ã€ŠWorld Tree&#x27;s Caretaker [Epic Fantasy &#x2022; Army Building &#x2022; Magical Beast Collection]ã€‹


 1. The End Comes First

    It was the day Finlay¡¯s second life would end¡­ and start anew. It wouldn¡¯t be a particularly good end. And he might¡¯ve been better off staying on Earth. But he couldn¡¯t let the world of Ilaya fall to the Sporeal Tide again.

    Before jumping too far forward, the end comes first.

    ¡°The weather doesn¡¯t look good.¡± Finlay¡¯s frown creased two scars across his stern face, roughened by years of war. He wasn¡¯t stern; he just looked like it. He tilted his head to get lazy strands of dark brown hair out of his tired eyes. Gazing at the sky, he wondered how many days it hadn¡¯t been blue.

    Swirls of deep purple powdered blotted out the sun, continuing the long cold night. He''d think the scene was beautiful if he didn¡¯t know what was going on. It reminded him of a nebula from a science book his mom read him as a kid instead of bedtime stories.

    Such a long time ago.

    Monstrous whales, several times bigger than the biggest of Earth, breached the dark clouds and ruined his reminiscing. They descended upon the valley, paddling the air with too many flippers, swarms of smaller flying terrors following in their wake. On their backs, the whales carried hundreds of monsters. Finlay knew their bulging stomachs held even more.

    Those creatures weren¡¯t in the science books of Earth, for sure.

    Not in any book of Ilaya either.

    They came from worlds consumed by the Sporeal Tide to condemn this one to the same fate. Most of Ilaya had fallen, its inhabitants forced to join the monstrous hordes attacking the Aegis Forest where the dying World Tree stood. The forest was home to the goatkin and became the last refuge of those with free will. There was nowhere else to run.

    ¡°Very observant, my unhorned friend,¡± said a deep voice so monotone it was difficult to tell if the speaker was sarcastic or not.

    Ramuel landed on a tree branch to Finlay¡¯s right. The appointed War Buck of the Herd Queen observed the whales, his rectangular pupils remaining level with the horizon as he tilted his bearded chin up. Not counting his massive coiled horns that were the envy of other goatkin, Ramuel was a good couple of heads taller than Finlay, though Finlay was quite tall himself. Ramuel¡¯s armor of living bark writhed around his body, occasionally exposing the golden Soulheart on his chest.

    ¡°Unfavorable to plants, this darkness,¡± Ramuel rumbled on. ¡°Leaves wilt and turn yellow. You need a touch of the sun likewise, my unhorned friend. Quite fatigued, you look lately.¡±

    ¡°Trying not to die is too taxing.¡± Finlay had barely rested since the siege began. Try as he might to hide it, his low anima pool was showing. They didn¡¯t have any Speckles to replenish their anima. ¡°I¡¯m thinking of sunbathing when the weather clears up. Works for the plants, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps the sun will greet us tomorrow,¡± Ramuel said with a rare hint of amusement.

    Finlay cracked a smile. They both knew they¡¯d never see the sun again. None in this forest would. ¡°If it¡¯s sunny tomorrow, laundry will be my priority. I¡¯ve been wearing the same clothes for days.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Ramuel tapped his nose. ¡°Goatkin has a better sense of smell than humans.¡±

    They laughed. A luxury these days.

    Ramuel was an odd one among his people. Brooding and reclusive, the goatkin would rather talk to plants than other races. Some of their plants could talk back, so there was that. Most goatkin opposed opening the Aegis Forest. They weren¡¯t stupid. The goatkin knew they¡¯d fall to the Sporeal Tide on their own. They simply preferred keeping to themselves up to the end. Having met all sorts of people in his travels, Finlay couldn¡¯t blame them.

    It was Ramuel who pleaded with the Herd Queen to accept the refugees. They joined forces to defend the Aegis Forest, the goatkin¡¯s Awakened Trees infused with Soulhearts proving their prowess of legends. Most importantly, the goatkin had plenty of food untainted by Spores. The World Tree nourished their crops even with the sun gone.

    ¡°A whole lot more of them today,¡± Finlay said. The Sporeal Tide cascaded from the mountains in the distance down to the valley, a dark avalanche melding with the plains blackened by fire. ¡°Those pesky whales are almost within range, I think.¡±

    ¡°And so, we begin.¡± Ramuel threw back his head and roared, his throaty call reverberating throughout the forest.

    Drums thundered and horns blared in answer. Fireworks lit up the sky with symbols of different colors, relaying orders across the vast greenery. Armies coordinated as one, grudges of old and differing beliefs set aside. If only they had together worked when the Sporeal Tide first appeared. Too late to think of ¡®what ifs¡¯ now.

    Ramuel nodded at Finlay. ¡°Don¡¯t perish, my unhorned friend. I trust such a simple task isn¡¯t burdensome?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll get smellier if I die,¡± said Finlay with a smile. ¡°Take care of yourself too. I still have to repay your help.¡±

    ¡°If death claims me, take my Soulheart and let me continue to fight. That is repayment enough.¡± Ramuel was away before Finlay could reply, leaping over treetops with legs ending in cloven hooves, the double-headed axe on his back bouncing.

    Finlay clasped a small pouch secured by a chain around his neck¡ªhis ritual before every battle. Inside the pouch was a dried seed gifted by his grandfather, the only thing that stayed with Finlay after he was inexplicably yanked from Earth twelve years ago. The seed was a family heirloom and also, supposedly, a lucky charm. There might be some truth to his grandfather¡¯s story. Many, many times, Finlay should¡¯ve died. Yet, here he still was.

    Golden fireballs arced up the sky, pushing back the darkness¡ªthe ironboomers of the dwarves began to sing and make the earth tremble. Lesser but more numerous cannons built by humans joined in the chorus. Sylphshades let loose their magical arrows, layering keen whistling to the music of war. Bursts of energy followed, cast by Telvari sages wielding elderbone staves. The background was rustling leaves, the forest stirring as scores of Awakened Trees with Stone Troll Soulhearts hurled boulders covered in explosive runes etched by the Lha¡¯at.

    Clouds of flying monsters rushed down and formed a wall between the rising projectiles and the whales. Chains of explosions opened massive holes in the swarm. More monsters filled the gaps and met the incessant barrage with their bodies.

    Untouched, the whales continued their approach.

    ¡°Why can¡¯t they just be mindless monsters?¡± Finlay sighed as he tucked the pouch back into his padded tunic.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    The pouch settled next to the elderbone-hewn sternial that jutted out of his chest like Ramuel¡¯s Soulheart. The sternial was warm though Finlay hadn¡¯t used it yet¡ªhe had worked it overtime for several days. It pulsed with the life echoes of six Soulhearts; half were on the brink of shattering. Finlay and Hilda the Bulwark were the last Soulheart Wardens of the Hexalinker rank. The handful of Wardens with higher Links had all perished in the war.

    Finlay fed anima into the Soulheart of a spectral roc inside his sternial. His shoulder blades pushed out, stretching his skin. His chest expanded into a wedge as his enlarged sternum flared and ribs angled forward¡ªthis keel bone was the anchor for powerful muscles stretching over and under his arms to his back. He had done this many times before but still hadn¡¯t gotten used to the sensation of his insides rearranging.

    And there was plenty of rearranging needed.

    No pain, fortunately. Only a slight itch and a grating sensation he couldn¡¯t put into words.

    Wardens gained the ability to transform upon reaching four Links. Contrary to what the uninitiated might think, morphing the entire body into a specific beast was easy. Relatively. Partial transformations, successful ones, were incredibly difficult to pull off. Even Pentalinkers struggled with them. One couldn¡¯t just pop out an extra arm and expect it to work. Knowledge of physiology and an intricate control of anima was required. Morphing wings that allowed flight was another level of challenge¡ªFinlay needed to change his bone composition, making them lighter while reinforcing them with anima.

    He wriggled the protrusions through slits in the back of his shirt, making sure they didn¡¯t snag on anything. In one breath, the bones multiplied and elongated, two spines spreading seven feet to each side, skin covering them tautly. Long black feathers erupted like spears thrusting out his skin, unfurling the full size of the wings. A few test flaps left afterimages and trails of black smoke.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get going now,¡± Finlay said, turning to the tree he stood on.

    On its trunk was a large wooden mask carved into the likeness of an owl. The mask opened its eyes and clicked its beak. A green glow wrapped Finlay and calmness washed over him.

    ¡°Thanks for the boost. Uh, you too.¡± Finlay had no idea what it said.

    The Awakened Tree grunted as it raised its branch arm, elevating Finlay high above the other trees busy with catapulting enchanted rocks at the enemy. A stroke of his powerful wings, he was a blur in the freezing purple sky.

    Screeching abominations flocked to him.

    Their bodies burst into minced meat upon meeting his barrier of wind. He was like a car and the monsters were squished bugs on his literal windshield.

    As he soared higher, flying hosts draped in malignant spores came from every direction. He let loose black wind blades, each the size of a canoe, slicing dozens of the tightly packed enemies. Zigzagging through the air, he targeted the biggest clumps of fodder to thin their numbers fast. He¡¯d be overwhelmed if not careful. Bombardments from below kept the small fry busy protecting the whales instead of chasing him.

    There was the risk of getting hit by friendly fire. His grandfather¡¯s lucky charm had to work extra hard.

    Finlay aimed for the nearest whale. It was practically a floating island.

    Before impact, he enclosed himself with his wings, hardened the feathers, and spun his body. He drilled into the belly of the whale, shredding its insides with waves of energy explosions made with his Bittermane Soulheart. Tremors from a Great Mogloth that could level a castle expanded the destruction. Lastly, his Valefire Dracowyrm Soulheart produced rings of white flames that incinerated the whale¡¯s pulverized flesh and bones along with the monsters inside it.

    Finlay opened his wings as he emerged out of the whale¡¯s topside and scanned the air. No Enslavers or Node Nobles to stop him? He couldn¡¯t sense their natura-dampening aura. After almost dying to a Prime Sporeal yesterday that seemed to read his moves, Finlay thought the Tide would send even stronger creatures specifically crafted to defeat him.

    He looked down at his handiwork¡ªa hole the size of a basketball court carved out the middle of the whale. It had been ages since basketball crossed his mind. Why am I thinking of Earth things today?

    Through the hole, he saw the battle on land far below begin.

    Monsters crashed against layers of fortifications ringing the Aegis Forest. Hilda the Bulwark furrowed lines of deep moats to break the monstrous charge, throwing excavated earth up into towering walls. Abominable armies trapped in the moats were set ablaze by Archon Khaero and the elven Witchblade dancers. Ramuel carved destruction behind enemy lines, seeking to assassinate Node Nobles and weaken the coordination of the enslaved hosts.

    But the Sporeal Tide pressed on with their inexhaustible armies.

    Flesh Titans, each a grotesque amalgamation of hundreds of monsters, broke through the earthworks. Awakened Trees, wielding powers of different beasts, and Heart Frames, the last that the dwarves could cobble together, engaged in a slugfest with the Flesh Titans.

    How long can we hold¡­?

    Finlay shook his head.

    Just fight!

    This world was gone¡ªhe accepted that a long time ago. But he¡¯d never stop fighting. Every monster he¡¯d take out was one less attacking another world. Give them, whoever they¡¯d be, a better chance at defeating the Sporeal Tide. This was all he could do.

    Whale after whale, Finlay brought them down, a funky burnt smell filling his nose. He made sure the massive corpses crashed into the attackers below. A huge headache if even one whale succeeded in delivering its package inside the forest. They had no reserves to deal with enemies showing up past their defenses. Forces would need to be pulled from the barely holding frontlines.

    ¡°That¡¯s fourteen.¡± Finlay flared his wings to brake after bursting out of another body. ¡°Or fifteen? Do I count you as two?¡±

    The colossal eel-like monster with jaws wider than a flying whale didn¡¯t answer.

    The hole Finlay exited from was in the middle of the eel¡¯s bulbous forehead. Light radiated from the hole and streaked across the eel¡¯s immense face. Countless smaller cuts appeared. Fountains of purple blood spurted from the slashes. The giant flying eel, stretching thrice the length of a whale, began to fall. Its body fragmented into numerous cubes, each the size of a house, and plummeted to the rest of the Sporeal Tide.

    ¡°You should be three points, including that pesky Node Noble.¡± Finlay felt warm blood running down his arm. He didn¡¯t wear armor for unrestricted transformations. His anima-tempered skin was stronger than steel anyway. This level of pain was nothing to him.

    A Node Noble hiding inside the eel caught Finlay off-guard. It could¡¯ve been a Node Lord, judging by how strong and fast it struck him. Incredibly lucky Finlay twisted his head away before the blow connected.

    Another thanks to Grandpa Swaney¡¯s charm.

    Finlay healed the gash across his shoulder with anima, a Warden¡¯s prized ability. While restoring his body, he took care not to smoothen the scars on his face¡ªthe mark of his promise to give it his all fighting until the end. That end was coming nearer and nearer.

    Blurriness overcame his vision. Dammit!

    His anima fluctuated badly. Fatigue was catching up but rest was nowhere to be found. Another eel came with five whales.

    There was no end to this.

    Finlay was heading to the next eel when he heard a worrying sound. Faint but distinct from other noises of battle. He banked his left wing and made a sharp turn to the forest. The majestic World Tree, its shimmering canopy as wide as a city, roof-sized leaves displaying the colors of the rainbow, stood in the middle of the ocean of green.

    At the edge of the World Tree¡¯s shade hovered shimmers of a signal flare¡ªthe red symbol for an emergency.

    A false alarm? How could an enemy be that far back? No whale got through Finlay. On land, their lines had been breached thrice, but the defenders rallied to throw out the enemies each time.

    Explosions blossomed into purple flames that consumed the trees.

    Two more flares shot up. Red again.

    Real trouble.

 2. Another Chance

    Finlay zoomed to the heart of the Aegis Forest, trailing flares to signal that he left his post.

    Something wasn¡¯t right. Something big. He was the fastest reinforcement. Up to the others to adjust the defenses. The World Tree was the priority.

    Where did the enemy come from? If not the sky, could they have tunneled underground? The roots of Awakened Trees would¡¯ve detected them. A Fairy Ring was also impossible this deep inside the Aegis Forest; its construction would¡¯ve alerted everyone and their grandmothers, assuming said grandmothers were sensitive to natura fluctuations.

    Finlay flapped his wings hard as more purple plumes rose from explosions near the World Tree. He morphed his eyes into that of a spectral roc to see what was happening.

    Fierce fighting raged among gigantic gnarled roots.

    Awakened Trees with draconic Soulhearts resisted the consuming flames, but mutated beasts with putrid mushrooms sprouting from their exposed spines drowned them with sheer numbers. Injured soldiers recuperating away from the frontlines had to take up arms and mount a feeble resistance, only to be swept by demonic chimeras of muscles and horns. Bloated humanoids wrapped in tubes and arcane machinery spewed purple flames at the goatkin trying to save their home.

    Human camps burned. So did the tents of the dwarves and elves. Burrows of the Lha¡¯at collapsed, the frog-like people scampering to the Telvari initiates frantically conjuring barriers. Sylphshades fled the fire while the Aviarii took to the air and safety.

    Many were dead. Many were dying.

    I can¡¯t save everyone. Again.

    Finlay closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

    Cries for help, screams of anguish. The stench of burning flesh laced with sulfur from the unearthly purple flames. This had happened more times than Finlay could remember. He became stronger after each one and still couldn¡¯t prevent the next. A cycle of failures.

    He opened his eyes. Just fight!

    He pulled his wings close to his body and dove with great speed, crashing into the biggest Node Noble he could find. One moment, the Node Noble was shaking its fleshy caps, spreading chemical clouds to control enslaved hosts, the next moment, it was paste on the cratered ground.

    Earthen spikes rippled outward from where he landed, skewering the berserking monstrosities free of the Tide¡¯s control. The earth continued welling toward the enemy forces, stretching up into a wall to slow them down. These were the abilities of the Great Mogloth and the Sand Lurker combined, the same Soulhearts favored by Hilda the Bulwark; she was much better at using them than Finlay.

    Finlay flew again, skimming low over the battlefield. He cracked whips of black wind and white fire with every flap of his wings, merging the powers of the spectral roc and Valefire Dracowyrm. Soldiers were surprised as the monsters they fought turned into smoldering pieces while they remained unharmed.

    ¡°Warden!¡± a familiar voice weakly called out.

    It came from a bloodied man leaning against a fallen Awakened Tree. Corpses of the Spore-infected littered around them.

    Finlay landed next to the man. ¡°Tavri! Where are the children? Are they¡ª?¡± Finlay looked down. Tavri clutched his stomach to stop his guts from spilling out. Finlay clenched his fist. ¡°Damn it, I don¡¯t have an Evermoss Soulheart. We need to¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m done for, Warden,¡± Tavri croaked, his old face wrinkling even more from the pain. ¡°Monk Mandolin¡­ with children. Enemies. Inner Sanctum¡­¡±

    ¡°We need to get you help.¡± Even as Finlay said it, he knew it was too late. Tavri¡¯s anima grew faint, his life force flickering. There was no help and too many needed help.

    ¡°Give me rest.¡± Tavri raised his arm. His skin was mottled purple, spores dancing tauntingly. ¡°Enslaver got me. Too weak. Inside my mind¡­ Don¡¯t let them¡­¡±

    Finlay placed his hand over Tavri¡¯s eyes. Many have asked this of him. Better die a human and deny the Sporeal Tide another host, he knew that. But it was a heavy burden no matter how justified and rational it was. He learned long ago to steel his heart.

    ¡°Many thanks,¡± Tavri whispered. ¡°Go¡­ Inner Sanctum¡­¡±

    Finlay sent a small shockwave out his hand. It passed through Tavri¡¯s head.

    Tavri slumped lower, no longer breathing.

    ¡°The Inner Sanctum,¡± Finlay echoed, narrowing his eyes.

    Majestic from afar, the World Tree revealed a decaying reality up close. Rotting holes peppered its trunk, wide swathes of bark had peeled off, and colors drained from many crumpled leaves. According to Ramuel, the lifestream below the World Tree dried up a five years ago, ushering in the fall of the goatkin empire. Remnants of their golden age nestled at the base of the World Tree, including the marble-clad Inner Sanctum where the Herd Queen and the Caretaker both resided. Finlay heard rumors of a way to the core of the World Tree¡¯s trunk through the Inner Sanctum¡ªthis should be the target of the Sporeal Tide.

    The lives of everyone in the forest relied on the World Tree. The need for Speckles for the war effort was dire, yet Finlay agreed with the Herd Queen that it was too much risk to mine under its roots. Without the World Tree, the defenders would be waiting for death.

    As Finlay flew closer to the Inner Sanctum, the more Spore-infected he saw. He couldn¡¯t figure out where they came from. He sowed destruction on the monsters, helping the Awakened Trees. Strong as the children of the World Tree were, they were few. If only the goatkin had made more.

    If¡­ There were a lot of ifs.

    No end to them if he started. No use thinking about them since he couldn¡¯t turn back time.

    Focus on the here and now, Finlay thought as he shed his wings, entering the Inner Sanctum¡¯s enormous doorway.

    It was off-limits to non-goatkin. Was. Instead of meeting Horned Blades, royal guards of the Herd Queen, an assortment of Spore-infected attacked.

    I can¡¯t waste time with you! He made forceful pushing motions as he activated his psiophant Soulheart, molding the powerful psychic blast he made into a barrier with the Soulheart of the Adam-amin Dragon. It required a massive burst of anima. The air in front of him shimmered. A forcefield violently shoved crowds of monsters down the long hallway, crushing them against each other and clearing a path.

    Finlay¡¯s legs buckled. He went down on one knee, his sternial scalding hot.

    Not yet! He should use physical attacks to be economical with his anima. No transformations; they drained anima fast and required too much concentration.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Gritting his teeth, Finlay got back on his feet and charged. Each step siphoned chunks off the stone floor, building an armor encasing his body. Soon, he was twice his actual height and many times wider, a behemoth of compacted stone. Revolting smells of gore and gunk could still penetrate his armor. As Finlay smashed through the ugly meat sacks in his way, a disconcerting sensation grew.

    The flow of dense natura wasn¡¯t right.

    Finlay entered a grand hall. Rows of columns were silver trees; the vast ceiling they held up was entwined golden branches. He expected many Prime Sporeals because of the natura disruption, but there was none among the hundreds of enslaved hosts.

    Two islands of goatkin were on opposite ends of the sea of fleshy horrors.

    To the left, Horned Blades defended a small archway. It must lead to the Herd Queen in her quarters because she wasn¡¯t with the second group. The leader of the goatkins to the right was ancient, hunched over, and draped in emerald robes. His bare chest didn¡¯t have any Soulheart, unlike the rest of the goatkins. Finlay hadn¡¯t met him before but guessed he must be the World Tree¡¯s Caretaker. The aged goatkin and his guards stood on a raised dais at the end of the grand hall, their backs to the elegant throne of crystalline branches.

    Curiously, the Spore-infected weren¡¯t attacking. They retreated and made space.

    A tall and extremely slender creature stepped forward, so thin it might break from a gust of wind. Its limbs and neck were disproportionally long, its skin the blackest of blacks as if absorbing light. Heads of different creatures, including a human, adorned its chest while the head on top of its neck was a goatkin with gem-encrusted horns.

