscape in colors so vivid they almost hurt to look at. The air was warm, humming with a strange energy, and it smelled faintly of honey and rain.
And in the middle of it all…
A tree.
Not just a tree—the tree. Its trunk was as wide as a city block, its roots curling like titanic snakes across the earth. Its branches reached so high into the clouds that my neck ached just from looking. It was at least ten times taller than the tallest building I'd ever seen.
I felt impossibly small.
"…What the hell…" My voice cracked in the stillness.
Drawn by some invisible force, I began walking toward it. My legs felt heavy, like I was wading through water, but I couldn't stop. With each step, the tree seemed to grow even larger, its bark etched with swirling patterns like veins of gold.
At its base, nestled between two massive roots, was… a door.
It was absurdly out of place—a towering door made of dark wood, bound with iron bands. The handle was large enough that I had to grip it with both hands.
Something deep inside me whispered that I shouldn't open it. That once I did, nothing would be the same.
I opened it anyway.
The air inside was cooler, dimmer. I stepped forward and found myself in a vast, circular chamber. The walls curved upward like I was standing inside the hollow heart of the tree. Faint light trickled down from somewhere high above.
And there, in the very center, was a pedestal. On it sat a single book.
Its cover was a deep, cracked leather, and embossed on the front was the same dragon symbol I'd seen on the cloak.
My chest tightened. My hands trembled as I reached for it. The moment my fingers brushed the cover, the book flared to life—pages flipping on their own, a blinding white light spilling out.
And then I saw it.
Not just words. Images.
A world rotting from the inside. Cities overrun by shadowy creatures, streets soaked in blood, skies split by fire. People in chains. Villages burning. Forests turned to ash. The earth itself groaning under the weight of corruption.
I saw cloaked figures—dozens, hundreds—bearing the dragon mark, spreading the decay like a disease.
And then… I saw myself.
My reflection in the pages was pale, gaunt, my eyes dark and sunken. In the vision, I was standing in the middle of a battlefield, clutching something glowing faintly green. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was important. Vital. And every cloaked figure in sight was coming for me.
The book slammed shut with a deafening thud.
I staggered back, my breath ragged. My legs shook so badly I nearly fell.
"What… what is this?!" My voice cracked. "Why are you showing me this?!"
There was no answer. Just the faint hum of the tree, the slow creak of its living wood.
My hands clenched. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. My chest felt tight, like the air itself was pressing in on me.
Was this the truth? Was this what my parents had died for? Was this why that figure attacked me?
I didn't know.
But as I stood there in the heart of the tree, one thing became clear—whatever this "Will of the Tree" was… I was now part of it. And there was no turning back...