    Is that the previous War Buck?

    This unknown monster was a black hole of energies that even Finlay¡¯s anima was affected.

    Severely spent, Finlay was weakened further in its presence. His instincts screamed he¡¯d lose. He trudged through the Spore-infected to reach the Caretaker. There was no turning back.

    The Caretaker gestured with his frail arms as if weaving a loom. His robes flapped open and out came golden vines covered in glowing red thorns, reaching for the dark creature. All vines were instantly cut into pieces. The Caretaker was thrown back, his robes turning red. The other goatkin formed a circle around the Caretaker. They were all dismembered without any hint of movement from the dark creature.

    Finlay flung a punch. His door-wide fist extended forward, plowing through monsters, and collided with the dark creature, slamming it against the wall. He shed the rest of his armor and piled it on the unknown enemy, forming a cage of stone.

    That wouldn¡¯t stop it for long.

    Finlay rushed to the Caretaker¡¯s side. ¡°Hang on!¡± He tried to put pressure on the Caretaker¡¯s wound, but it was too wide.

    All of Finlay¡¯s equipped Soulhearts were for combat. Their meager supply of healing Soulhearts was distributed only to the Healers. And they lacked high Grade ones; a Lumin Wisp Soulheart wouldn¡¯t help here. Would cauterizing the wound work?

    ¡°Familiar¡­¡± The Caretaker touched Finlay¡¯s chest. ¡°An otherworlder?¡± It was an old term for those lacking Soulhearts. What was the Caretaker trying to say? Did the Caretaker sense that Finlay wasn¡¯t of Ilaya?

    Answers could wait. Monsters were closing in.

    Finlay scooped the Caretaker off the floor. Goatkin blood coated his arms. ¡°We have to get you out of here.¡±

    ¡°World Tree¡­ seed. You have¡­¡±

    ¡°Save your energy,¡± said Finlay. ¡°Tell me about it when¡ª¡± he turned around to find the dark creature looming over them.

    ¡°Finlay, do you remember me?¡± asked one of the heads on the creature¡¯s neck¡ªa male human whose face Finlay couldn¡¯t quite place. The head shifted up the long neck as the goatkin head sidled down, exchanging positions with it. ¡°It¡¯s been years. How delightful to find you alive.¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Finlay didn¡¯t care to know about this head but was intent on buying time. ¡°Did we meet¡ªurgk!¡± Stinging lined his neck, followed by warmth.

    Blood. His own blood oozed out of the cut. He didn¡¯t see the dark creature¡¯s attack that easily sliced his hardened flesh. Pure instinct made him jerk back at the last moment and keep his head. This was the second time today, and his luck had run out.

    Before Finlay could pool his anima to stop the wound, he found himself raised off the floor. His abdomen burned. The dark creature skewered him and the Caretaker with a tentacle coming out of the bejeweled goatkin¡¯s mouth. The flow of Finlay¡¯s anima was thrust into disarray.

    I¡¯m going to die¡­

    Finlay tasted blood. Rage filled his heart.

    Not yet!

    One last squeeze of willpower. Finlay drew in natura and refined it even as his consciousness wavered. Anima rushed to his sternial. Every drop he could muster. He¡¯d overload his Soulhearts and pray the explosion would take this bastard with him.

    ¡°Wait,¡± the Caretaker whispered, coughing blood. His hand remained on Finlay¡¯s chest. ¡°A chance¡­ we still have.¡±

    ¡°Before this day ends,¡± said the dark creature, ¡°your World Tree will fall. My roots will replace its roots. And I will move to another world¡­ I spread.¡± Its other heads joined in chanting. ¡°I spread, I spread, I spre¡ª¡±

    The wall behind the throne burst open. Vines thicker than tree trunks entered the grand hall. The light they radiated made the monsters cower.

    The dark creature pulled Finlay and the Caretaker towards it. Finlay formed a barrier around its goatkin head and severed the tentacle¡ªthe last act of his Adam-amin Soulheart before shattering. The glowing vines caught Finlay and the Caretaker as they fell, forming a cocoon around them.

    ¡°Traveler from another world!¡± The Caretaker¡¯s eyes burned white in the darkness and his voice changed. ¡°My life for a second chance, I give.¡±

    Wha-what do you mean? Finlay gargled blood, tasting iron. His throat was blocked. He willed his thoughts to reach the Caretaker for he could no longer speak. Something pierced his chest. Vines from the Caretaker¡¯s Soulheart wrapped Finlay¡¯s sternial.

    [Plant it!] It wasn¡¯t the Caretaker talking anymore. There was no sound but the voice shook Finlay¡¯s bones. [A second chance. Plant the seed!]

    Plant¡­ what?

    The vines protecting them disintegrated. Tendrils of the dark creature entered the cocoon and pierced Finlay¡¯s head. He was already dead when his body was shredded.

    <hr>

    Finlay opened his eyes. He was looking down at a table.

    A white round thing on a table.

    He raised a brow. A cake?

    A cake with a message¡ªBest wishes on your farming journey!

    Popping noises. Finlay flinched, wary of an attack.

    Sparkling things fell on him. He held out his hand to catch some¡­ confetti? When did that word last cross his mind? Ilaya had rituals scattering grains and such, but this piece of reflective paper looked like something from¡­ Earth.

    Clapping followed. He flinched again.

    Three people materialized around the table. They took his picture with their phones. A small room constructed itself around them. Walls, windows, door, air conditioner. A jungle of buildings sprouted outside the glass panes.

    ¡°Man, I told you to point the popper away,¡± someone said. ¡°You got confetti on the cake.¡±

    That was in actual English, not Angloise translated into English in Finlay¡¯s head.

    ¡°I was aiming at Finlay because confetti should fall on the celebrant,¡± was the reply of the other man.

    Memories of Earth which deteriorated through the years on Ilaya rushed back into Finlay¡¯s brain. His life literally flashed before his eyes. A massive headache followed and he almost fell face-first on the cake. He planted his palms on the table to support himself. His eyes watered from the pain.

    A lady wearing a dark blue blazer leaned forward. ¡°Do you like the cake, Finlay?¡±

    Sarah was her name. She worked four cubicles from his. The other two, Earl and Derrick, were also his co-workers. They entered the company five years ago, along with many other fresh graduates. Most of their ¡®batch¡¯ have since left, so they decided to celebrate the next who¡¯d resign. Good friends. They made working here somewhat tolerable.

    Earl, Finlay¡¯s next-door cubicle neighbor, patted his back. ¡°Are you seriously crying, man?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d also cry if you¡¯ve succeeded in escaping corporate slavery,¡± said Derrick, their resident gym enthusiast.

    ¡°Tha-thanks for the cake,¡± Finlay managed to say. Those were his exact words last time. Twelve hours from now, he¡¯d be transported to Ilaya.

 3. A Brief Goodbye

    Finlay replayed his last day on Earth, chatting with his co-workers while eating cake, something he couldn¡¯t taste anywhere on Ilaya. He also minded speaking English and managing his accent. It was surreal speaking in English again.

    Everything felt surreal.

    They trashed their job and their bosses, a cathartic pastime. Sarah mentioned that she envied Finlay working on his grandfather¡¯s farm. Derrick and Earl vigorously agreed. Leave the city, exit the rat race¡ªthe dream. Very different from the one they had when they graduated. Saying he¡¯d need to finish tidying his cubicle, Finlay excused himself and headed to the restroom.

    ¡°I¡¯m really back.¡± Finlay touched the mirror. He hadn¡¯t seen this reflection in ages.

    His pasty face from basking in a computer¡¯s glow twelve hours a day, sometimes even fifteen, was the opposite of the battle-hardened and tanned appearance he¡¯d gain in the Ilayan future. Scars were absent. His hair was neatly cut into a proper corporate style, distant from his wild unkempt hair as a Soulheart Warden leading refugees away from the invasion. His strong jaw was hidden by slight chubbiness. Stress eating used to be his hobby. He now realized that was a luxury.

    Finlay tilted his head to examine his neck. Shivers went up his flank thinking about how he was almost decapitated. He patted his flabby stomach. No hole.

    That was all real¡­ Right?

    Impossible that his twelve years on Ilaya were hallucinations. The people he met, the connections made, the life-and-death struggles, everything was as real to him as could be. He went through drastic changes there, both physical and mental. It almost felt that this world was the hallucination. As if he had been asleep his entire twenty-six years on Earth and had awoken only on Ilaya.

    Was he taken over by the Sporeal Tide? Could they be playing illusions to keep enslaved hosts docile? A terrifying possibility. But very unlikely.

    The Sporeal Tide could¡¯ve shown him a fake paradise instead of this. He wasn¡¯t feeling very docile at all.

    And he was sure he died.

    ¡°The Caretaker¡ªNo. It was the World Tree. It talked to me. I don¡¯t know how, but it caused this time travel.¡±

    The World Tree gambled for a chance to save Ilaya. This chance fell on Finlay¡¯s shoulders. He was supposed to return to Ilaya and plant a World Tree seed. That was the World Tree¡¯s order. He had an inkling where to plant it; his journey to the other world wasn¡¯t as much of an accident as he once thought.

    ¡°Eleven hours to go,¡± Finlay muttered, checking his phone. ¡°Can I¡­ stay on Earth?¡±

    Not forever. He wouldn¡¯t abandon Ilaya to its fate for it was his second home. He had to return there.

    What about delaying his trip though? A few days, maybe a month.

    He shook his head. Too risky.

    The World Tree returned him to Earth. It didn¡¯t have a hand in how he¡¯d travel to Ilaya. He didn¡¯t know if time on Earth and Ilaya flowed the same way. If he postponed his trip by a week, he might arrive ten years into the future of an Ilaya covered by mushrooms. He also didn¡¯t know the conditions that allowed the portal to open.

    The time? Weather? Phase of the moon? Change too many factors and he might not be able to leave Earth.

    Moreover, Finlay hadn¡¯t even met the World Tree yet. His time travel hinged on it. Returning to Ilaya was the part of the script that shouldn¡¯t be changed to close the loop. He watched enough time travel movies to know about time paradoxes.

    And if he stayed longer¡­ he might not want to leave.

    Exiting the restroom, Finlay ran into one of his supervisors. ¡°Good morning, Mr. Melchor, sir,¡± he greeted the perpetually haggard, silver-haired man.

    ¡°Mr. Rasband? You¡¯re still here? I thought you¡¯ve already gone to greener pastures. Actual pastures at that.¡±

    ¡°My last day here, sir. I¡¯m finishing the turnover of my accounts, and¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be the farm life for you, eh?¡± Mr. Melchor held out a hand.

    Finlay blinked, hesitantly shaking it. ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ll be a farmer.¡±

    ¡°Farmers are important to society, Mr. Rasband. More important than me, I say. I get paid the big bucks. But farmers deserve it more, you hear me?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Finlay replied. He could tell his boss was trying to make him feel better about quitting a well-paying office job for physical labor. Or more like patronizing him. The Mr. Melchor he knew wouldn¡¯t agree to a farmer getting paid more than him.

    ¡°They say money is the lifeblood of the economy,¡± Mr. Melchor continued. ¡°Not at all, Mr. Rasband. It¡¯s food. All the money in the world is useless if there¡¯s no food to buy.¡±

    ¡°I think the same way, sir.¡± Finlay had the experience to back it up. He had been so hungry that he boiled the inside of tree bark to survive. He would¡¯ve done it with his leather boot too if Cassini hadn¡¯t told him that tanned leather had next to no nutrients and he¡¯d just waste a good boot.

    Mr. Melchor tapped his watch. ¡°Obligations await. I have a meeting to plan for another meeting that could¡¯ve just been an email. I¡¯m stuck in this circle of hell for the foreseeable future. How I wish to retire to a farm someday. Not as fertilizer, mind you. As for you, Mr. Rasband, good luck with your future endeavors.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, sir. I need that luck.¡±

    After lunchtime¡ªFinlay was still entitled to free lunch; he gorged himself in the cafeteria and drank too much coffee¡ªhe exited the office building.

    No more coffee when he returned to Ilaya. He had headaches from coffee withdrawals in his early days there.

    Finlay took a cab to the bus station. While the driver ranted about politics, Finlay stared outside the window at the life he used to have¡ªthe life he currently had that he¡¯d leave behind again. He didn¡¯t have long to dwell on it because he soon arrived at the station. From there, it¡¯d be a three-hour journey to his grandfather¡¯s farm in the mountains.

    He completed packing up and cleaning his apartment yesterday, thank the World Tree. He¡¯d rather fight the Sporeal Tide than redo that. The moving truck should¡¯ve arrived at the farm by now. Part of him hoped his computer was fine after its long trip. It shouldn¡¯t really matter because he didn¡¯t have time to unpack, set it up, and play games. He wished he had. He had been looking forward to finally having a relaxing time just yesterday¡­ and twelve years ago.

    While scanning the scheduled bus trips, Finlay realized there was another place he should visit first. Checking the clock, he mentally calculated the hours. He didn¡¯t want to risk changing when he¡¯d leave Earth.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°I still have time. I should have time.¡±

    He boarded a different bus.

    <hr>

    ¡°Hello, Mom,¡± Finlay said. This detour subtracted a couple more hours from his short stay on Earth, but he¡¯d never forgive himself if he didn¡¯t meet her.

    A short woman sporting a slightly greying bun exited a large greenhouse. People inside fussed over potted flowers. ¡°Finlay, honey. I wasn¡¯t expecting you.¡±

    The emotional barriers Finlay built through years of war broke at the sight of his mother. ¡°Sorry for disturbing your gardening class,¡± he said, struggling to keep his voice from cracking. Tears threatened to roll.

    They say soldiers cry for their mothers when facing death. That was true. He had seen it many times. And he experienced it himself once. In his first large-scale battle against the Sporeal Tide, their forces were massively outnumbered and surrounded. They underestimated the intelligence of the monsters. His cockiness from becoming a Dualinker Warden evaporated as dozens of panicked men squeezed him from all sides. He couldn¡¯t even use the Soulhearts he proudly harvested himself because his anima was in turmoil. Helpless and with nowhere to flee, he remembered his mother.

    Someone elbowed him in a scramble to the center of their forces as the monstrous slaughter tightened its noose. That knocked some sense into him. He roused the soldiers to break out of the encirclement, clutching to the hope of meeting his mother again someday. A mere handful of them got out alive.

    Finlay was a changed man after that battle. The real fantasy world was very far from that in books and movies.

    ¡°I thought I¡¯d drop by before going to Gramps.¡± He bent down to hug his mother. She jerked, surprised at his gesture. He usually wasn¡¯t very expressive with his emotions.

    ¡°You could¡¯ve visited some other time.¡± She hugged him back, turning away her gloved hands covered in dirt. ¡°Spend a whole day here so your fare and travel time will be worth it.¡±

    ¡°Next time¡­ yes.¡± Finlay picked up a stack of boxes, disguising wiping his tears in one motion. ¡°This is the brand of cheese rolls you like, isn¡¯t it? They have a store at the bus terminal. I probably bought too much. You can share it with your students.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, dear. I adore these. Come inside and eat with us.¡±

    ¡°Uh, I can¡¯t. The bus schedule¡­¡± Finlay felt a stab of temptation to stay in this world. He pushed it away¡ªhe shouldn¡¯t waste the chance the World Tree gave him. ¡°Other than the gift, I came here to say goodbye.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye?¡± she asked, puzzled.

    ¡°I have to do this.¡± Finlay hugged her again and planted a kiss on her forehead. There was no one else but him.

    He couldn¡¯t explain all about Ilaya and the battles there. She¡¯d think he became crazy from overwork. He probably was crazy. Leaving his safe life on Earth with plenty of food, comforts that even the royalty of Ilaya didn¡¯t have, and, most importantly, no monsters. Yep. Crazy.

    ¡°Do what? Farming with your grandfather?¡± She reached up to pat his head. ¡°You know I fully support your decision, honey. Don¡¯t listen to what others say. It¡¯s your life. Do what you have to do.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll come home after.¡± He reluctantly let go. Another hidden tear wipe.

    Finlay had tried to find a way to return to Earth from Ilaya. The Sporeal Tide could jump from world to world¡ªproof that interdimensional travel could be controlled. As the war spread, staying alive became his priority. Many of the scholars he wanted to consult had died by then, their vast libraries lost, and no one could help him study about portals to Earth.

    This time around, the World Tree proved itself to be Finlay¡¯s return ticket. He should focus on eradicating the Sporeal Tide.

    ¡°Home?¡± asked his mother. ¡°Are you planning to move back here someday? I¡¯ll be delighted. It¡¯s been lonely with your father¡¯s passing. I have my classes and a flower shop, but it¡¯s different to have family around. I¡¯ll ask the ladies if they know someone selling farmland so we can start saving for it. Apply what you¡¯ve learned from your grandfather.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Mom.¡± Finlay paused, pensive, before adding, ¡°I love you.¡± He rarely uttered those words to her. Or anyone.

    ¡°I love you too, son.¡± She gave him a look over. ¡°You seem different. Are you finally being an adult?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ matured, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Took you a while,¡± she said, chuckling. ¡°Now, go out there and save the world or something.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m going to do.¡±

    <hr>

    Finlay fended off the sleep invited by the gentle rocking of the bus. He wrote all the important events that happened on Ilaya to refresh his memory and planned how to unite everyone. Once in a while, he glanced outside the window and took in the beauty of the places they passed. When he¡¯d see them again, he didn¡¯t know. His mind couldn¡¯t help but stir to his last moments on Ilaya.

    The dark creature of the Sporeal Tide told him, ¡°And I will move to another world.¡±

    If Finlay could travel to Ilaya, it wasn¡¯t a stretch for those wretched mushrooms to reach Earth someday. He pictured the rolling hills covered by purple mushrooms, spewing black miasma. All the more reason to defeat the Sporeal Tide on Ilaya.

    He clenched his fist as the bus entered a tunnel. Everything was on him. How was he supposed to save everyone? People better than him, real heroes, had failed.

    Intense pressure piled as if he was getting crushed by the weight of the mountain the bus travelled under. In the darkness, he thought of retreating into his mind shrine to meditate and calm down as the Core monks taught him. Unfortunately, he had yet to construct his mind shrine and crucible. An impossible task in this world. There was no natura here¡ªEarth didn¡¯t breathe. The planet didn¡¯t have a ¡®lifeforce¡¯ that flows outward from its core. No natura means no anima inside people to wield a fraction of the power of primal creation.

    It wasn¡¯t like he¡¯d start from scratch, Finlay reasoned with himself. His body was back to zero, but he had the knowledge and experience stored in his head, including discoveries and advancements made during the war. He knew of pivotal events, his would-be allies and enemies, and mistakes he needed to right. He¡¯d need every advantage he could get to change the future.

    Two more hours until the village where Grandpa Swaney lived.

    Working at the farm started as an impulse. On the verge of cracking after three days of no sleep crunching a project, Finlay searched for a retreat. His mother suggested their ancestral farm in the mountains. Once there, he fell in love with the place. Gramps encouraged him to learn about farming. Might as well. The physical labor part, though challenging at first, did wonders for Finlay¡¯s physical and mental health. The seed of an escape plan from the urban jungle was planted.

    Every weekend for the next four months Finlay worked at the farm. He left the city on Saturday, very early in the morning, and returned on Sunday, late at night. The trip was long but he slept on the way. Rather than get tired with his new routine and added work, he felt energized. Alive.

    One day, everything clicked. He turned in his notice of resignation to no one¡¯s surprise at the office. He stopped coming in on weekends, with the excuse of taking care of a sick grandfather far away. Not true, of course. They must¡¯ve expected him to leave soon.

    ¡°I should¡¯ve farmed in Ilaya,¡± Finlay said, watching the fields of swaying corn.

    Ilaya was a fantasy world¡ªthe goal was to be a hero, Finlay adamantly believed. Main character syndrome. Not minding that he wasn¡¯t a prophesied chosen one or gifted special abilities by gods. He didn¡¯t unearth an ancient weapon or read a forbidden tome. Nothing. Yet, through grit, willpower, and a dash of ingenuity, he was surprised he possessed, he managed to get himself accepted as an apprentice of a Soulheart Warden. Eventually, he became a Warden himself, and the rest was history.

    A very sad history.

    It was only when he reached Aegis Forest that he thought of farming again. The crops of the goatkin were supercharged by the World Tree, multiplying their yield to miraculous levels. Without the bountiful harvest, it would¡¯ve been impossible to feed the thousands of refugees.

    The sun was setting by the time Finlay arrived at his destination. A thin line of orange peeked at the darkening horizon. It was cooler up the mountain.

    Parked beside the bus stop was Grandpa Swaney¡¯s beat-up pickup truck.

    Finlay knocked on the truck¡¯s window. The old man dozing inside stirred awake. Finlay opened the door and got on the passenger¡¯s seat. ¡°Gramps, you could¡¯ve waited at the farm. I can walk there.¡±

    ¡°Gettin¡¯ dark ¡®round here, Finlay, my boy,¡± was his grandfather¡¯s gruff answer. His white mustache wiggled whenever he spoke. ¡°Light¡¯s busted by that bowed oak. Three days now. Goin¡¯ to complain to the council on the morrow. Whatcha got there?¡±

    ¡°Cheese rolls,¡± Finlay replied, presenting the box. He saved one from the stack he gave his mother. ¡°These are pretty good. Something to celebrate this day of, uh, me officially moving here.¡±

    ¡°A jolly coincidence, this is. I got you a present for joinin¡¯ the farm.¡± Grandpa Swaney slapped the glove compartment. It yawned open, revealing a small ornate box made of dark wood. ¡°Take a guess what¡¯s inside, my boy.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s small and looks expensive. A ring? An old coin?¡± Finlay was just pretending to guess. He already knew the correct answer¡ªthe seed of a World Tree.

 4. Again, Through the Portal

    ¡°Thanks for the dinner, Grandpa. It¡¯s delicious.¡± Finlay picked at the long, thin leaves and vines mixed with the beans and beef. What¡¯s this, though?¡± He had eaten the same dish previously but forgot what the greens were. There was a slight bitterness that cut the richness of the dish.

    ¡°The bitter gourds we transplanted a few weeks ago?¡± Grandpa Swaney mimicked a pair of scissors with his fingers. ¡°Pruned ¡®em today. Those¡¯re its vines.¡±

    ¡°Weren¡¯t those a couple of thousand seedlings?¡± Finlay said. ¡°Must¡¯ve been a lot of vine cuttings.¡±

    Fewer side branches meant that nutrition from the soil would be focused on the main vine climbing the trellis. Visualizing pruning helped Finlay make a spiritual crucible to contain his body¡¯s anima that naturally strayed throughout. Forcing the anima to move a certain way didn¡¯t work for him, so he tried the reverse. He imagined each of his body parts cut off until the anima had nowhere to go other than the center of his chest, where all life conduits converged. It was the prerequisite for attaching an elderbone fragment to his sternum.

    ¡°Bundled ¡®em right up and gave most to the workers,¡± Grandpa Swaney explained. He had four regular employees on the farm and hired temps when the workload was heavy, like during planting or harvesting. ¡°Mighty nutritious, these vines. People forget about ¡®em, only thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout the fruit itself. But don¡¯t eat matured bitter gourd vines¡ªthose¡¯re as damn bitter as your grandma¡¯s heart!¡±

    Finlay awkwardly chuckled. His grandmother suddenly left the farm when his mother was a teenager. As a boy, Finlay asked his mother about it whenever they visited but didn¡¯t get an answer.

    As an adult, he knew better than to ask. Let whatever family issue that was get buried by time.

    ¡°I give up guessing what¡¯s in this box,¡± Finlay said, changing the topic. ¡°Can I just open it?¡±

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± said his grandfather. ¡°Doubt you¡¯ll guess what it is.¡±

    Finlay flipped up the rusted latch and opened the box. Inside was a shriveled object that looked like a brown raisin but was as hard as stone. ¡°Dried rabbit poop?¡±

    Grandpa Swaney burst out laughing. ¡°It¡¯s a seed, my boy! Calling that poop, our ancestors must be turnin¡¯ in their graves.¡±

    Finlay held the seed between his index finger and thumb. It didn¡¯t look or feel special. Toss it to the ground and it¡¯d blend right in. ¡°Ancestors? Why would our family keep an old seed?¡±

    ¡°Legend has it that there used to be a world tree ¡®round here. Our family was its caretaker for centuries. Remember that big ol¡¯ stump on the lower peak? Up the slope from the shrine?¡±

    Finlay nodded. Grandpa Swaney toured him up the mountain peaks a month ago. Surprising how his grandfather effortlessly climbed while Finlay got drenched in sweat.

    ¡°Supposed to be it,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°That right there in your hand, is its seed. Again, supposedly. Another thing it¡¯s supposed to be is a lucky charm.¡±

    Finlay heard this story in the previous timeline and thought nothing of it then. The mention of a world tree slipped his mind. He was more interested in the lucky charm part. Now, he asked, ¡°What¡¯s a world tree? Is that a real tree species?¡±

    ¡°Nah, the legendary sort. A mighty huge tree connectin¡¯ heaven, earth, and the underworld. Lotsa cultures have somethin¡¯ like that. Dunno why. Somethin¡¯ philosophical and whatnot, methinks.¡±

    ¡°No way that stump used to be a tree that grew to the sky,¡± said Finlay. ¡°It¡¯s just slightly wider than this room. I mean, it¡¯s impressive. But there are bigger trees.¡±

    In comparison, the World Tree of Ilaya was a mountain almost. Yet, it was still very, very far from reaching the heavens. Not that Ilaya had an actual heaven. Or hell.

    Finlay wasn¡¯t given the opportunity to check.

    Speaking of legends, his Warden master once shared a tale of a World Tree older than that of Aegis Forest. It was taller than the tallest mountain and sky people living on its branches harvested clouds for water. Finlay didn¡¯t believe it. The world of Ilaya had magic, but that didn¡¯t mean every fantastical tale was fact. Far-fetched stories also existed. There was no conclusive evidence of such a tree or the sky people.

    Or perhaps, no one found any yet.

    Hearing his grandfather¡¯s explanation made Finlay rethink his master¡¯s story. Could it be true? That must¡¯ve been an insanely powerful World Tree. Was it the answer to defeating the Sporeal Tide?

    ¡°Oftentimes, legends are just that¡ªlegends.¡± Gramps said. ¡°What¡¯s real is that dried seed is a family heirloom. Take good care of it. Never mind its backstory.¡± He finished eating. This was the end of their conversation last time.

    Finlay wasn¡¯t done. He needed to find the truth in the legend. ¡°The trees on this mountain touch the clouds when fog wraps the peaks. Could that be the origin of the story?¡±

    ¡°Never thought of it that way.¡± His grandfather stroked his frizzy white bead. ¡°Good guess, my boy. Was only repeatin¡¯ what my pops told me. That tree was already a stump in his time too, so he was repeatin¡¯ stories just the same.¡±

    ¡°It was cut that long ago? What¡¯s so special about it then? Can you remember other stories about the world tree? Who planted it?¡±

    ¡°Mighty interested in it, eh? Lemme see if I remember it right. Our ancestor¡ªdunno how many generations ago¡ªmet this beautiful lady in the forest, as you do in fairy tales. He fell in love with her and they got married.¡±

    Finlay snorted on his beans. ¡°That¡¯s fast. He didn¡¯t investigate who she was?¡±

    ¡°He found her in a forest in the mountains; have to be a dimwit not to think somethin¡¯ supernatural was afoot. He didn¡¯t care because she¡¯s beautiful, methinks. No fancy computers or internet back then. Nothin¡¯ to do other than gettin¡¯ married. Let¡¯s just say this lady kept her secrets, and her husband didn¡¯t bother pryin¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Did she end up doing anything supernatural?¡±

    ¡°Gettin¡¯ to it, my boy. Relax, will you? Turns out, this lady can travel across worlds.¡±

    Finlay¡¯s ears tingled. New information. He patiently waited for the rest of the story.

    ¡°Several years after they married and had little ones,¡± continued Grandpa Swaney, ¡°the lady went missin¡¯. Husband searched high and low for her. I can empathize with this guy. What¡¯s with this mountain and disappearin¡¯ wives?¡± He grumbled something that Finlay couldn¡¯t hear. Then he shook his head. ¡°Where was I? Oh, right. Our ancestor found his wife on the lower peak. She told him she had to return to her world. Not a surprise she wasn¡¯t of Earth, now, was it?¡±

    ¡°What happened next?¡± Finlay eagerly asked.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°She showed her husband a seed,¡± continued Grandpa Swaney. ¡°Supposedly from the world tree of wherever she came from. Seed can¡¯t grow here. River of life doesn¡¯t flow in our world, somethin¡¯ like that, she said. Can¡¯t recall exactly Pop¡¯s story. Then she planted the seed. Vines emerged from the ground and formed an archway. She walked through it and was gone in a blink.¡±

    Finlay clenched his fist under the table. ¡°Archway? What did it look like?¡±

    ¡°An archway is an archway. Description is not part of the tale, my boy. Feel free to add your own stuff when telling your children this story someday. It¡¯s just a legend, after all. Pops did say the archway led to a sharp drop. After the lady disappeared, the vines wrapped themselves into a trunk and leaves sprouted¡ªour knockoff world tree on the peak. Since we dissectin¡¯ legends and such, methinks this lady jumped off the mountain and the husband makin¡¯ up stories to cover it. Family issues¡­¡±

    While Grandpa Sawney muttered about his wife leaving him, Finlay focused on the seed.

    River of life¡­ That must mean the lifestream of primeval natura from a world¡¯s core.

    The dwarves, an ¡®otherworlder¡¯ to Ilaya like humans, had records of coming from a magicless world. They didn¡¯t have World Tree. On the other hand, the original world of the elves flowed with natura. Mana, they called it. Elf elders claimed their World Tree transported them to Ilaya before the Sporeal Tide destroyed it.

    Earth couldn¡¯t sustain a World Tree because it lacked lifestreams. The most ¡®magic¡¯ possible here was the World Tree seed opening a portal and becoming a regular tree after.

    ¡°Where did this seed come from, Grandpa?¡± asked Finlay. ¡°Did our fake world tree bear fruit?¡±

    Grandpa snapped out of his grumpy murmurings. ¡°Must¡¯ve. Dunno if Pops told me ¡®bout that part. If he did, I wasn¡¯t listenin¡¯. That¡¯s all I can tell you, my boy. Each village got its own tale of a random guy marryin¡¯ a beautiful fairy or whatnot. Don¡¯t get too wrapped up in legends like your grandma. She was mighty interested in this world tree nonsense too.¡±

    Finlay raised a brow. ¡°Why was she interested?¡±

    ¡°Beats me,¡± he said with a frown and a shrug. ¡°Gettin¡¯ late. If you don¡¯t have any more questions, get some rest.¡±

    ¡°One last thing, Grandpa. Why did you choose to be a farmer?¡± Finlay didn¡¯t know what compelled him to ask that. Perhaps he was looking for comforting words, anything to lighten the burden of changing the future.

    Grandpa Swaney shook his head. ¡°Choose? I don¡¯t remember doin¡¯ such a thing. I was raised in this life. Couldn¡¯t leave it when I grew up. Knew nothin¡¯ else.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­¡± Finlay didn¡¯t know what else to say. But he could understand his grandfather¡¯s sentiments.

    ¡°You, on the other hand, did some choosin¡¯. Anyway¡­ I¡¯ll clean up here. You had a long trip.¡±

    ¡°You spent the day pruning,¡± Finlay countered, starting to stack the plates. ¡°Let me take care of this. Goodnight, Grandpa.¡±

    Finlay wanted to add a goodbye but stopped himself.

    <hr>

    Finlay placed the box filled with books he bought but never got around to reading for years on top of his bed. That was the last of the moving boxes. He wiped the sweat off his forehead as he surveyed his room. Lifting heavy weights after eating wasn¡¯t advisable but he didn¡¯t want to leave a mess before disappearing.

    He started to record a video message with his phone.

    ¡°Gramps, you may be wondering where I¡¯ve gone.¡± Finlay paused, pondering how much he should explain. ¡°I know this¡¯ll sound crazy. This isn¡¯t a prank. The legend about the world tree seed is real. I¡¯ve succeeded in going to another world. Don¡¯t worry¡ªah, I guess you¡¯ll really worry no matter what I say. Just know that I¡¯m safe. And I know how to return. Tell Mom I have a world to save.¡±

    Finlay ended the recording. He still had a lot of things to say. He would¡¯ve gone on and on if he didn¡¯t stop himself.

    The phone¡¯s clock displayed it was nine-thirty. Not much time left. He placed his phone on the table his grandfather made for him. For good measure, Finlay scribbled a note saying, ¡°Watch the video¡±, and left it beside his phone.

    The night was silent except for crunching soil under Finlay¡¯s shoes. No chirping crickets. Probably driven away by pesticides. The sonorous croaking of frogs, as one might expect from the countryside, was absent too. No insect prey, no frog predator.

    The full moon drifted across the cloudless sky, illuminating the farm and helping Finlay navigate the long green rows to the back of the property. A rocky wall was the boundary to the south. Finlay of the past tried planting the World Tree seed out of curiosity because he had read that some seeds could survive dormancy for decades. He looked for a spot it wouldn¡¯t accidentally get trampled or weeded.

    Tucked away between moss-covered piles of boulders was a small clearing. Goats freely roaming the farm kept the weeds from growing wild. Finlay didn¡¯t need to fence off the area from them like last time because he now knew the seed would instantly grow.

    There must be something special about this place. He¡¯d bet on the moon¡ªit always had a part in spooky rituals. A mystery that¡¯d be simply left unresolved.

    Using a broken branch, Finlay dug a hole a few inches deep into the ground. He dropped the seed into the hole and covered it with soil. He hoped the changes he made throughout the day wouldn¡¯t affect his return to Ilaya.

    ¡°It¡¯s somehow much easier when I used to think I¡¯m a chosen one,¡± Finlay wistfully said, fondly replaying the challenges along his path to become a Hexalinker Soulheart Warden.

    This time, the World Tree chose Finlay¡­ because it didn¡¯t have another choice.

    What if the Witchblade Archon Khaero reached the Inner Sanctum instead of him? What if the Heptalinker Eberhard of the Three Tusks didn¡¯t die so early in the war? They could just take the World Tree seed from him and plant it themselves. What if Isidore, Finlay¡¯s master, wasn¡¯t enslaved by¡ªStop!

    No end to second-guessing what had already happened.

    Only this time, Finlay could change what would happen. The burning camps of refugees around the World Tree¡ªthat wouldn¡¯t happen. They wouldn¡¯t even need to flee to the Aegis Forest because Finlay would convince the goatkin to ally with other races to save Ilaya. He didn¡¯t know yet how, but he would.

    Many bad endings he could reverse, many people he¡¯d save. He wouldn¡¯t fail them this time.

    There was one person in particular he wanted to do right by. He couldn¡¯t forget her defiant gaze though their meeting was short, eight years ago.

    If the mysterious woman, who introduced herself simply as Jade, hadn¡¯t shown up in time, the ferrorsu¡¯s claws would¡¯ve been an inch closer, scraping the front of Finlay¡¯s brain instead of just his face. Teaming up, they defeated the behemoth of an armored bear.

    Too bad they couldn¡¯t eat it. The animals and plants in the snow-covered Eloyce Forest had been tarnished by the Sporeal Tide.

    Finlay invited Jade to join him in traveling. Better chances of reaching uncontaminated lands together than alone. He was shocked when she took off her hood and brushed aside her copper hair¡ªher sunken cheeks showed the outline of her teeth underneath. Seeing her fight, no one would think she was half-dead from hunger.

    ¡°I have non-combatants with me,¡± Jade said. ¡°Sick and weak. We¡¯ll slow you down.¡± Her voice was raspy and feeble. But her deep green eyes pierced through him, as if daring him to say what was in his mind.

    Finlay wanted to convince her to be realistic and leave them. It was a miracle she got this far with heavy weights dragging her down. She couldn¡¯t save everyone. She couldn¡¯t even properly feed herself. Trying to be a hero was na?ve. If she wanted to be one, survive now and save more people tomorrow.

    Yet, he kept silent.

    He knew she¡¯d never abandon her companions. Finlay shared some food with her and they parted ways.

    They crossed paths again a week later.

    Jade, if that was truly her name, laid dead in the snow surrounded by several children. Orphans of war. She cared for them while fleeing the Sporeal Tide, they told him. Not one died under her watch.

    Finlay took them in.

    ¡°I have another chance,¡± Finlay said, staring at the moonlight-brushed soil. ¡°Things will be different this time.¡±

    Tiny sparkles danced on the ground.

    A small glowing vine breached the soil. It grew large as it twirled upward like a dancing snake. Other vines soon sprouted and climbed on each other. Up and up, they went. Peaking ten feet tall, they made a wide curve and went back down to the ground¡ªan archway. It was a freestanding structure of vines to nowhere, without any signs it was magical.

    Finlay gazed over his shoulder, one last look at the farm, and walked through the archway.

 5. A Naked Start

    Bright sunlight knocked on Finlay¡¯s eyelids. He was lying on hard ground, arms and legs splayed. Aches plagued his body like the first time he worked the whole day at Grandpa Swaney¡¯s farm.

    Multiplied by five. Mix in some stinging bruises.

    The past Finlay groaned and spewed curses. Now, he instinctively controlled his breathing while relaxing his muscles tensed from the pain. Didn¡¯t mean he wasn¡¯t suffering. His pain tolerance hadn¡¯t been built up yet. Good thing he retained his mental endurance.

    He opened his eyes to a small fish flapping its translucent rounded wings above his face. Its pink button of a Soulheart sparkled differently from its scales. The sky discus flew closer, curious of him.

    There¡¯s no way to avoid this, is there? He arrived on Ilaya several minutes ago and had been unconscious for the majority of it. Events followed the old script, which was a good thing. Exiting the vine archway portal straight into the territory of a bullzard, he got dropkicked and stomped by that stupid frog. A bad thing. He laughed at his sorry state.

    Or tried to. Even a chuckle hurt his ribs, and he ended up coughing. It scared off the sky discus.

    I should¡¯ve taken painkillers before going through the portal. Finlay heard some boxers did that before a match. Not sure how effective that was.

    The important thing was he didn¡¯t lose the World Tree seed.

    He closed his right hand tighter. His arm hurt, but he was relieved feeling a small bump inside his fist. If there was truly anything lucky about this seed, it was that he didn¡¯t misplace it or throw it away in all his years on Ilaya. Without the seed, the World Tree wouldn¡¯t have communicated with him and sent him back in time. It was his only possession from Earth, and he took good care of it, a reminder of the home he hoped to return to someday.

    Following the trend, after the good news came the bad. The seed being Finlay¡¯s only possession from Earth meant that, yes, he was as naked as the day he was born. No clothes, no nothing.

    Why was the seed the only that remained¡ª?

    This is a different seed! The realization hit Finlay hard like the ambushing frog¡¯s hooves.

    All this time, he assumed he carried their family heirloom¡ªthe vine archway reverted to a seed and accompanied him to Ilaya, something like that. It was a magical seed; it could do whatever. He thought wrong. From his grandfather¡¯s story, the seed that Finlay planted should be a regular tree back on Earth after the portal closed.

    Where did this new seed come from then?

    Voices popped Finlay¡¯s balloon of confusion. People were nearby. The next scene of the script needed to be played out.

    ¡°Help!¡± He yelled at the top of his lungs. His body spasmed from the effort. Too bad he couldn¡¯t heal himself yet.

    ¡°Hear that?¡± A man asked. ¡°Where did that come from?¡± Heavy footsteps crunching dried leaves were coming closer.

    ¡°This way!¡± shouted his companion. ¡°There¡¯s a guy here. He¡¯s hurt bad¡­ and naked.¡± They were conversing in Angloise, the tongue of trade of the human kingdoms.

    Like dwarves and elves, humans of Ilaya came from another world long ago, most likely Earth. They brought with them an oldish sort of English. It blended with the language of other races and evolved through time, retaining enough smidgen of English that Finlay could converse with some people, albeit with a lot of pointing and miming involved. Finlay became fluent in Angloise, Dagalan, Telver, and many other languages out of necessity. Learning them was a huge pain in the ass. He would¡¯ve torn his hair out if he needed to repeat that ordeal.

    ¡°Let me take a look at him,¡± the first man said.

    His companion laughed. ¡°You want to take a look at a naked guy?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to check his injuries,¡± was the reply with an exasperated sigh. ¡°This is not the time for jokes.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll aid this stranger,¡± a third voice joined, low and booming. ¡°A good deed to thank the gods for blessing our hunt.¡±

    A gentle-faced man with round glasses knelt beside Finlay and began to examine him. Beads carved with runes secured his golden hair in a ponytail. ¡°This looks bad.¡± He was the first speaker.

    Finlay resisted spooking Trance by calling him his name before they introduced themselves. If Finlay¡¯s memory served him right, Trance was a Monolinker favoring a Lumin Wisp Soulheart for his specialization as a Healer. They sparsely interacted in the previous timeline and never met again after Finlay left Worwick Town, two months from now, following Isidore, his newfound Warden master.

    A man with flaming red hair and matching red eyes stood beside Trance. ¡°That looks bad? Appears normal to me. Don¡¯t insult him when he¡¯s already injured.¡±

    Cogwyn wasn¡¯t a Soulheart Warden¡ªRokhonites considered sternials as an affront to nature. They socketed Soulhearts into weapons, armor, or trinkets instead of their bodies. Cogwyn should have an oddly shaped dagger attached to his hip. It had two Soulhearts on its broad curved blade, activated through a network of elderbone veins connected to the handle. The dagger was a gift from his father, Cogwyn had told Finlay. Or would tell.

    Rokhonites were on the extreme end of the don¡¯t-merge-with-Soulhearts belief system compared to Core monks. But Cogwyn was different. If he thought Trance, Beor, or any other Warden as heretics, he kept it well to himself. He was the most agreeable Rokhonite that Finlay had met. Finlay planned to ask Cogwyn to help him train wielding Adorned weapons.

    ¡°I was talking about his injuries, not that,¡± Trance seethed through grinding teeth.

    ¡°Honest mistake.¡± Cogwyn took off his cloak and placed it across laid it across Finlay¡¯s middle section.  ¡°There. Out of sight. Now, you can concentrate on healing him.¡±

    Finlay¡¯s past self was ashamed of his very naked situation. But after experiencing life in war camps, plural, he had changed sensibilities. Shame was nowhere to be found during war.

    ¡°In my two decades as a trapper¡­¡± The deep voice of the third man carried a thick Sajilisan accent while speaking Angloise. ¡°I¡¯ve had a wide range of encounters. This is¡­ new. Might this be an omen of good tidings? We do need one after the earth shook three days ago. The quaking earth is as rare as the torrential rains of this area. Very bad¡­¡±

    A bald man with muscles on muscles shaded Finlay with his size. Golden geometric tattoos contrasted against his mahogany skin. The upper buttons of his leather vest were open to brag to the world his sternial with two sparkles. Beor was the leader of this trapper party of three. He might not look friendly, the understatement of the century, but he could be your best buddy if the topic was good luck and superstition. Finlay often saw Beor at the bar, playing dice, but didn¡¯t talk to him much.

    ¡°Could¡¯ve been a Great Mogloth stirring things,¡± said Cogwyn.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about the earthquake or rains,¡± said Trance, ¡°but I do know this man is most absolutely not experiencing good tidings.¡± He held his hands over Finlay¡¯s chest, his palms radiating light and warmth.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Tha-thank you for he-healing me,¡± Finlay said with much effort. The pain was beginning to subside.

    Trance clicked his tongue in disapproval. ¡°Don¡¯t force yourself to speak. Wait for me to finish.¡±

    ¡°What happened to you?¡± Cogwyn asked.

    ¡°I just told him not to speak,¡± said Trance. ¡°And you¡¯re asking him a question?¡±

    ¡°Trying to be friendly, is all,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°See that smile? He thinks I¡¯m friendly.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s grimacing from the pain. Make friends later.¡±

    In truth, Finlay really was smiling. He¡¯d been looking forward to meeting Cogwyn in this rewound timeline. They were good friends, brothers-in-arms who fought many battles against the Sporeal Tide. He missed Cogwyn¡¯s juvenile humor even in the direst of situations. He¡¯d eventually learn it was a defense mechanism of Cogwyn. Also, Finlay had a life debt to Cogwyn that he wasn¡¯t able to repay because Cogwyn died five years ago.

    Or seven years into a future that wouldn¡¯t happen. Time travel was confusing.

    When Finlay led the Orlun people through the Ironvault Mountains, Cogwyn stayed behind to stall the Sporeal Tide. Cogwyn didn¡¯t accept any goodbyes; they¡¯d meet again, he promised. No one believed him. Wielding two humongous swords socketed with four Soulhearts each, Cogwyn, the last Rokhonite, held Datir Pass for three days, buying time for the slow-moving train of refugees to escape.

    We did end up meeting again, mused Finlay. Probably not what Cogwyn had in mind when he made that promise.

    Cogwyn walked out of view. ¡°Let me put on my inquisitor hat and expertly deduce what happened to our friend.¡±

    ¡°Here we go,¡± Trance grumbled while pressing on Finlay¡¯s legs.

    ¡°Some barefoot human footprints here,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°On top of those are large footprints of a cloven-hoofed beast. Judging its odd stride and print impression, it hopped on two legs. The only creature that fits that description in this area is a bullzard. The disturbed soil, the broken branches of shrubs¡ªit bunged up our friend pretty badly.¡±

    Good thing he¡¯s just messing around, Finlay thought. Cogwyn was an experienced trapper, skilled at examining tracks. If he looked too closely, he might wonder why Finlay¡¯s footprints seemingly came from¡­ nowhere.

    ¡°Then another beast came,¡± continued Cogwyn. ¡°A bigger one. Three-toed with large claws, running on two feet. A predator. It chased the bullzard that way, ignoring our friend. Now, watch me figure out our mysterious predator. Feathers caught on the shrubs¡ª¡±

    ¡°Stop pretending to be a genius,¡± said Beor. ¡°You know damn well it was a terror bird. It still had the bullzard between its beaks when it got caught by our trap. Two decently prized Soulhearts in one swoop. A lucky day indeed.¡±

    ¡°Why did you expose me? I was trying to make a good impression on our friend.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not working so far,¡± said Trance.

    ¡°Because you guys didn¡¯t go along with me,¡± countered Cogwyn.

    Finlay laughed, not minding the mild ache gnawing his side. This was so nostalgic. After all, this part was a replay of the past.

    ¡°Hey, at least I made our friend happy despite his pain,¡± said Cogwyn. ¡°There¡¯s an old saying in our clan that supposedly came from the world yonder: laughter is the best medicine. And it works! Maybe I should get my own Healer¡¯s hat.¡±

    ¡°A clown Healer?¡± Beor gruffly quipped. ¡°I¡¯d rather bet on a groff learning to fly.¡±

    ¡°Sir, can you sit up?¡± Trance tucked an arm beneath Finlay¡¯s back and helped him into a sitting position. ¡°I didn¡¯t detect any major fractures. Praise be to the Firstborns. I¡¯ve sped up your body¡¯s natural regeneration. It¡¯ll last a few days and aid your recovery. How are you feeling?¡±

    Trance had impressive control of his anima for a Monolinker. A Lumin Wisp Soulheart was of Advanced Grade. Most Wardens would be a Dualinker by the time they could comfortably manipulate an Advanced-Grade Soulheart.

    ¡°Still stiff and in pain,¡± Finlay replied. ¡°But manageable. I think I can walk.¡± He made a mental note to always have a healing Soulheart someday, even if it meant sacrificing combat power. He didn¡¯t forget that he couldn¡¯t do anything to help Tavri and the goatkin Caretaker of the World Tree. If he had an Adept Grade Evermoss Soulheart, he could¡¯ve restored both of them to full health within seconds.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised how well you¡¯re enduring,¡± said Trance. ¡°Others would¡¯ve been writhing or even gone unconscious. For a moment, I was worried you were paralyzed.¡± He patted Finlay¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Don¡¯t engage in any strenuous physical activities for the next couple of weeks or so. If unavoidable, take plenty of rest in between.¡±

    ¡°Thank you again,¡± said Finlay. He knew he couldn¡¯t follow the doctor¡¯s advice to take it easy. Plenty of hiking and climbing was lined up on his to-do list. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t pay for your services.¡± He gestured to his body. ¡°I don¡¯t have anything on me.¡±

    ¡°Except my cloak,¡± said Cogwyn. ¡°But don¡¯t remove that.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no need to pay me,¡± Trance said.

    Cogwyn jerked back with noticeably fake shock. ¡°Is that charity I hear? Preposterous! Aren¡¯t you allergic to charity?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s apparent this man can¡¯t pay me now,¡± replied Trance. ¡°I can¡¯t spare time chasing him around to collect. This is my once-in-a-red-sun charity.¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯re confusing what charity means,¡± said Cogwyn.

    ¡°Don¡¯t ruin our luck by charging him,¡± said Bero. ¡°He led the bullzard and terror bird to us. Now, strange stranger, share your tale. Why are you naked in this forest?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t remember much. I was traveling from¡­ Elmbow, I think?¡± Finlay held the sides of his head, pretending to have a migraine.

    The past him barely understood the trio and was as confused as a fish on a plate after arriving in a new world. In turn, the trio thought Finlay had gone insane because of a head injury. Trance couldn¡¯t heal the mind, he explained then. Cogwyn tried to communicate with Finlay by drawing on the soil, to no avail. As for Beor, he thought helping Finlay would bring more luck, so he tied him up and surrendered him to the constable of Worwick.

    A bad start, but it could¡¯ve turned out much worse. Finlay could¡¯ve met actual bandits and his story would¡¯ve been cut short. Wherever this new World Tree seed came from, it did seem to have lucky charm properties.

    The constable assumed Finlay was a noble or son of a rich merchant, given his untanned skin, soft hands, and haircut. Finlay hadn¡¯t worked at the farm long enough to become more like a commoner of Ilaya. It was just on weekends, and he was refrigerated the rest of the time inside the office. His height, however, made him look striking enough that people thought he had a heroic ancestor. Apothecaries fed him all sorts of potions to ¡®restore¡¯ his mind. When that didn¡¯t work, he was handed over to the priests for prayer sessions.

    Finlay would rather eat bark again than repeat all of that, and he didn¡¯t want to eat bark. He had the perfect backstory to explain his situation.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m Finlay Rasband of Elmbow,¡± he confidently said, giving a fairly far away location but still in Gilders. ¡°That much I can recall. Where I was going? To Worwick. And then, I¡­ I was attacked!¡± He shut his eyes as if he was concentrating. ¡°Armed men stole everything I had.¡±

    ¡°Must¡¯ve been the bandits,¡± said Cogwyn.

    ¡°I thought this forest is safe,¡± Finlay said. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard of bandits in these parts.¡±

    ¡°Moved in recently,¡± Cogwyn explained. ¡°A few months ago, maybe? They¡¯ve taken up residence in the abandoned Speckle mines, some ways away from here.¡±

    ¡°The Gilderian princeps ordered the lords bickering over Worwick to pull back their forces,¡± Trance said. ¡°This is the result¡ªbandits came. It seems they¡¯ve become bolder if they extended their hunting grounds to here.¡±

    ¡°Probably got scared by the quakes and left the mines,¡± Cogwyn guessed.

    ¡°Bandits and a bullzard?¡± Beor snapped his fingers. ¡°Finlay Rasband the No Longer Stranger, your luck must¡¯ve migrated to us. That¡¯s the only explanation.¡±

    ¡°I bet you¡¯re right,¡± Finlay said, sighing. ¡°Now, you¡¯re telling me that my destination has lords fighting over it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not so bad,¡± said Cogwyn. ¡°They¡¯ve relaxed after the princeps stepped in.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still quite the unlucky man,¡± said Beor. ¡°However, you have leftover luck seeing as the bandits and bullzard didn¡¯t kill you. We¡¯ll accompany you to town lest bad fortune succeeds in doing so.¡±

    ¡°Report the bandits to the constable,¡± Trance said. ¡°They¡¯ll take action. The town festival draws near. The officials wouldn¡¯t want issues like this with so many important people coming.¡±

    ¡°The festival¡­¡± Finlay slowly nodded. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s coming back to me now. I¡¯m here for the festival, and I got robbed. I¡¯m very grateful for your help. May I know your names?¡±

    ¡°Right, we haven¡¯t introduced ourselves. The name¡¯s Cogwyn. Cogwyn the Rokhonite, if my hair and eyes didn¡¯t already gave it away.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Trance Halrod of Morwen,¡± he said, giving a slight bow.

    ¡°And I am Beor Sarik A¡¯tun of Sajilis. Come, Finlay the Luck Giver. Do you want to see the bullzard that made you sleep?¡±

 6. Trip with the Trappers

    Finlay sat on the end of a sturdy wagon carrying large cages. A melloswine curiously sniffed him, its snout poking through the grills of its crate. It snorted, exhaling a puff of pink. It had a sweet scent, like an overripe mango. Finlay leaned away and covered his nose with Cogwyn¡¯s cloak. The melloswine, its body like a furry beach ball on four legs, turned around to the bullzard and terror bird, both sedated in their cages. In the original timeline, the trapper trio captured only two monsters and placed Finlay in the last cage.

    ¡°A good day hunting, my lads!¡± boomed Beor from the wagon¡¯s driver seat. He snapped the reins. The groffs began pulling the wagon. ¡°This melloswine was begging to be caught, walking up to us on its lonesome. Luck pours from the pitcher of the gods.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s odd we didn¡¯t meet any maeroswine.¡± Trance sat next to Beor. ¡°Times like this, I¡¯m getting swayed by your superstitions.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s true, then it¡¯s not superstition,¡± Beor said with a laugh. He and Trance must¡¯ve had disagreements about this before. Trance was the pragmatic type, from the little Finlay knew of him.

    Cogwyn, perched on top of the melloswine cage, rolled down a thick cloth to cover it. The melloswine stopped grunting in the darkness. ¡°Here¡¯s my theory: the earthquake spooked the maeroswine herd and scattered them. This guy¡ª¡± Cogwyn pointed below him ¡°¡ªis terribly slow and got left behind. It¡¯s been wandering around since then.¡±

    ¡°A more plausible explanation,¡± said Trance. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have immediately jumped to superstition.¡±

    ¡°You should,¡± said Beor. ¡°That¡¯s what I do.¡±

    Finlay imagined Beor wearing a huge grin. It was entertaining to listen to their banter. Finlay¡¯s co-workers came to mind¡ªSarah, Earl, and Derrick would always joke around during breaktime. A finger of melancholy for the world he left behind poked him.

    ¡°Good thing I wasn¡¯t here when the quakes happened,¡± Finlay said. No one other than him knew how the seemingly innocuous earthquake would affect the future of the town, and perhaps the whole of Ilaya. ¡°I already have enough bad luck with the bandits.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m thinking¡ª¡± began Cogwyn.

    ¡°That should be celebrated,¡± Trance said.

    Cogwyn didn¡¯t jump at Trance¡¯s jibe. ¡°I¡¯m thinking, what if the quakes were the bandit¡¯s doing? Blowing stuff up in the mines. Trying to tunnel deeper maybe?¡±

    ¡°If they accidentally ignited a gas pocket,¡± Beor said, ¡°that¡¯d be a divine comedy. A proper comeuppance meted out by the gods.¡±

    ¡°Could the bandits have killed the maeroswines?¡± Finlay said, trying to become closer to their group. First step to uniting people was making friends. Strong friends, especially.

    ¡°They have to be spectacularly dumb to lose the most valuable member of the herd,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°They could be after food and not the Soulheart. Bah, don¡¯t think so. I¡¯d rather eat a soft mello than a gamey and stringy maero.¡±

    ¡°The bandits¡¯ business are their own,¡± said Trance. ¡°I¡¯ve heard rumors some are in the lords¡¯ pockets. A proxy war of sorts. We don¡¯t want any part in that.¡±

    ¡°Unless they are customers,¡± Beor said, laughing. ¡°We sell to the highest bidder, no matter which side.¡±

    This is the real problem. Finlay felt for the seed inside the pocket of Cogwyn¡¯s cloak. A World Tree, no matter how tall, wouldn¡¯t be enough to change their disastrous future if everyone didn¡¯t unite.

    The main reason Master Isidore left Worwick in a hurry with Finlay in tow was the rising political tensions. The upcoming festival would stoke the embers of discord with the rival lords all present. The tournament would be a disaster, the political would turn physical.

    And it¡¯d get much worse.

    Half a year from now, a massive deposit of high-quality Speckles would be discovered in a deep canyon to the east of the town. The quakes they talked about had shifted earth and rocks, exposing prized veins.

    Speckles were extremely concentrated natura crystals left by dried-up lifestreams. Wardens used Speckles to increase their anima and progress crucibles and mind shrines. With the invention of the sternial came a way to ingest Speckle and not die. Then came the rise of the Soulheart Wardens. The Speckle Wars followed. That was a long time ago, but the world¡¯s demand for Speckle only grew since then.

    The Second Great Speckle Rush of Worwick, even greater than the previous one, would not only push the lords to open battle but would also bring Wardens and elemental sects into the picture. Speckles had plenty of other uses, but it was mainly a resource for war¡­ and a starter of wars. Similar to elderbones in that sense. A year after the Speckle discovery, the conflict in Worwick would spread to the whole Principality of Gilders.

    In what would be the worst stroke of luck in the history of Ilaya, the Sporeal Tide would appear soon after and roll over the lands embroiled in civil war. Quite easy pickings to add to its numbers.

    Changing Gilder¡¯s fate should have a domino effect in the future. Not enough to win, but enough to budge the course of the war against the Sporeal Tide. With enough changes, Finlay was confident he could find a future where they¡¯d achieve victory.

    ¡°Guessing this melloswine¡¯s worth more than the terror bird.¡± Cogwyn tapped the cage bars with his foot.

    More than the terror bird and bullzard combined if you find the right buyer, Finlay thought, trying to recall the market conditions of this time.

    A melloswine Soulheart was classified as the lowest Grade¡ªTyro. A newly-melded Warden would have no problems with it. A Soulheart¡¯s Grade, based on the monster¡¯s capture rating and the difficulty of controlling its manifested powers, usually determines its price. The higher the Soulheart Grade, the stronger the monster it came from, and the more expensive the cost of hunting or farming it.

    There were exceptions, like the melloswine Soulheart.

    Though with a capture rating of zero on its own, melloswines were very rare to come by. During their mating season, maeroswines¡ªhorned boars covered in spiked bone plates¡ªsometimes become too aggressive and start killing each other. It could go out of control, and that wasn¡¯t good for the survival of their kind. Some maeroswines would shed their armors and horns, turning into melloswines, spewing clouds that have a calming effect on the berserking herd.

    If a human inhaled the pink cloud, their minds would be loaded on a trebuchet and shot sky high.

    Finlay shook his head, recalling the first time he tried it. He left Lord Felrock¡¯s victory party in a daze and hugged a tree¡­ for hours. He hoped all he did to the tree was hug it.

    That was the demand for the limited supply of melloswine Soulhearts. Wardens specialized in melloswine antics could earn more in one night servicing a noble¡¯s party than a month as said noble¡¯s bodyguard. With the town festival coming up, as Trance mentioned, there¡¯d be a premium on this Soulheart.

    ¡°How¡¯s the trapping business?¡± Finlay wondered aloud. This was a reliable conversation starter he learned from the corporate world. His Earth memories were refreshed because of the rewind. The other person would always either brag or rant. Both options would make the other person feel better.

    ¡°Not good,¡± said Cogwyn, choosing the rant route. ¡°Competition is growing. Worse, it¡¯s the farms that get the large slice of the pie.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Farms?¡± Finlay knew about them, but most people wouldn¡¯t. ¡°I thought you hunt beasts, sell their Soulhearts, and that¡¯s it?¡±

    Cogwyn shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re thinking of the old way of doing things. These days, we bring the entire beast, alive and well, to the market. It¡¯s why we got Trance on the team. Sometimes, we can¡¯t avoid injuring the animal when trying to capture it. What happened to the bullzard wasn¡¯t our fault but we can¡¯t have it dying on us. Trance to the rescue.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s rare to get some appreciation,¡± Trance mumbled, barely audible.

    ¡°Owners of Soulheart farms bid for our catch,¡± Cogwyn went on. ¡°Let¡¯s say a guy wins our bullzard. He¡¯ll bring it to his farm, stuff it with magical feeds, maybe sprinkle in Speckle dust for a few months, before selling its Soulheart. Buyers are getting picky. They want Soulhearts from farm-fattened beasts; they won¡¯t buy anything straight from hunters. We have no choice but to become trappers.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s eerie hearing you sound coherent, Cogwyn,¡± said Trance.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know it¡¯s this hard to be a trapper.¡± Finlay cast the hook. ¡°You risk your life hunting the beast, yet others gain the androphagon¡¯s share of the profits.¡±

    Cogwyn and Trance took the bait, airing their grievances. Eventually, Beor joined in too. They had plenty to say about the state of the Soulheart business. This was a vast improvement compared to when Finlay was inside a cage, trying to make sense of their language.

    Traveling for half an hour, they left the forest, switching from a bumpy rough path to a road paved with cobblestones. A river flowed parallel to their left while trees bordered the opposite side. The gentle breeze whistled coolness.

    ¡°Hey, Finlay. Come up here.¡± Cogwyn bent down the cage and offered a hand. Finlay grabbed it, and Cogwyn pulled him up to have a better view of their destination. Cogwyn twirled his arms with a flourish. ¡°Welcome to the town of Worwick. Erm¡­ I probably should¡¯ve said that when we actually entered it.¡±

    The town got its name from the lifestream that used to pass through the nearby mountains in ancient times. Finlay heard of tales of the mountain glowing so bright the night became day. That could be the burning wick and the whole world was the candle. Hence, Worwick.

    Unbeknownst to the townspeople, the legend would become reality again. There was a newly exposed lifestream, and Finlay would get to it. Quite a difficult journey it¡¯d be, but saving the world wouldn¡¯t be easy.

    The town of Worwick consisted of an inner part, surrounded by low walls, and a much larger outer area that was a blanket of small houses. The walls were more decorative than for defense, with carvings of historic figures on the uppermost blocks of the battlements. The church¡¯s belfry towered over the walls, its golden bell catching the sun¡¯s rays¡ªa clue of where and when the humans of Ilaya came from. The arched roof topped with a golden roc of the lord¡¯s mansion peeked from the town¡¯s western side; which lord should reside there was still up for a bloody debate.

    Rolling over a grand bridge, complete with lanterns and statues on its fancily molded railings, the wagon arrived at the outskirts of the town. They passed rows upon rows of shoddily built houses fallen into disrepair. Many have crumbled into a heap of garbage. Barely any person walked the dirty, cramped streets and most of the still-standing houses appeared empty.

    Come next year, this area will be filled with people coming for the Speckle rush. Or so, Finlay imagined. He never returned to Worwick, only learning about what happened after from stories Cogwyn shared.

    Finlay¡¯s stay in Worwick may be short, but his terrible experiences could fill a book. Even if he wished it went differently, it was the beginning of his tale. The World Tree gave him the chance to rewrite it for a better ending.

    Not only for himself. For everyone.

    ¡°Are you smiling?¡± Cogwyn tilted his head. ¡°Pardon my not-so-eloquent language, but this place is a shithole. Smells like it too. Reserve your smiles when we get past the walls. It¡¯s amazing inside.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m interested in the history of the town,¡± Finlay explained. ¡°This might not be the¡­ best-looking scenery, but the houses are remnants of the Great Speckle Rush that made this princedom strong.¡±

    ¡°Decades ago,¡± said Beor. ¡°Gilders was strong decades ago. No longer. Bolstered by Speckles mined from the yawning earth, Gilders subjugated my people. When their mines went dry, we had our revenge, for the great beasts of the Melurian mountains yield Soulhearts unmatched by any Gilders could get its grubby hands on.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean any offense.¡± Finlay wasn¡¯t aware of the history between Gilders and Sajilis.

    ¡°I take none. Merely setting the record straight, our luck-giving friend. You should understand my sentiments, coming from Elmbow yourself.¡± Beor gestured at the dilapidated houses. ¡°See how many people¡¯s lives were changed by Speckle, for the better or worse.¡± He then pointed at the wide gateway covered in tiled patterns they were approaching. ¡°What use is this extravagance built from Speckle wealth? Sajilis was lucky Gilders had holes for hands when holding coin.¡±

    ¡°I think that¡¯s enough history for now,¡± said Cogwyn. ¡°Touchy-touchy history.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± Beor grunted as he steered their wagon to fall in line to the inner town.

    The guards manning the gates wore surcoats over their armor, displaying the blue and gold cross of the Princeps of Gilders. The same cross was on the flags flying from their spears and the banners draped over the towers flanking the gates. Blue and gold everywhere.

    No green feldeer horns of House Vassenet, which ruled Worwick since before the first Speckle rush. Only the ten-year-old daughter of the previous lord remained in the direct line. No purple jarlion head of House Baccarat, distant relatives of the Vassenets, and demanding regency of Worwick. No red four-winged eagle of House Wyrenth from the neighboring territory and claiming this one as well. These details returned to Finlay; the politics of Worwick played a significant role in his early life on Ilaya.

    When it was the turn of Finlay¡¯s group at the checkpoint, the leader of the guards, a captain judging by the winged etching on his helmet, stepped forward with a big smile. He gave the group an cordial nod.

    Beor may be of Sajilis and Cogwyn a Rokhonite, but their trapper party was quite strong compared to others based in Worwick. Unwise for the captain to throw around his weight for no reason. It was also generally a good idea to befriend strong people.

    ¡°What do you have there, Beor?¡± asked the captain.

    ¡°Quite a catch, that¡¯s what,¡± Beor replied. ¡°I told you when we went out that the gods¡¯ eyes are upon us.¡±

    The captain pulled aside the cloth covering the melloswine cage. ¡°And so, your gods were indeed watching. Share your blessings, will you? Just a whiff of¡ª¡± He noticed Finlay sitting beside Cogwyn on top of the cage. ¡°A new companion of yours, Beor?¡±

    Finlay kept the cloak secured as he jumped off the cage and onto the ground. Not counting his past erased by time travel shenanigans, this was the highest he had dropped in his life. His body might be physically lacking but his mind was ready to compensate. He stuck the landing and avoided embarrassment. Some joints did hurt though.

    Drawing his full height, not minding his knees wobbling from the impact, Finlay stood an inch taller than the fairly imposing captain. Finlay bowed low, making sure his head was lower than the captain¡¯s chin, before saying, ¡°May the Firstborns bless your day, captain. I¡¯m Finlay¡­ Finlay Rasband of Elmbow. I was observing these gentlemen go about their trapping business in the forest when an unfortunate accident cost me my clothes.¡±

    ¡°Rasband, you say?¡± The captain beamed at the respect shown by someone well-off-looking. ¡°I¡¯ve never been to Elmbow, but I have heard of your name.¡±

    You most certainly haven¡¯t. The captain likely hadn¡¯t heard of anyone from Elmbow, a small territory to the south of Gilders that was sort of part of it but technically shouldn¡¯t. Its towns and villages were small with nothing of note. However, the captain wouldn¡¯t want to ¡®admit¡¯ ignorance of someone apparently important who bowed to him. Acknowledging Finlay¡¯s concocted backstory as true brought honor to the captain.

    ¡°Tell them of what happened to you,¡± Trance said. ¡°The bandits¡ª¡±

    ¡°I came for the festival, captain,¡± said Finlay with another bow. ¡°I heard many important guests are coming.¡±

    ¡°Yes, foremost of them is the third prince of Krysperia,¡± the captain replied, looking Trance¡¯s way. ¡°What was that about the bandits?¡±

    ¡°They killed the maeroswines accompanying this melloswine,¡± Finlay hastily said, hoping Trance would get the hint. ¡°Would you like a sniff, captain? That is if Beor is fine with it.¡±

    With the offer, the talk of bandits was forgotten. Beor didn¡¯t object. Why would he? Even without Finlay, Beor would¡¯ve agreed to the same. A friend in a captain was a strong bet. Finlay scratched the melloswine¡¯s flabby chin. He located two fleshy organs the size of ping-pong balls that caused the melloswine to sneeze involuntarily when stimulated.

    The captain inhaled the pink cloud with all his might. ¡°I¡¯ll need to find a seat before this hits me. Move along now.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, captain,¡± Finlay said, adding another low bow.

    ¡°Enjoy your stay, Sir Rasband. The Princeps welcomes all to celebrate the festival of the Great Speckle Rush. The tournament in a month¡¯s time will be one for the tomes. Many strong contenders have lined up. You wouldn¡¯t want to miss it.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t, captain.¡± This time, Finlay wouldn¡¯t only be part of the audience¡ªhe¡¯d join the tournament. Changing its outcome was one of many factors that might stir Gilders away from the path of civil war.

 7. Return to the Starting Town

    Flipping the eerie emptiness of the outer town, the heart of Worwick was stiflingly bustling. The narrow roads were packed as can be, with people on foot mingling with animals, carts, and carriages. Beor slowed the groffs pulling the wagon to navigate the traffic carefully.

    ¡°This is the time I should¡¯ve said welcome to Worwick,¡± said Cogwyn. ¡°Amazing, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    The surroundings were how someone might picture a town from a fantasy book instead of the grimy reality of medieval towns and cities. Brick houses with wooden second floors extended over the roads, cramped but in an endearing way. Shops filled to the brim with wares, both normal and magical. Statues, fountains, and elaborate shrines scattered all over without reason, the nobles splurging when Speckles used to flow.

    ¡°It does look amazing¡­¡± Finlay slowly nodded, reminiscing about his adventures, or misadventures, in Worwick. A long time ago and yet to happen at the same time. And would never happen because he¡¯d change how things would unfold.

    ¡°Another amazing thing is that you know how to make a melloswine puff its smoke.¡± Cogwyn peered at Finlay with narrowed eyes. ¡°You know your beasts. Does your family own a Soulheart farm?¡±

    In Finlay¡¯s rush to distract the captain, he acted the opposite of an out-of-his-depth noble, traveling far only to get robbed. This was easy to salvage though. ¡°I¡¯m just well-acquainted with the¡­ abilities¡­ of a melloswine. It¡¯s not always easy to find a Warden far out in Elmbow, so we¡ª¡±

    ¡°Use a real melloswine for your parties,¡± Cogwyn finished. ¡°I get it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t partake much of the smoke,¡± said Finlay, putting on an embarrassed tone. ¡°But I can¡¯t really avoid learning how to make a melloswine puff. I swear by the Firstborns I wasn¡¯t pretending not to know about Soulheart farms.¡±

    Let them build his backstory from that tidbit. The captain confirming he had heard of the Rasbands of Elmbow lent credence to Finlay¡¯s story.

    ¡°On the topic of pretending¡­¡± Finlay looked to the front of the wagon. ¡°Trance, I apologize for cutting you off. If the guards knew I was robbed by bandits, they¡¯d take me in for questioning. Nothing wrong with that, of course. It¡¯s just that I¡¯d rather not associate too closely with the Princeps¡¯ soldiers.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Sir Rasband,¡± Trance replied over his shoulder with an overly polite tone. ¡°I should¡¯ve been more discerning with my words. Beor hinted you should sympathize with him since you¡¯re from Elmbow. I didn¡¯t immediately realize your place had issues with Gilders as well.¡±

    ¡°Issues? You can say that. Something related to ancient treaties. I don¡¯t want to get too much into it.¡± This was another reason why Finlay picked Elmbow. He learned from Cogwyn of the future that Elmbow revolted against Gilders along with other southern cities before the Sporeal Tide invasion.

    ¡°Touchy-touchy history,¡± Cogwyn sang as he climbed down the cage to avoid the blue and gold bannerets strung over the road.

    ¡°Fork up ahead,¡± Beor said. ¡°The left road leads to the constable¡¯s office. Finlay of Unluckiness, best you report your misfortune to the constable of Worwick, if not the soldiers. He is an honorable man who¡¯ll help you. A retired sternial artisan with a clean name, he was appointed as a neutral officer in charge of Worwick while the conflict between the lords is being resolved.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯ll be ever resolved,¡± Cogwyn muttered.

    ¡°However, Finlay of Misfortune, our party¡¯s destination is the marketplace, following the road to the right,¡± Beor continued. ¡°We aim for the midday auction. The sooner these beasts are turned into coins, the less risk they¡¯d injure themselves or contract illnesses. We don¡¯t know when bad luck strikes like the sudden storms of Worwick. My suggestion is for Cogwyn to accompany you to¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll join you to the beast auction,¡± Finlay interjected. ¡°I¡¯ve never been to one before. If that¡¯s alright?¡±

    Finlay didn¡¯t want to meet the constable as a fake robbed noble wrapped only in a cloak. The constable could be an ally in cooling down the bickering lords someday, and Finlay should approach him in a position of power.

    Also, he used to work at the market. Couldn¡¯t say he missed the place, but he wanted to see it just the same.

    ¡°Very alright!¡± Cogwyn made a two-finger gesture that was the thumbs-up equivalent in their culture. ¡°I can show you around the marketplace too.¡±

    ¡°You just don¡¯t want to meet the constable,¡± Trance said. ¡°He hasn¡¯t forgotten what you did to¡ª¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t the faintest of idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± said Cogwyn. ¡°I want to buy our friend some clothes. That¡¯s how charity works, if you don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Great idea,¡± Beor said. ¡°Show the gods our appreciation for sending Finlay the Tragic our way.¡±

    Cogwyn gave Finlay a knowing wink. ¡°Sure, that too. Wouldn¡¯t want to anger any god.¡±

    On their way to the marketplace, sloshing through the sludge of crowds, they passed many places that jogged Finlay¡¯s memories. His past life in Worwick returned as if pieces of a jigsaw puzzle getting slotted into their correct spot. He flipped through the pages of his mind, looking for an advantage his past knowledge of the future could give.

    ¡°You¡¯re smiling again,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°Are you some kind of eccentric noble who finds the commoner life interesting? I¡¯ve heard of rich people dressing up in peasant clothes and¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an improper question,¡± Trance sternly said. ¡°Apologies, Sir Rasband.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind,¡± Finlay replied. ¡°And I never said I¡¯m a noble.¡±

    ¡°Noble or not, you¡¯re important enough to be invited to a party with a melloswine,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°Haven¡¯t been to one. I¡¯m thinking¡ªit¡¯s a good idea this time. Better idea, I mean. None of my ideas are bad. Hear me out¡ªwhat if we throw a party and use this melloswine ourselves?¡±

    ¡°What if we just auctioned you off?¡± Trance said.

    Beor laughed. ¡°No one would bid for Cogwyn!¡±

    Letting their banter fade into the noise of the crowd, Finlay peeled his eyes for a store they should soon pass.

    Nostalgia wasn¡¯t the reason for Finlay¡¯s smile this time. Rather, he was pleased with himself for recalling a solution to a huge problem¡ªhow to earn money fast. He puzzled over it since the bus ride to Grandpa Swaney¡¯s farm. Odd tasks here and there¡ªbeing an errand boy of the workers constructing the tournament stands, cleaning the cages at the auction house, and gathering spoiled vegetables from vendors to feed the beasts¡ªwere too slow and time-consuming.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Here was the answer.

    The Acclaimed Plant Solutions of Gideon the Floramagus was displayed on a signboard clasping for dear life with a few rusty screws. The flaking hand-painted letters were too big, resulting in squeezed words that were barely legible. The rundown fa?ade of the shop, its door moldy and windows dabbed with dust, wouldn¡¯t entice anyone to enter.

    Not that the owner cared.

    Gideon Oberath Malvar of Lyndell, a self-proclaimed ¡®floramagus¡¯, his own made-up word, was the son of a merchant who built his wealth during Worwick¡¯s first Speckle rush. Unlike the nobles of Worwick, Gideon¡¯s father was close-fisted with money. He passed to his son a sizeable inheritance. Taking this fortune, Gideon returned to this town and opened a shop specializing in all things plant.

    By all things, it was anything one could think of. Turning green leaves into sparkling blue and red? Gideon would take on the challenge. A floral perfume that doubled as a love potion? Sure, no problem.

    Well, there was a slight problem.

    Floramagus Gideon accepting a job didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d succeed. More like, he had his definition of success. A love potion making groffs fall for a human was still a love potion in his messed-up dictionary. Done with the project, he¡¯d move on even if the customer complained. Cogwyn thought Finlay was eccentric; Gideon was the real deal.

    Despite bordering insane, the floramagus was an undeniable expert in plants, collecting the rare and valuable. The rich biodiversity of the forests around Worwick, legacy of the ancient lifestream, was what drew him to this town.

    Finlay planned to visit Gideon after finding a Century-Blooming Azalea. I¡¯ll earn big selling it to him.

    The flower¡¯s name was an exaggeration. It bloomed once every twenty years, not a hundred. Still incredibly rare. Add that its flower wilts within a few days, losing its magical properties. Gideon would buy a freshly picked one in a heartbeat.

    Finlay knew the rough location of this special azalea that¡¯d bloom in about a week because Gideon told him before. Practically told everyone. The floramagus missed harvesting its blossom by five days or something. Devastated, he stomped around the town square, yelling at workers that it was their fault for distracting him with their hammering and clanking and digging.

    That time, Finlay was waiting to talk to the foreman of the carpenters and ask for a job. Gideon zeroed in on Finlay for some reason, forcing him to listen to a half-an-hour-long tirade. Gideon detailed everyday of the construction and what noises they made, putting emphasis on the noisy digging. Finlay could still hear Gideon¡¯s grating voice. He avoided the deranged floramagus since then.

    Let¡¯s be friends this time, Gideon, Finlay cheerily thought as the shop¡¯s signboard disappeared from view.

    Their wagon slowed to a sluggish crawl as the narrow streets widened and buildings fell back, revealing the half-completed tiered stands for the audience of the tournament. They had reached the town square.

    The bronze statue of the first Lord Vassenet in the middle gazed at the sky in a pompous pose. At the opposite end of the open space, which wasn¡¯t so open because it was filled with festival stalls and people, stood the church built with white bricks.

    Tolling bells swallowed all other sounds. The church¡¯s massive doors swung open and parishioners poured out. The mass worshipping the Firstborns, whose elderbones were used for everything magic, had just ended.

    Finlay shivered at the sound of the bell. Prayers of priests trying to ¡®exorcise¡¯ the demon that supposedly possessed him and made him speak in an unknown tongue clanged around in his brain.

    That wasn¡¯t a good time. At all.

    ¡°Will any of you join the tournament?¡± Finlay almost yelled to make sure they heard him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to embarrass myself,¡± Cogwyn replied. ¡°But I think Beor has a chance. The limit is two Links, isn¡¯t it? He¡¯s fine.¡±

    Finlay knew of Monolinkers that could beat Dualinkers. The power gap between them wasn¡¯t big. A different matter going up against Tri-linkers with bodies tempered with anima, making flesh and skin harder than regular steel. It¡¯d be like letting an adult bully a kid if they were allowed to fight lower Links. Not that there were many Tri-linkers who¡¯d be interested anyway.

    Most Wardens would join an elemental sect upon reaching three Links to further their growth. Some backwater tournament in a minor princedom far north should be beneath a sect member.

    Finlay had a short stint at a sect. The remnants of one. The war against the Sporeal Tide was in full swing by then, with many elemental sects diminished.

    ¡°Without an entire river of luck washing over me,¡± Beor said, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare risk my limb in the tournament. It¡¯s supposed to be a fight for show, but it¡¯ll be serious, believe me. Rumors say that the lords vying for control of Worwick hired prodigies from abroad to represent them. It¡¯ll be a contest between those three. All others are simply looking to be injured. Or worse.¡±

    ¡°Things might get ugly,¡± Trance said. ¡°It will, I daresay. There¡¯s too much at stake.¡±

    ¡°What stake?¡± asked Cogwyn. ¡°Money? Why would those prodigies bother with that? They get paid a lot, and would rake in more coins when they reach higher Links. If you meant recognition¡­ I guess there¡¯s that. Somewhat. Many nobles in the audience.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the stake,¡± Trance said. ¡°I was referring to the three lords, not the contestants. On its own, the tournament is an event for the festival. It just commemorates the fights the Vassenets held way back to entertain the Speckle miners. Nothing big. The patron of this year¡¯s winner, however, will¡ª¡±

    ¡°Have bragging rights,¡± Cogwyn cut in.

    ¡°¡ªdisplay power to everyone watching,¡± Trance continued. ¡°Bragging rights, yes. Public perception, the wealthy public, is the currency of influence. Connect that to their claims on Worwick. It¡¯s all politics, in the end. I shudder to think how the losing lords would react.¡±

    Not very well, Finlay mused as he looked for a house along the street east of the town square.

    There it was, that one with a roof of maroon ceramic tiles. He climbed up there to view the final match of the tournament because the town square was packed.

    Representatives of Wyrenth and Baccarat faced each other in the middle of the ring. The Vassenet champion was beaten by the fire-specialized Warden of Baccarat in the prior round. House Wyrenth¡¯s contestant had two water Soulhearts. Almost everyone bet that she¡¯d win against Baccarat. The fight started even, but it turned out that the water element beats fire in this world too.

    What happened next was a jumbled mess. Finlay was sure the Wyrenth Warden managed to encase the Baccarat Warden in ice. Did she then prepare for a final blow? Or did someone try to stop the match? The popsicle Baccarat seemed pretty defeated already.

    And then Finlay found himself flung in the air with roof shingles.

    There was no conclusion to the fight. To be more accurate, a huge explosion concluded it.

    He was lucky he didn¡¯t suffer serious injuries. Many people died. Many important people. A huge mess with plenty of finger-pointing escalated into skirmishes between the forces of the three lords.

    How can I prevent that? If Finlay won the tournament¡ªa monumentally tall order; he hadn¡¯t even qualified yet¡ªhe¡¯d gain fame while simultaneously erasing a flashpoint for the three lords to fight. His win might discourage whoever rigged the explosion. But if it¡¯d happen regardless, Finlay should find the would-be culprits and stop them before the tournament¡¯s end.

    He first thought of the Vassenets. Everyone did.

    What did the Vassenets stand to gain though? Their champion was already eliminated. Surely, the Baccarats were the culprits¡ªthe Baccarats didn¡¯t want to lose, so they blew everything up. Too obvious. Probably? Others asserted the Wyrenths were framing the Baccarats. No one would suspect the winners to orchestrate the explosions.

    Or maybe it wasn¡¯t connected to the conflict over Worwick at all. It could be the handiwork of assassins targeting other nobles in attendance.

    A month to figure it out. Around three weeks to join the tournament¡ªthose without sponsor-nobles had to qualify first. After time traveling, he was already lacking time.

    ¡°Make way! Make way!¡± The loud calls broke Finlay¡¯s reverie. It came from behind them.

    ¡°There¡¯s no way to make way here,¡± Cogwyn murmured. ¡°What do they expect us to do? Pile on top of each other? We can try, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s coming?¡± Trance craned his neck over the feathery bulk of the sleeping terror bird.

    Finlay spied banners bobbing over the sea of people. Branching horns on deep green. The Vassenets.

 8. A Mistaken Identity?

    ¡°It¡¯s the Greenies,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°One carriage. Five escorts. Can¡¯t see the crest on the door, but I bet the little girl lord is inside.¡±

    ¡°Why are the Vassenets here?¡± Trance stood on his seat to see above the cages. ¡°How did they get past the Princeps¡¯ soldiers at the gates?¡±

    ¡°How should I know? Didn¡¯t you say that the business of the lords is theirs?¡± Cogwyn winked at Finlay as if to share a joke.

    ¡°And we keep it that way,¡± Beor somberly said.

    Beor directed the groffs to the right. He made chirping sounds to calm the pair of six-footed muscular beasts as they sidled among the pressed masses. As Cogwyn predicted, people had to climb on top of each other to make space. Some even got on their wagon. Cogwyn made sure the cover of the melloswine cage stayed on.

    The banners of the Vassenets came closer, the soldiers holding them sitting proudly on Vestin avian-steeds bred from terror birds to be used in wars. All five guards were in full plate armor of exquisite make, each fitted to their size, laces of glittering green worked into geometric patterns on the black interlocking steel. Lavish ceremonial wear. Higher Linked Wardens rarely wore armor because it was restrictive. It wasn¡¯t only wealth the Vassenets displayed with their armor. Dampening plates across their chests inscribed with Lha¡¯at anti-scrying runes meant these soldiers were Soulheart Wardens who didn¡¯t want others to sense how many Links they had.

    A subtle showing of power. A warning, some might also consider.

    The carriage they guarded took up almost half of the wide road circling the town square. Feldeer antlers covered in gold leaves jutted from the carriage¡¯s corners with lanterns dangling from them. The windows had their curtains drawn, concealing the passengers.

    Why are the Vassenets here? Finlay repeated Trance¡¯s question in his mind.

    What originally happened on this day? Finlay was locked up in the constable¡¯s office, so he didn¡¯t know much. People there must¡¯ve talked about the drama outside but Angloise was meaningless to him back then; their words didn¡¯t stick to his memory. The constable left his office for a few hours, Finlay recalled, probably to deal with any trouble there was.

    This wasn¡¯t the road to the lord¡¯s mansion if the Vassenets wanted to reclaim that. It didn¡¯t look like they fought their way through the gates either. Their intention was probably something peaceful.

    ¡°Green horns are Vassenets,¡± Cogwyn explained to Finlay. ¡°Rightfully, their family should rule over Worwick. But there¡¯s a problem. You see, the previous lord who passed away last year had a boatload of debt to another lord, the patriarch of the Wyrenths. All these fancy buildings aren¡¯t keeping themselves beautiful without money and he¡ªoho, one of them is coming this way.¡±

    A Vassenet soldier stopped next to their wagon and glanced at the cages.

    Cogwyn elbowed Finlay and whispered, ¡°Short for a lord¡¯s personal guard, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    Finlay shushed Cogwyn though he agreed with his remark. The other guards around the carriage were giants in comparison, rivaling Beor¡¯s stature. It wasn¡¯t the only odd thing about the short soldier. His armored frame was very slight, petite almost. And the way he carried himself while riding the avian-steed was eerily¡­ delicate. Elegant? Finlay couldn¡¯t find an appropriate word to describe his mannerisms.

    ¡°Should I try to sell him the terror bird?¡± Cogwyn wondered.

    The short guard turned to Cogwyn and raised his visor.

    Her visor? The upper half of the guard¡¯s face had feminine features. That explained her build.

    ¡°Greetings, erm, good sir.¡± Cogwyn alighted the wagon and placed a closed fist on his heart. ¡°Are you perhaps interested in this terror bird? Behold this fine specimen! No damage at all, as you can see for yourself.¡±

    Ignoring Cogwyn, the guard turned to Finlay. Did his hairstyle, unlike any worn by men of Ilaya, catch her attention? Maybe she noticed he was naked under the cloak and wondered why?

    Her green eyes examined Finlay¡¯s face with a severe regard that rang familiar. Their eyes met.

    Finlay froze.

    Jade¡­?

    ¡°Fancy yourself a bullzard to go with the terror bird, noble Vassenet warrior?¡± Cogwyn loudly asked. ¡°We¡¯ll give you a good discount if you buy both.¡±

    ¡°Cogwyn, shut up,¡± Trance hissed through a gap between the people that clambered on the wagon¡¯s front.

    ¡°What¡¯s the problem? If we sell them now, we won¡¯t need to line up at the¡ªthere goes my customer.¡± Cogwyn waved at the guard rejoining the horned carriage. ¡°Sir, don¡¯t leave! I have¡­ and not listening to me.¡± Cogwyn grinned at Finlay. ¡°You have to thank for distracting him¡­ or her? I kept saying ¡®sir¡¯ to not risk a mistake. I¡¯m not crazy to think that soldier is a woman, am I?¡±

    ¡°You and me both,¡± Finlay slowly said. ¡°Low chance we¡¯re both crazy.¡±

    ¡°All the more reason not to stare. She would¡¯ve taken offense. That¡¯s why I pestered her with the terror bird so she¡¯d leave; I have that effect on women.¡±

    ¡°Who was that?¡±

    ¡°Curious, eh? If I have to guess, maybe Lady Elowen. She¡¯s the only female Warden of the Vassenets that I know of. Others have left for the elemental sects, I¡¯ve heard.¡±

    ¡°Lady Elowen?¡± Finlay stared at her steel-covered back. Jade could be a mere alias she gave to him.

    Jade didn¡¯t give a family name or hometown when she introduced herself. Perhaps she came from Worwick all along. If she went around this town wearing a helmet, Finlay wouldn¡¯t have seen her face before. Add that the Vassenet lord barely showed up during the festival; her guards were likewise scarce.

    ¡°You have to be careful around here, my not-noble-but-maybe friend,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°This is very far from Elmbow, you understand?¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the save,¡± Finlay absentmindedly replied as he searched his memories for more clues.

    All he recalled were her green eyes and famished face. But the guard revealed only her eyes. Green too, yes. Then again, many women had green eyes even if it wasn¡¯t a common color. Finlay¡¯s only proof that she was Jade was the way she looked at him. Not much of a proof. Absolute nonsense, really. Between him and Cogwyn, maybe he was the crazy one.

    Finlay sighed. ¡°She¡¯s not Jade¡­¡±

    ¡°What did you say?¡± Cogwyn followed Finlay¡¯s gaze. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve fallen in love with our mysterious lady soldier? Those emerald irises¡ªshe¡¯s from a Vassenet branch family. If you¡¯re a noble, you can try your luck.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t¡ª¡±  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°But there¡¯s a slight obstacle, my friend. Slightly big¡­ Big? Huge, huge obstacle! That lady is a Soulheart Warden. Three Links is my very educated guess. Means you¡¯re out of luck. Not even Beor can help you there.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking about something like that,¡± Finlay said. ¡°It¡¯s the politics of Worwick that interests me.¡±

    ¡°If you say so.¡± Cogwyn shrugged. ¡°That lady soldier is pretty interesting too.¡±

    Finlay awkwardly laughed as he feigned embarrassment. Difficult to come off as sheepish when there was turmoil inside him.

    The Vassenet Warden wasn¡¯t Jade.

    He wanted her to be. But she wasn¡¯t.

    There was a simple explanation for what he saw¡ªa hallucination driven by guilt.

    He was granted a second life. There were many mistakes he wanted to change. Among them was abandoning Jade. He wanted to make it up to her.

    Abandon. He did do that, didn¡¯t he?

    Even if he gave her food, he knew she wouldn¡¯t last long. Deep inside, he knew. No hiding behind rationalizations. He could¡¯ve helped her. Helped them. The not-strong-enough-to-save-everyone thinking was a load of groff crap. In that situation, he was strong enough. He proved it to himself by taking care of the children after Jade died, bringing them to lands untainted by the Spore.

    He wouldn¡¯t know if he was strong enough if he didn¡¯t try. If he wasn¡¯t, he could only hope his best accomplished¡­ something. From that day onward, with the scars made by the ferrorsu as a reminder, Finlay fought with his all. It couldn¡¯t bring back Jade, of course. In this timeline, he wanted to meet her to make things right¡­

    ¡­ even if his wrong never happened. So why did he want to meet her?

    ¡°Are you okay there?¡± Cogwyn patted Finlay¡¯s shoulder, his forehead creased in concern. ¡°Don¡¯t be disheartened. Look, everyone¡¯s moving again. The marketplace isn¡¯t too far from here. If we got some nice clothes on you, who knows, maybe that lady will glance your way a second time?¡±

    As their wagon moved away from the town square, a dome peeped over the rows of houses northward, reflecting sunlight on them. Going around one more block, the marketplace greeted them in all its architectural glory. Ivory columns held up a massive glass dome topped with a golden spire. Extending like the sun¡¯s rays from the central structure were five arms housing dozens of vendor stalls.

    The overly-extravagant public market was constructed by the father of the current Vassenet lord.

    Well, not actually him. He probably had never held a chisel in his life. Neither had Finlay, to be fair. This was the last vanity project of the previous lord. The Speckle mines of Worwick shut down two decades prior. He was sitting on a dwindling pile of coins and spent the last of them.

    Then he took his life.

    According to Cogwyn, the previous lord passed away last year. Not true. It was two years before that. Everything was swept under the rug, then the rug was set on fire, its ashes thrown into a bin, and the bin buried underground. The Vassenets tried hard to delay announcing the death as long as they could so the heir could become older. Master Isidore told Finlay all about this. Such a gossip, that guy.

    Finlay never knew the name of the previous Vassenet lord or that of his daughter. Someone might¡¯ve told him before but he couldn¡¯t recall. Lots of things he couldn¡¯t remember about his past life.

    It made him apprehensive. What if there was an event he should change but he¡¯d recall it too late? What if some important memories completely escaped him? Or what if his recollections were faulty and he¡¯d make the situation worse?

    Too many what-ifs again. He¡¯d go mad if he didn¡¯t stop the spiral of worry.

    There was a movie Finlay watched one summer at his uncle¡¯s house that stuck with him. It was about a guy who could see snippets of the future. At first, the power turned out great. The guy won big in the stock market. He bought nice cars, mansions, anything he could dream of. But his fun was cut short by an accident his prescience didn¡¯t catch. From the moment he woke up on a hospital bed, he refused to move without a vision of the future telling him it¡¯d be fine. He wouldn¡¯t eat for fear he¡¯d choke. Wouldn¡¯t even go to the bathroom because he might slip. Went mad, basically.

    Teenage Finlay thought the movie was ridiculous. No way he¡¯d end up like that if he had future sight. Dumb that the main character just forgot how to live a normal life and became a captive of the future.

    Wasn¡¯t that what was happening to him now? The beginnings of it, at least. Although he couldn¡¯t see the future, he had lived it. The possibility of making the wrong move was very real in this timeline. Too bad he didn¡¯t have eidetic memory, but what could he do?

    Finlay slapped himself. Just continue forward.

    Cogwyn gave him a puzzled stare. ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡±

    ¡°No-nothing.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I think I got it¡ªthis place doesn¡¯t look like the usual market you¡¯d find in towns. Doesn¡¯t that make this a unique sight? There¡¯s also the beast auction. Most towns don¡¯t have one, especially for a place this far from the capital.¡±

    ¡°A lot lined up today.¡± Beor gestured at the cages containing creatures caught in the forests of Worwick.

    ¡°No terror bird or melloswine,¡± said Trance. ¡°Three bullzards. With ours, that makes four.¡±

    ¡°Ours is the biggest. The others can all go home to their mothers.¡± That was Cogwyn, of course.

    ¡°We¡¯ll command a good price on the terror bird and melloswine,¡± Beor said. ¡°The gods support our pockets.¡±

    A groggy jarlion snarled at them through enchanted bars. It shook its deep orange mane as it struggled to stand on all fours. Finlay used to wonder how jarlions could hunt in a mostly green forest when its color sorely stood out. Reaching four Links, he practiced transforming into simple beasts, including a maeroswine. It turned out that maeroswines, like the dogs of earth, couldn¡¯t see red. Red was darkish grey, orange was smudgy green, blue was still blue. The same was probably true with other animals the jarlions preyed on.

    A worker at the auction house rushed to the jarlion¡¯s cage. With a scoop tied to a long stick, he poured something into the cage¡¯s water trough. The jarlion sniffed the water, attracted by its scent, and drank it. The jarlion was back to sleep a few seconds later.

    I used to be this guy, Finlay thought with a smile. Actually, he¡¯d replace this very guy after escaping the church.

    ¡°There¡¯s your smile back,¡± Cogwyn said with a clap. ¡°Told you this is an interesting place.¡±

    ¡°It sure is.¡± Finlay didn¡¯t last long working at the auction house; he transferred to the town square construction site. But he learned plenty about the flora and fauna of Ilaya while he was here. Not a glamorous job whatsoever. Way more difficult compared to taking care of the chickens at his grandfather¡¯s farm. Just give the chickens shredded reject vegetables. Here, he was lucky if he was assigned to herbivores.

    A few cages from the jarlion was a granmarg, a four-armed beast that looked like a cross between a gorilla and a boulder. Judging by its craggy armor absent any greenery, it was a juvenile. Adults granmargs would sit still for weeks until moss grew on them.

    Finlay didn¡¯t know why they did that. For camouflage? Too cool themselves? He¡¯d experiment transforming into a granmarg someday to find out.

    ¡°Who¡¯s the idiot who brought this youngling granmarg?¡± Cogwyn scoffed. ¡°This big guy needs at least two years to fully develop his Soulheart. All those expenses are going to chip the bids.¡±

    ¡°If they released it, others would catch it,¡± Trance said. ¡°That¡¯s likely their line of thought.¡±

    Beor parked the wagon near the center of the market¡ªthe auction would be held at the amphitheater under the dome¡ªand began to unload the cages. With superstrength granted by his Aranbolg Soulheart, Beor lifted each of the caged beasts on his own. Trance made arrangements with the auction master to have their catch appraised.

    Cogwyn beckoned at Finlay. ¡°This¡¯ll take time. Let¡¯s address your nakedness so I can get my cloak back.¡±

    Finlay dove into the jumble of stalls wrapped in a cloak and emerged wearing a long-sleeved tunic over a thin shirt, loose pants tied around his waist and knees, and leather shoes with wooden soles. The World Tree seed was in his pocket. He didn¡¯t buy a pouch because he wouldn¡¯t need it.

    Having felt the soft fabric of Earth again just a few hours ago, Finlay realized how scratchy the normal clothes of Ilaya were. He just got used to them.

    ¡°I reckon these are very different from the clothes you usually wear,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°They¡¯re not enough to catch any lady¡¯s attention, but that¡¯s all my spare coin. We¡¯ve got tabs to pay off at the brewer for sleeping potions. We didn¡¯t need those when we just hunted for Soulhearts.¡±

    ¡°How can I repay you?¡± Finlay asked. ¡°Not now, of course.¡±

    ¡°Just think of this as your cut of the hunt. You did participate in it¡­ in a way.¡± Cogwyn leaned forward and whispered. ¡°I¡¯m also starting to buy Beor¡¯s luck nonsense¡­¡±

    ¡°Your cloak¡ª¡±

    Cogwyn made a face. ¡°Uh, it¡¯s yours. I¡¯m planning to buy a new one after we sell the beasts. Take this too, if you¡¯re not squeamish.¡± He handed Finlay a small circular flask, a third filled with bright red liquid.

 9. Testing Some Wares

    ¡°A health potion?¡± Finlay raised the bottle to the sun. Granules of brown impurities floated in the red liquid.

    ¡°If you¡¯re wondering where most of it went,¡± Cogwyn said, ¡°I poured it into the dying bullzard¡¯s mouth before Trance got around to healing it. He prioritized the terror bird Beor knocked out. The bottle¡¯s opening didn¡¯t touch any part of the bullzard, I swear my soul to the Pillars of Truth.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem with me. I¡¯m not squeamish.¡±

    ¡°You should also know that potion is bottom-of-the-shelf stuff¡ªI mean low quality and cheap. I got that from the top shelf of the store. It won¡¯t ruin your stomach, but it¡¯ll surely spoil fast after opening¡ªa couple of days and it¡¯ll be rancid. I should¡¯ve given it to you in the forest. Drink it if you¡¯re still feeling pain.¡±

    ¡°After getting robbed by bandits, it¡¯s nice to experience kindness.¡± Finlay thumped his chest with a fist. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Cogwyn looked away, scratching his head. ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t know about kindness. I¡¯m just treating others how I hope to be treated. Everything comes to a circle. It¡¯s one of the Rokhonite¡¯s Pillars of Congruence.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of Rokhonites¡ª¡± Finlay pointed behind Cogwyn ¡°¡ªwe passed a stall selling items slotted with Soulhearts. Rokhonites wield Adorned weapons, right? I apologize in advance if I say something offensive to your culture.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, we use them.¡± Cogwyn presented the hilt of the dagger by his hip. ¡°Just ask away any curiosities you have about Rokhonites. I¡¯m not going to be offended. The Pillar of Peace says, ¡®Let your heart not burn with anger from those who wish you no ill,¡¯ or that¡¯s the gist of it. Most of our Pillars are just common sense, so I don¡¯t need to memorize the exact words.¡±

    ¡°The auction hasn¡¯t started yet. Maybe you can teach me something about Adorned weapons? After surviving a robbing and a stomping, I think I should learn to protect myself.¡± Protect myself in the tournament, I added in my head.

    <hr>

    The Adorned weapons merchant beamed as Cogwyn approached, his curly mustache dancing above his wide smile. A Rokhonite, a sure buyer, he must¡¯ve thought. Flanking the merchant¡¯s right was a muscular Dagalan, a reptilian humanoid with a blue and white Soulheart. Expensive items for sale needed guarding, and Dagalans made a name for themselves as loyal bodyguards. Odd to see one in Worwick though. The Principality of Gilders didn¡¯t ban non-humans, but it was far deep into human-controlled lands that non-humans rarely traveled here or had any reason to do so.

    ¡°The Pillars that hold the world grant us a harmonious day, my favorite customer.¡± The merchant, speaking in Angloise with a local accent, used a formal Rokhonite greeting. He bowed as low as his expansive belly would allow.

    Cogwyn chuckled. ¡°This is the first time we¡¯re talking and I¡¯m already your favorite customer?¡±

    ¡°You most definitely are, fine Rokhonite sir. What can I, Baltazar, the most reliable merchant in all of Worwick, help you with?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m looking for a beginner¡¯s Adorned weapon for my friend here.¡± Cogwyn tilted his head at Finlay. ¡°He¡¯s interested in learning how to use one. He feels that a man should be ready to defend himself and his woman.¡±

    Finlay raised a brow. ¡°I never said¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s easier to train using an Adorned weapon,¡± Cogwyn pressed on in a loud voice, ¡°than to become a Warden and meld with a sternial. Maybe you have something affordable for us?¡±

    ¡°Those pesky and sacrilegious sternials. An affront to the world¡¯s natural order, as taught by the Enlightened Rokhon.¡± Baltazar ran his chubby hand over the daggers on the right side of the table and chose the plainest-looking one. He held the blade with his fat fingers ornamented with extravagant rings that Finlay half-suspected could no longer be removed. Presenting the handle to Cogwyn, the merchant said, ¡°I suggest a straight-edged dagger, dwarven-forged, simple and reliable¡ªthe best option for your beginner companion.¡±

    ¡°True. A dagger¡¯s elderbone veins are simple and the surface area is narrow. Easy to infuse with anima.¡± Cogwyn peered at the orange crystal flecked with black at the base of the blade. ¡°What¡¯s the Soulheart on this? Fire newt?¡±

    ¡°A very discerning eye you have. That¡¯s why you¡¯re my favorite customer. With your eloquent guidance, Rokhonite sir, your friend can easily control a fire newt Soulheart, given that it¡¯s a mere Tyro Grade. Heat the blade red, progress to coating it in flames. Simple and effective. Dwarven steel is also very resilient to heat. There¡¯s no worry of the blade warping or breaking.¡±

    ¡°This does look like a quality product.¡± Cogwyn swished the dagger about, performing the beginning moves of the Blossom Drake Style. He wore such an out-of-character serious expression that Finlay was certain he was trying to hold in laughter.

    ¡°I assure you that the dagger¡¯s Soulheart came from a reputable farm,¡± said Baltazar. ¡°Have you heard of the Kirayas of South Jugin? No? They go above and beyond with their products, believe me! The fire newt where that Soulheart came from? It was fattened for a month more than necessary, they guaranteed. But I¡¯m not adding any premium for that. We go with the regular price so you get more value for your coin.¡±

    ¡°How generous. Mind if I activate this?¡±

    ¡°Go ahead. It¡¯s the dagger¡¯s honor to be used by a reputable warrior.¡±

    Cogwyn held the dagger sideways. Bright lines branched from the dagger¡¯s hilt, like cracks spreading across a frozen lake but at a snail¡¯s pace¡ªthe snails of Earth; some Ilayan snails can chase down a human. The lines of anima avoided the Soulheart. Cogwyn was demonstrating the finesse of his anima control. The ends of the merchant¡¯s smile twitched higher.

    ¡°Are those slivers of elderbones?¡± Finlay asked, intent to show his interest in Adorned weapons.

    Cogwyn nodded. ¡°They allow me to infuse the Soulheart with my anima and spread its effect throughout the blade.¡±

    ¡°Is that the same elderbone used to make sternials?¡±

    ¡°Nope, sternials are different. They¡¯re cut from the vertebrae of a Firstborn. Since the spine is only a fraction of the entire skeleton, sternials are way more valuable. Ossuary Cities don¡¯t allow Firstborn spines to be used for anything other than sternials these days, isn¡¯t that right, Baltazar?¡±

    ¡°Right you are, sir,¡± said the merchant with another bow. ¡°None of my Adorned weapons have Firstborn vertebrae in them. I don¡¯t want to risk the ire of the Ossuary Cities.¡±

    Ossuary Cities¡­ Finlay would need to travel to one to meld with a sternial.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    They were cities nested inside the gigantic skeletons of Firstborns who had died thousands of years ago, at the close of the Age of Gods. These powerful cities dotted the continents of Ilaya and pledged no allegiance to any country, instead forming a powerful alliance amongst themselves. Many have tried to conquer an Ossuary City¡ªa Firstborn skeleton was several times the value of a booming Speckle mine¡ªbut others would rush to defend it. No ruler wanted an Ossuary City to fall to their rival, and their rival would think the same. This was the dangerous balancing act Ossuary Cities have played for centuries.

    The nearest Ossuary City was five days of travel on an avian-steed. Ten days round trip. Even if Finlay managed to steal a ride, ten days was too long. And he wouldn¡¯t get a sternial right away once he arrived there. There were tests and assessments, annoying administrative crap. It¡¯d take a huge chunk of his already limited time to prepare for the tournament.

    Becoming a Soulheart Warden was out of the question.

    Finlay thought of employing the martial art of the Core monks but doubted he¡¯d reach a passable level for the qualifiers. Adorned weapons were the answer. Not sure how an Adorned weapon wielder¡¯s strength would be gauged in comparison to a Warden, but they weren¡¯t barred from the tournament. The problem was earning money to buy Adorned weapons.

    ¡°Just back up if it gets too hot,¡± Cogwyn said. The fire newt Soulheart glowed. The air around the blade shimmered.

    ¡°The steel isn¡¯t changing color yet,¡± Finlay said, playing the part of a curious layman. ¡°But I can already feel the heat.¡±

    ¡°Undeniable proof that it¡¯s dwarven-steel, sir,¡± Baltazar said to Cogwyn. Not once did the merchant glance Finlay¡¯s way. The cheap clothes probably acted as camouflage. The merchant only cared about his potential customer. ¡°I may not be a Rokhonite, like your esteemed self, but I do abide by the Pillars of Truth. Somewhat. As much as I can, given my trade. Of course, this isn¡¯t high-quality dwarven-steel. You can tell by its weight¡ªit should be lighter. But authentic, just the same. And inexpensive.¡±

    Finlay hadn¡¯t trained to see anima yet, but he knew when Cogwyn poured more into the blade because sparks danced inside the Soulheart. The blade also began to glow from the heat. Finlay had to retreat a step or risk singed eyebrows.

    Cogwyn raised the dagger like a torch. ¡°Can I light it?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Baltazar. ¡°Prove for yourself it¡¯s a fire newt Soulheart.¡±

    ¡°I believe it¡¯s what you say it is,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°There¡¯s no fire Soulheart cheaper than a fire newt¡¯s that looks remotely close to it. Why would anyone even try to fake this? I just want to show my friend here an activated Adorned weapon.¡± As he finished the sentence, the blade burst into flames.

    ¡°Amazing¡­¡± Finlay said with fake awe. Clapping would probably be too much. Not that Cogwyn¡¯s skill wasn¡¯t worth praising. Cogwyn controlled the blaze to be a neat teardrop shape and coaxed the flame into a blistering blue.

    Cogwyn flicked his wrist and extinguished the flames. ¡°What¡¯s the price of this?¡±

    ¡°Six Russets and two Gli,¡± the merchant answered, quoting the coinage of the Solvi Empire, the biggest buyer of Gilder¡¯s Speckle. Since their economies were deeply entwined, the Sol Emperor granted the Princeps authority to mint its coins. ¡°I¡¯ll round it off to six copper ones since it¡¯s the first item you¡¯ll buy from me. First of many, I hope.¡±

    ¡°Six Russets? Half a Slate for the dagger?¡± Cogwyn stroked his chin, pretending to consider the price. Of course, he wasn¡¯t buying anything; he had told Finlay he didn¡¯t have money after buying the clothes. ¡°A fire newt is too basic. I trust my friend is a fast learner. What other choices do you have?¡±

    Baltazar showed them a dagger boasting a wavy blade design that maximized the wound¡¯s width when stabbing. The merchant explained that its Pahgi Soulheart gave it poisonous properties. Cogwyn then told Finlay that the Soulheart could also produce simple antidotes for the user. How nostalgic. Cogwyn of the original timeline also taught Finlay about Adorned weapons. But Finlay was already a Warden by then and had no intention of using them. Much more efficient to activate a Soulheart in a sternial than on an Adorned weapon, and the magical effects produced were stronger.

    Should I share my secret with Cogwyn? At some point, Finlay would have to gather allies and reveal what was to come.

    How to prove he was truthful? He could tell Cogwyn information he¡¯d know only if he truly became Cogwyn¡¯s trusted friend in the future. It¡¯d prove Finlay¡¯s claim of time travel¡­ or make him out to be a powerful mind scryer with possibly nefarious intent. The second explanation would be likelier in Cogwyn¡¯s mind.

    Another option was predicting future events.

    What event though? Finlay didn¡¯t know much of Cogwyn¡¯s life in Worwick. Predicting the winners of certain tournament matches wasn¡¯t reliable because Finlay forgot minor events so long ago. Once he joined the tournament, he¡¯d change how the fights would play out.

    Can I just let the explosion at the end of the tournament happen? Okay, that¡¯d be dumb. He should stop it no matter what.

    There was a concern needling Finlay¡ªpeople could change a lot over the years, with himself as proof. The Rokhonites had been wiped out by the Sporeal Tide when Cogwyn and Finlay became close friends. That Cogwyn was very different from the Cogwyn beside him. Perhaps Finlay should keep the World Tree and his time travel to himself for now.

    ¡°Here, fine Rokhonite sir.¡± Baltazar pulled out a rolled yellowing parchment tied with a red ribbon. ¡°A Core monk Form scroll. I¡¯ll toss this in for free if you purchase any three daggers from this row.¡±

    Finlay leaned forward to take a closer look at the seal securing the ribbon. It had the symbol of a Core temple, but he wasn¡¯t sure which one. Was this faked?

    ¡°It¡¯s not free if I have to buy three daggers,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°Where did you get that?¡±

    ¡°From someone who left the Core temple after years of monkhood,¡± Baltazar replied, bowing.

    ¡°So, it¡¯s a stolen scroll,¡± Cogwyn said. ¡°I don¡¯t want that on me when a Core monk comes around.¡±

    Baltazar¡¯s smile stiffened. ¡°That¡¯s the reason I¡¯m throwing this in with your purchase,¡± he said, indirectly admitting the scroll really was stolen. ¡°I have a few more¡ª"

    The powerful echoing notes of the auction house gong rolled over the entire marketplace. Cogwyn quickly told the merchant they¡¯d have to leave and dragged Finlay away, murmuring about cons. Finlay took one last look at the scroll before the stream of people headed to the center of the building blocked his view.

    <hr>

    ¡°Two big ten Russets for the terror bird!¡±

    A loud bang of the heavy gavel on a wooden block preceded the clapping. Workers wheeled the caged terror off the stage. From the highest seating tier, Finlay spied Beor pull Cogwyn to the front of the stage and dance in celebration. Trance was harder to find in the crowd below because he hid behind his hands in embarrassment.

    Two hundred Russets was less than Finlay¡¯s guess of the winning bid. He should¡¯ve thought of transportation costs; Worwick was far from the Soulheart farms of the Baccarat lands. There were no major wars going on near Gilders, hence, less demand for combat Soulhearts. It was a good price. Several month''s salary of an average laborer.

    Next on stage was the melloswine. A tide of gasps swept the tiers after the drapes over the cage were removed. The melloswine wriggled its nose at the audience.

    Then it puffed out its pink smoke.

    A hand shot up and a bid was called. The next doubled it. More hands and more shouting. The price of the melloswine barreled past two hundred Russets. Five hundred. A thousand. The auctioneer switched to prices in Slates, and it was possible it might reach an Argent. He heard there was no other melloswine for sale for the past two months and the maeroswine mating season was about to end. Many needed this melloswine.

    The bidding ended at two Argents, way past Finlay¡¯s prediction.

    Finlay stood up and tried to catch Cogwyn¡¯s eye to say goodbye. Beor, aggressively dancing, covered Cogwyn. Finlay had forgotten that Beor could get rowdy if hit with the high of winning big.

    Oh, well. They wouldn¡¯t miss him if he slipped out.

    He had told Cogwyn he¡¯d go to the constable after watching some of the beasts for sale. It was Trance who noticed Finlay descending the tiers. Finlay placed a turned fist on his chest and bowed. Trance returned the gesture. Turning around, Finlay followed the rickety stairs to the back of the stands and left the building.

 10. The World Pimple

    Retracing the wagon''s path to the marketplace, Finlay looked for the main street to get his bearings. It would¡¯ve been easier if he had alighted there, but this detour wasn¡¯t only for nostalgia purposes.

    Finlay attended the auction to scout people who could help him¡­ or become a hindrance. He recognized many, though only vaguely. None there would put their lives on the line to keep the peace of Worwick, and that included the marketplace administrator, who was a proud Gilderian, a respected man in town, and an all-around nice guy. Nice in terms of medieval standards, not modern ones. He gave Finlay stale bread one time when he found him eating some of the feed meant for the beasts. It was Finlay¡¯s first day at the job, and he was yet to get paid.

    Fun times, Finlay sarcastically thought.

    He also eavesdropped for helpful rumors.

    Merchants sitting on the row below Finlay mentioned that a wind sect elder was in town for some secret business. This was why the Vassenets were here even though they weren¡¯t supposed to be¡ªthey aimed to recruit one of the elder¡¯s acolytes to be their champion. They wouldn¡¯t be successful, Finlay was sure, because their contestant for the tournament wasn¡¯t a wind specialist.

    What if Finlay himself volunteered to fight for the Vassenets? He had intended to beat all the lords so there¡¯d be no accusations of bias. However, the child Vassenet lord did have the right to Worwick.

    I¡¯m not doing this to be close to that woman, am I?

    An extremely chatty Soulheart dealer from Lagranha, desperate for someone to talk to, told Finlay that he heard the Princeps of Gilders would supposedly come for the tournament finals. This was false. Finlay couldn¡¯t recall those in attendance but the princeps wasn¡¯t there. Must¡¯ve sent a representative noble. This was the person Finlay should impress by exposing the explosion plot. An easy way to connect to the princeps.

    After that? Finlay didn¡¯t know.

    His to-do list was getting longer. His time limit remained the same.

    Don¡¯t get overwhelmed. Break down the monumental goal of saving Ilaya into smaller chunks. Pound those into tiny pieces. Grind those tiny pieces into fine powder, and tackle them one by one. Finlay had just reached the main road¡ªone grain of his monumental goal done.

    He then turned left, opposite the way to the town square. He used his size to jostle through the thick mudflow of people, keeping a tight grip on the World Tree seed inside his pocket. When he reached the northwestern gate of the inner town, he was drenched in sweat with dust clinging to his sticky face. The guards talking amongst themselves didn¡¯t so much as look at him exiting the gates.

    Traversing the northern outer town was the next grain to complete.

    Finlay donned Cogwyn¡¯s cloak and pulled its hood low. It was a very tight fit. His height and confidence in his steps were his only assets to ward off muggers. He was robbed in this area before, which became part of his motivation to become a Warden.

    Only now did he remember those lowlifes. They probably died during the Gilders¡¯ civil war.

    Unlike the side of Worwick where Finlay entered with Beor¡¯s party, this area only had mostly disorganized dirt roads. A narrow gap between houses was the way to reach the alley behind them. Good luck finding the next opening. It was too long ago to remember the twists and turns, so Finlay employed the timeless strategy of brute force. Some unsavory-looking people observed him trying to find his way but didn¡¯t approach him. Keeping a specific mountain peak in sight, Finlay dove into the maze of the outer town, and, after a lot of backtracking and dead ends, eventually found the way out to the mountains.

    Next grain.

    <hr>

    Tightly grabbing onto shrubs up the steep slope, Finlay turned around and beheld a view he had seen many times in the past. Or future?

    Finlay was on one of the mountains comprising the half-crescent range to the north of Worwick. The mountains were the edge of the Principality of Gilders. Far past them stretched the snowscape of the Frost Troll tribes where the Sporeal Tide armies that attacked Gilders came from.

    ¡°It¡¯s no coincidence I got transported here,¡± Finlay muttered to himself.

    Worwick far below looked like pieces from two different jigsaw puzzles forced to fit together. Turning westward of the town, past the rolling hills, Finlay tried to find the old guard towers that should be around Little Bowl, the drained lake once the center of the Speckle mines network. He was too far away to see anything. If he could morph a spectral roc¡¯s eyes, he¡¯d find the towers quickly.

    From stories, Finlay learned plenty about the abandoned mines but never risked visiting because of the bandits. The bandits, buzzed the gossip, sought Speckle deposits the original tunnels hadn¡¯t reached.

    Bandits¡­ Defeating them was also another way to make a name for himself.

    But Finlay needed to become strong first. In his current state, he was too weak to take down even a bandit¡¯s grandmother. Not that he would actually test that.

    The sun sailing lower in the sky told Finlay he¡¯d been trekking for a good three hours. It took him a moment to remember what should be the sun¡¯s path this region of the north. He resumed his ascent and entered a wooded area. Good thing the slope angled gentler; he was almost out of breath. His newly bought clothes were caked in dirt after he tumbled down moss-covered rocks a couple of times. Crumpled melfroth leaves tied with reeds around his arms and legs provided a minty respite for his aching muscles. Taking advantage of the Lumin Wisp¡¯s residual healing, he pushed himself hard.

    Finlay had a good enough reason to disobey the Healer¡¯s orders. Two, actually.

    Every moment he hadn¡¯t built his mind shrine and crucible for anima refining was less preparation for the tournament. And every day the World Tree seed hadn¡¯t sprouted was wasted time. These two factors were connected. Finlay would need strength beyond a normal man to reach Big Bowl, the next mountain over, where he¡¯d plant the World Tree seed.

    According to ancient Kymorathi tales, Big Bowl was once a mighty mountain taller than its other mountain siblings. It was ringed by a lifestream that made it look like it was ablaze. A powerful eruption thousands of years ago, perhaps from Kymorathi blood magic tinkering with the lifestream, caused its collapse, leaving behind a cauldron-like depression so wide you could lose several Worwicks inside.

    Somewhere in the vast crater, a thin vein of a lifestream breached the soil again¡ªthe perfect place to plant a World Tree. Beor¡¯s party would discover this lifestream several months after the Second Great Speckle Rush had begun. An impressive find that wasn¡¯t celebrated because people were too busy killing each other by then.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Finlay learned about this from Cogwyn when they met again, including the lifestream¡¯s location. Cogwyn suspected the earthquake that revealed the Speckle vein must¡¯ve exposed the lifestream too. It wasn¡¯t there before else other people would¡¯ve found it long ago.

    Though getting inside the crater that was Big Bowl¡¯s namesake was no easy task. Sheer cliffs that were the lip of the caldera stretched almost vertically up to the sky. Impossible for Finlay to climb them unless he had a way of strengthening himself.

    Which he did¡­ if he hadn¡¯t gotten lost.

    It had been twelve years since Finlay had last stepped foot on this mountain. Making his mission more difficult, the place he was searching for was only around the area of the marketplace. Might as well be a pin if the mountain was a haystack. He was wondering if he should¡¯ve asked Beor for good luck tips when he stumbled into a distinct rock formation that he recognized.

    The head of this dog-shaped boulder pointed the way.

    He followed breadcrumbs of memories. That weird tree with ribbony branches. The patch of brown among the green, the earth exposed by a recent landslide. The shallow cave lined with fluorescent pink mushrooms. He even recalled the bones of a large creature that had been overtaken by vines. Curious why scavenger beasts hadn¡¯t dismantled it.

    Finlay slowed his pace upon reaching a patch of the forest same as any other. Unless one knew what a forest should look like. And shouldn¡¯t.

    Ancient trees grew so close to each other that Finlay had to squeeze himself through the gaps in places. Other areas were completely blocked off by thick lower branches that had braided themselves into walls. Tangled roots running aboveground threatened to trip him and clashing canopies made the mid-afternoon turn to dusk.

    Finlay could hear Grandpa Swaney lecturing him about how a forest grows.

    Overcrowding like this should be impossible because of competition for nutrients in the soil and sunlight. Stronger trees would win. Weaker trees would die. Each surviving tree would have its own area it dominated. As the winner trees grew, their lower leaves wouldn¡¯t get sunlight and would fall off, like some sort of self-pruning. Lush weeds taller than Finlay shouldn¡¯t sprout next to trees for the same reason. Yet, the undergrowth was wild and untamed, home to assorted insects more than happy to bite him.

    ¡°This is it.¡± Finlay touched a tree his previous self scratched with a knife to use as a marker when he first explored this area.

    A starving jarlion led him here before. Or rather, the jarlion was chasing him, and he successfully trapped the large maned cat in this maze of tree trunks.

    Finlay didn¡¯t know back then that a trickle from primeval natura veins deep in the crust had seeped up the mountain like a rising bubble and pooled inside it, giving off residues of energies above. It was sort of like a¡­ world pimple. Primeval natura was concentrated life, as opposed to the regular sort of natura that has already been filtered through the layers of the world and becomes more absorbable for plants and animals. A world pimple didn¡¯t have the full effects of a lifestream, but it still sent life into overdrive.

    A natura oasis, the elves called it. Much better name than world pimple. Elven Witchblade covens built their crone shrines over places like this since lifestreams were tremendously rare.

    But because the primeval natura was stagnant, contained inside a pocket in the mountain unlike the free-flowing lifestream, it produced stale emanations that disturbed the order of how everything was supposed to be. The ecosystem wasn¡¯t interacting properly. Plants didn¡¯t follow the growth succession of forests.

    Add a permeating sense of wrongness. A thick atmosphere. Pressure.

    If not for this disturbing feeling, herbivores would¡¯ve feasted on this unlimited buffet. Instead, both prey and predator avoided this area. Only the insects and other creepy crawlies, with minds and bodies too simple to be affected, enjoyed it here.

    Finlay wasn¡¯t the exception to the negative impact of stale natura. He swung between light-headedness and sharp concentration. There was also a persistent feeling of heaviness squeezing him as if he were wading through water. Fortunately, his muscles felt relief as fatigue from the hike slowly left him, a benefit of the concentrated natura. Would¡¯ve been much better to begin his training at a lifestream but he needed to be strong to reach the lifestream.

    Here he was with no choice.

    He found a tree wider than its neighbors, a sign of intense life residues. Its thick gnarled roots exposed above ground had formed a nice nook by its trunk.

    A small meal for energy before starting. Finlay unslung Cogwyn¡¯s cloak that he had tied into a bag. Inside were fruits, more medicinal herbs, and edible mushrooms he foraged along the way. When the Sporeal Tide invasion spread, Finlay swore off from eating any mushroom. But that was some years away, and he needed food now. As for water, numerous springs dotted the mountain. He passed one several minutes ago. Took a quick drink and left because water attracted animals.

    Living off the land again. Finlay couldn¡¯t say he missed this.

    What he missed was corporate cafeteria food. He took it for granted when he was still on Earth even if it could match for a king¡¯s feast in this world.

    For now, he had to be contented with a greenish plemy fruit. All the red ones were pecked open by birds; worms claimed the half-eaten remains still hanging on the branches. Unripe plemys had hard-to-peel-off skin and their flesh was tart and sour. Finlay had eaten worse. The yellowing starkissed fruit tasted better; he only had to contend with its many pointy seeds. He also chewed the stringy mushrooms and sucked the healing sap off the saegenta leaves.

    After finishing, Finlay rubbed the fruit peelings over his skin to keep off insects and confuse predators. It was prudent not to rely solely on the disconcerting aura around to keep hungry jarlions away, not knowing how long he¡¯d be meditating here. He had found some jarlion tracks down the mountain though none nearby.

    He climbed into the gap in the roots and found a snug fit. Danger could come from only one direction now¡ªin front of him. Predators rarely went for their prey head-on, preferring to ambush or chase them.

    Sitting cross-legged with his back straightened as much as possible in the confined space, Finlay closed his eyes and formed a triangle pointing down with his fingers in front of his chest. This was the basic meditative pose of the Core monks.

    The descent into the isolation of his mind began.

    Finlay breathed rapidly in small bursts, inhaling through his nose and exhaling out his mouth. Reaching a hundred cycles, he slowed down. He inhaled deeply, drawing it for several seconds, feeling the air down his throat. He held his breath for the same amount of time before gradually releasing it for twice the count. Each cycle, he added one more second. He made sure to breathe with his belly and not expand his chest.

    Humans normally breathe around twelve to twenty times a minute. Finlay¡¯s goal was to reduce it to three. Maybe four, for now. Deliberately slowing down breathing required too much concentration for his untrained body, hindering his meditation. There was also the strain on his fairly unhealthy lungs.

    Push through. This was merely one obstacle out of many.

    He¡¯d overcome them all.

    From eating rotting vegetables and cleaning animal manure to fighting at the siege of Aegis Forest, the last battle on Ilaya. Finlay endured. He was just a random guy plucked from Earth. This second time, he was no longer a random guy.

    He¡¯d be the Caretaker of the new World Tree¡­ which he needed to plant first.

    Acceleration and amplification. These two anima-manipulation techniques would be Finlay¡¯s climbing gear to scale the Big Bowl and reach the lifestream.

    Finlay could hear the lecture of Master Isidore again. Anima could be thought of as the life force. Certain religions considered it the soul. Each sentient being, including some plants, could produce their own anima. The rest was converted from natura, borrowing life from the world.

    Accelerating the flow of anima through the conduits of one¡¯s system breathed more life into the body, allowing extraordinary feats of strength and agility. Amplifying the anima, sort of like fanning flames, caused its residues to permeate through the life conduits, reinforcing bones and muscles to absorb the body¡¯s stress pushing past its limits. This was his first lesson as Master Isidore¡¯s student.

    Before Finlay could do either, he needed to awaken his anima-sense. He couldn¡¯t control what he couldn¡¯t feel.

    The moment Finlay could sense his own anima, his mind shrine would be constructed. The first intentional cycle of anima throughout his body would determine the initial size of the psychic crucible wherein natura would be absorbed and refined into anima.

 11. The Mind Void

    The ¡®modern¡¯ method of awakening anima-sense was with the aid of someone who could materialize and project anima outward. For Finlay, that was Cassini, a student of his then would-be master, Isidore. Cassini Valyntyr of Oxbund firmly believed that hard work could overcome any challenge. Finlay¡¯s dedication to becoming a Warden impressed him so much that he agreed to help him. Some pleading and pestering were involved, but Finlay would like to think his indomitable spirit did the convincing part. Half an hour a day, Cassini projected his anima onto Finlay¡¯s back. Within five days, Finlay awoke to his own anima.

    Isidore and Cassini weren¡¯t in Worwick yet. It¡¯d take more than a week for them to arrive. Making friends with Cassini again would take even more time which Finlay couldn¡¯t spare. Beor¡¯s party might be willing to help, but Finlay didn¡¯t bother asking because he intended to anima-sense the old-fashioned way.

    Old-fashioned as in how the Core monks and the Witchblade dancers did it¡ªimmersing the self in a natura-rich environment while meditating until mental tranquility was achieved.

    In the void of the mind, with the calmness of inner peace, all that remained would be a person¡¯s latent anima. Strong fluctuations of the surrounding natura would sway the stilled anima, like winds disturbing calm waters and creating ripples. It would lead to an epiphany of one¡¯s place in the world, a deeper understanding and connection to the universal force, thus, sensing anima.

    At least, that was what Archon Khaero taught Finlay when they became allies. But Finlay had already been a Soulheart Warden for years by then. He didn¡¯t know how it¡¯d work in practice from an absolute beginner¡¯s perspective¡­ which he currently was.

    What Finlay did know was that the old-fashioned way led to much greater heights in anima manipulation than that practiced by most humans. There were historical records about Soulheart Wardens of centuries past reaching eight or even nine Links, wielding all Paragon Grade Soulhearts. The deliberate construction of the mind shrine would make for harmonious Linking. It¡¯d also well up the first cycle of anima and expand the crucible naturally. If successful, Finlay would start at a higher level than he originally did.

    It was like doing good-form push-ups compared to cheating half-reps just to pass PE class. Finlay regretted not getting into sports and working out. Would¡¯ve made all this hiking a lot easier if he was fit.

    Opposite the old-fashioned way, the modern method would result in a hastily constructed mind shrine, rickety and with no structure. The first intentional anima the beginner¡¯s body would experience would be from the outside, projected by the assisting Warden, creating a feeble and small crucible forming at the moment of impact. A sternial would be the cornerstone to stabilize the mind shrine and artificially force the crucible to grow.

    Khaero perfectly encapsulated why humans hardly attempted self anima-sensing despite all its benefits¡ªit was the elusive nature of inner peace in humans and the time required to attain it.

    If it were even possible.

    Many people could never gain inner peace even if given a century or two to try. Finlay could name more than thirty people like that in the office he used to work at.

    Core monks could take several years to reach anima-sensing, and that required seclusion training for months on end. From the point of view of the inherently stoic and long-lived elven race, humans should stick with their inelegant ways. They respected the dedication of the Core monks and felt some level of friendship for humans being on with nature, but still thought it was a waste of their short lifespans.

    Khaero took a lot of convincing to teach Finlay the meditative state of the crone shrines. Those techniques helped Finlay gain his sixth Link fast, and it was going to help him now, combined with his learnings from a year spent at the Core monk temples.

    Finlay had another massive advantage no one, whether human or elf or any other race on Ilaya, ever had¡ªhe was already mentally very familiar with anima because of his past life. It was like not forgetting how to ride a bike or swim no matter how long. He was confident he¡¯d awaken anima-sensing before the day ended.

    A minute or maybe an hour or even two later, Finlay didn¡¯t know how long, his breathing settled into a relaxed rhythm.

    He couldn¡¯t feel his lungs expand as he inhaled, nor the air going in his nose and out his mouth. He shut off other sensations¡ªthe smell of the fruits he had eaten, their sticky pulp drying on his skin, cold wind rustling blades of grass, loud insects getting busy, the pebble under his butt¡­ All that became distant as if he were an outsider observing a different body experiencing them.

    Then he turned around and left that body behind. He completely withdrew into himself. Everything external was gone.

    It was complete darkness. No light of inner peace.

    Finlay strode forth. This was the first time he visited the void of his mind in this body, but he had done it many times in the past. There was no fear in his heart, no hesitation.

    The further he walked into nothingness, the more his psychic body became heavier and heavier. The movements of his limbs slowed as if he were stuck in syrup.

    How many steps had he taken? Ten? A hundred? Thousands?

    Finlay repeated the litanies of the Core monks to retain sanity in seclusion training. Khaero¡¯s guidance on how to combat losing the sense of time in this surreal world also came in handy. Finlay forced his will to stay whole, and he willed himself to move onward.

    No stopping. No turning back.

    Something coiled around his ankle and pulled him. He staggered but continued to swing his leg forward, one foot in front of the other. More things wrapped around his limbs. Then it grabbed his torso and tried to keep him in place.

    These were the chains the Core monks and Khaero spoke of. Finlay hadn¡¯t experienced this in the past because he had already built his mind shrine when he first descended into his mind void. The current him was different. He had to push through heavier psychological barriers.

    Finlay could see something in the distance. The trials were starting. He went through three while expanding his mind shrine using the crone methods of the elves. What would these trials be?

    Faces of warriors who fell by Finlay¡¯s side in battle rose from the abyss. Friends, allies, their anguished faces decaying fast into skeletons.

    This proved that he retained parts of his mind from his prior life. Why else would his first trial be the same as previous? It was based on events that hadn¡¯t happened in this timeline.

    The dead blamed him for living while they died. Their miasma of grudges coiled around him like tentacles. Bony hands grabbed him and made him relive their last moments. He paid them no heed. They frequented his nightmares for years, and he had laid them to rest in his mind. Each warrior¡ªas well as Finlay¡ªknew death could claim them on the battlefield. They fought with their all. Finlay was one of the lucky ones who survived until the end, and even he met his end at the end.

    The warriors were fleeting, for they no longer had any hold over Finlay.

    As they faded away, corpses and shredded body parts emerged, covering the dark ground¡ªthe second trial. Everywhere Finlay stepped were bodies painted with gore. His feet sunk into the mass, the pile reaching past his knees.  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Against the Sporeal Tide, there was no real victory. A battle may be won here and there, but the spore-infested would return in greater numbers. Any fortification would eventually collapse. Everyone behind was forfeited. The uncountable bodies stretching to the horizon of darkness were ordinary citizens that Finlay had left behind after every defeat.

    Finlay¡¯s first foray into battle as a Warden flashed in fast forward before his eyes, slowing down as it reached the disastrous end. He and the few survivors of a decimated army looked on from a hill as the Sporeal Tide consumed the city they were supposed to defend.

    That wasn¡¯t the last of it.

    Many more times Finlay failed.

    The burning camps around the World Tree¡­ even on his final moment, he was too weak to protect others.

    Khaero would lecture Finlay to accept what had happened, the same as he did in the prior trial. Most things in life he couldn¡¯t control. Finlay didn¡¯t need to be told that. But this was very different compared to the situation with his fallen comrades-in-arms. It was harder to overcome the guilt of letting down the helpless, those who couldn¡¯t fight, those relying on him.

    The Witchblade Archon would say, ¡°Don¡¯t listen to the past,¡± whenever Finlay broke out of the trance. At least a dozen times Finlay couldn¡¯t push through with this trial.

    Don¡¯t listen? The dead weren¡¯t saying anything to him. Better if they did.

    They only looked at him as he swam through their bodies.

    Finlay willed himself to meet their gazes, something he hadn¡¯t done before. Acceptance and moving onward was the teaching of the elves. Ignore things out of their hands. However, Finlay faced these ghosts. That was all they were now, ghosts of a future he wouldn¡¯t allow.

    That was his promise to them.

    And they crumbled into dust, swept away by nonexistent wind.

    Finlay stood taller as the chains binding him loosened. His heart beat freer and he felt lighter. The future was within his power to change. This bolstered his resolution to face the last trial.

    He didn¡¯t know how much time passed, but when he opened his eyes again, someone stood in front of him.

    Jade¡­

    She appeared the same as the day they met in Eloyce Forest. Skin and bones, frail yet holding on, rebelliously standing at the edge of her life. Her eyes burned with green flames through the copper hair strands across her face. Finlay used to turn away whenever he met her in his mind void.

    No longer. He looked her straight.

    From behind Jade came a great march of people. They trudged towards Finlay with feeble forms ravaged by famine and diseases, their skin covered in boils and all sorts of afflictions. Sunken eyes stared off into the nothingness as they marched to the left and right of Jade. Soon, they passed Finlay too. They were proof of the cruelty of war and Finlay¡¯s helplessness.

    More people die from hunger and sickness than get killed by enemies in war. Cities encircled by the Sporeal Tide were the most nightmarish places Finlay had been to. People lay on the streets, waiting for their time to expire, too weak to cry out. And that¡¯d be the tamest of conditions.

    The rare instances the siege was broken wasn¡¯t the end of the nightmare. The march of the uncountable around Finlay was like the lines of half-dead people fleeing a city before the next wave of the Sporeal Tide came. Finlay was usually at the head of this line; he didn¡¯t see but knew their numbers diminished every step of the way. People dropped like broken poles as they fled, never to rise again and never to be buried.

    In his mind void, the march wasn¡¯t following behind Finlay. It passed by him so he could see people as life left them. Some of them slumped over him, others splayed by his feet.

    Instead of pushing through, ignoring the dying he could no longer help, imbibing the mindset of the elves as he did in meditations during his past life, Finlay stayed in front of Jade.

    The world was cruel. When the Sporeal Tide came, it became even more cruel.

    ¡°Through it all, accept and endure,¡± Khaero would repeatedly tell Finlay. That was the elven way. They experienced many things in their long lives. Accepting it, accepting the world was their answer.

    Finlay did accept. He endured. But he also had a new answer to the ghosts of his failed future¡ªI will change it.

    Jade nodded and joined the flow of people passing him. In this timeless space, the countless plodded on and on until Finlay was alone again in the darkness.

    It wasn¡¯t so dark anymore.

    Light far ahead beckoned him. Warm. Inner peace was near.

    He approached the light.

    Something¡¯s wrong.

    His body suddenly became heavy, his arms and legs dragging him down as if encased in rocks. The chains remained coiled around him. Tighter. More chains sprung out of the darkness to bind him.

    They dragged him back. He couldn¡¯t fight!

    Finlay stretched his hand to reach for the light. But it was getting farther and farther away.

    To his left, his mother materialized, shadows pulling away like a curtain. Her mouth moved though no words came out. Even then, Finlay knew what she was saying¡ªshe pleaded with him to stay on Earth. This was an illusion of his mind. But he knew his real mother would¡¯ve told him the same during their last meeting if she had known what he planned to do.

    Finlay¡¯s father also appeared, repeating his last words to Finlay to take care of his mother. They didn¡¯t have a good relationship, but Finlay promised to do as he asked. Grandpa Swaney was there too, sad and lonely because Finlay abandoned his farm. They were having a great time bonding. Finlay¡¯s friends showed up. Sarah, Earl, and Derrick invited him to hang out with them instead of torture himself with the burden of saving a world that wasn¡¯t his. More people joined, those he barely knew, even the cab driver who drove him to the bus station.

    Earth formed around Finlay, his apartment, his mother¡¯s house, the building he worked at, Grandpa Swaney¡¯s farm, they all jumbled together into an incoherent mess that made Finlay¡¯s head hurt trying to make sense of them. He was surrounded by hundreds of people he had met, all wordlessly talking to him and yet deafening.

    Everyone and everything he left behind on Earth questioned why he did so.

    Finlay couldn¡¯t answer. He knew the answer¡ªhe had to save Ilaya¡ªbut no one would understand that. Even to him, it was illogical. His family would be devastated that he disappeared. If he died on Ilaya, he¡¯d never return to Earth.

    He could¡¯ve stayed. He should¡¯ve stayed.

    Why was he here?

    This wasn¡¯t his fight.

    A trickle of sweat ran down Finlay¡¯s face. He felt it. A sensation from the real world. The trance was breaking. Finlay couldn¡¯t achieve inner peace; the chains held strong. The light was becoming smaller, dimmer.

    This was a new trial, birthed by his choice to return to Ilaya. Finlay hurriedly ran the chants of the Core monk to regain his center. He followed it up with crone mental stances to anchor himself in the void.

    Then everything disappeared.

    Did I succeed?

    No.

    Complete darkness. The light was gone.

    Finlay felt something on his shoulder. A hand. For the first time since descending into his mind void, Finlay turned around. He was face to face with himself. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, understanding what the trial was.

    It¡¯s all on your shoulders, his other self said. It ¡®spoke¡¯ because it was Finlay himself thinking it.

    And then, Finlay could feel the air on his face.

    He opened his eyes to a much darker forest. Nighttime. Hints of moonlight poked through tiny gaps in the dense roof of leaves the trees held up, allowing Finlay to see around and know for sure he was kicked out of his mind void.

    His vision swam as he fought to keep himself from fainting. His breathing was ragged. The wind cooling his sweat-soaked clothes invited nausea. A bitter taste climbed the back of his throat. He hurriedly scrambled out of his hole and vomited on the grass.

    Finlay fumbled to open the health potion and carefully drank it as his hands trembled. The warm liquid soothed his chest and spread coolness throughout his body. He let go of the bottle and stared at his hand.

    ¡°I failed¡­¡±

 12. Chosen Path

    Finlay rolled away from the puke-stained grass. It was hard to move because his legs fell asleep; only now did the tingling static shot up his lower body. He sat up and massaged his legs while staring at the roof of leaves above, trying to glimpse the stars. How na?ve to think it was going to be easy.

    Shouldn¡¯t be a surprise. This wall was right before him from the moment the World Tree sent him back.

    He was a nobody on his first trip to Ilaya.

    Well, he was technically a somebody. He was the somebody with the World Tree seed that could¡¯ve changed the course of the war. If Gramps¡¯ story was true, it was due to a bizarre series of events that started with a horny ancestor marrying a random woman in the forest. Finlay got the seed just the same.

    He knew none of it back then.

    He had toyed with the idea of being a chosen one. Days went by with no special blessing from the gods, no secret quest revealing itself, and he slowly let go of that fantasy. Survival was the priority. Tough to picture himself as important while forcing down vegetables not fit to be sold to people to satiate his hunger.

    A nobody. He was responsible only for himself.

    Not too much pressure.

    As Finlay trained to be a Soulheart Warden, he became a somebody. The more strength he gained, the more responsibilities he gathered. People¡¯s lives eventually rested on his shoulders.

    There was a quote¡­ ¡°With great power comes great responsibility.¡± It had been ages since Finlay last watched that movie. He couldn¡¯t recall the faces of any of the actors so he imagined Grandpa Swaney telling him that.

    Despite having lots of responsibilities, Finlay didn¡¯t stand at the top of the ladder. He wasn¡¯t a leader. His failures weren¡¯t as¡­ weighty.

    He wasn¡¯t the general who got his army surrounded by the Sporeal Tide. He wasn¡¯t the Princeps of Gilders who fled the capital and abandoned his people amid the civil war. He wasn¡¯t the Heptalinker Warden who led a massive expedition force into a Fairy Ring never to return. He wasn¡¯t the Empress of Solvi who burned half her empire to deny the Sporeal Tide hosts to enslave, only for the other half to still fall.

    And it was Hilda the Bulwark who led the human refugees in the last days of Ilaya, being a royal of the Meghindr Kingdom and schooled in military ways. Finlay just did the best he could to protect everyone.

    More often than not, he was one of many under the command of another. The infrequent instances he was in charge, it was of a small group, like the children Jade had protected. Finlay never ¡®felt the weight of a crown,¡¯ as the Empress of Solvi put it when confronted by a coalition of sect elders about her genocidal plans.

    That was in the past.

    Who was Finlay now?

    Only he knew of the Sporeal Tide. He was going to plant the World Tree seed, the hope of changing the future. And with the knowledge and experience of the past, he could be the most powerful Warden in history.

    He might not have the weight of a crown on his head, but the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

    ¡°That¡­ is quite the burden,¡± Finlay said with a sigh.

    He failed to save Ilaya the first time. Nowhere near success. What if he failed his second chance too?

    Could the World Tree of the Aegis Forest send him back again? Time travel magic didn¡¯t seem to be part of its readily available repertoire or it would¡¯ve sent a capable goatkin like Ramuel to change the past way before the siege of the Aegis Forest. Perhaps the World Tree required the seed he had to work its magic. If so, there was no margin for error. Finlay needed to plant the seed¡ªthe World Tree even told him so¡ªforeclosing any rewinds.

    Prudence dictated to assume the worst. I only have one chance¡­

    Doubts clouded Finlay¡¯s mind. The stale natura amplified his apprehensions. Not good. The longer it took to achieve inner peace, the harder it was to achieve. And his worries kept coming.

    Even if the World Tree could give him many more chances, he¡¯d fail them too. The Sporeal Tide was too strong. Its malicious spores have conquered many worlds. Surely, those worlds had their powerful heroes and armies, but they weren¡¯t enough.

    Who was he to make a difference when so many others failed? He just wanted to escape his office life. Work at a farm. He wasn¡¯t supposed to be the one to change the fate of a world.

    Finlay punched himself. Hard.

    He tasted a bit of blood.

    That was stupid. The blow didn¡¯t clear his mind, giving him more of a headache instead. But it did stop his spiral of negativity.

    He looked up again.

    Flecks of orange. Sunrise already?

    Finlay was inside his mind void longer than he thought. He estimated he¡¯d achieve anima-sense before yesterday ended, but it was already the next day. No closer to finding the solution to the new trial of his mind.

    Archon Khaero would spout the usual, ¡°Accept and endure.¡±

    Wasn¡¯t helpful. Finlay couldn¡¯t accept that the Sporeal Tide was an unbeatable foe. He couldn¡¯t simply endure until the end came again. He didn¡¯t return to Ilaya just to be defeated. The elves lost their original world to the Sporeal Tide. They knew how strong the enemy was, and yet they viciously fought despite being fully aware of their eventual defeat. Didn¡¯t sound like acceptance and endurance.

    The teaching of the Core monks was to detach from the world. To Finlay, it was just the other side of the same coin that was the mindset of the elves. Finlay couldn¡¯t detach himself from the world. He was supposed to save it.

    Maybe he¡¯d understand the philosophy of the Core monks and the elves someday, but it wasn¡¯t this day. Accept and endure. What did it truly mean?

    ¡°Does no one else have the answer?¡± Finlay asked the forest.

    If he were in a movie, this was the moment he¡¯d remember an insightful quote that¡¯d pull him out of his rut. Something that¡¯d give him an epiphany. Words from a wise sage, an aged mentor. What would his grandfather say? Grandpa Swaney shared plenty of life lessons learned over his decades on earth, but none seemed apt for Finlay¡¯s present predicament.

    Finlay recounted his last conversation with his grandfather. He asked him why he chose to be a farmer. Grandpa Swaney answered that he didn¡¯t choose it; he merely continued the life he grew up in and didn¡¯t try anything else. He was trapped in his circumstances. ¡°You, on the other hand, did some choosin¡¯,¡± Grandpa Swaney told him.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°I chose this¡­?¡± Finlay blinked.

    His first trip to Ilaya was an accident. He wanted to experiment if the dried seed could still sprout after so many years, not find a gateway to another world. Once on Ilaya, however, he had no choice but to survive. Trapped his circumstances. Play the cards he was dealt with. Accept and endure.

    Returning to Earth after the time travel, the situation was different. He could¡¯ve walked away from the table. He didn¡¯t have to accept or endure anything.

    It was his choice to pass through the vine archway once again.

    This is the answer.

    Finlay slotted himself back into the nook of the tree and started his breathing cycles. Sunlight piercing the thick foliage was the last he saw. Birds chirping to greet the start of the new day was the last he heard. Hunger and thirst gnawed at him¡ªit had been several hours since he last ate or drunk¡ªbut he ignored those sensations, descending into the void of his mind once again.

    The trials of his past life were no more. He had conquered them.

    But the chains were present, thicker and stronger. Numerous. They bound him, digging into his astral body as they pulled him back. Each step was a struggle. Still, Finlay continued to search for inner peace.

    As he walked, the abyss melted away to reveal Earth. Hills of green turned into concrete jungles; buildings then sunk into the ground to change into quaint houses of the countryside. Beaches and mountains. Fields and deserts. All beautiful and peaceful.

    Someone up ahead blocked Finlay¡¯s path. Not Jade.

    Mom.

    Same as the last time, with silent words, she asked him to return to Earth. Asked him why he left her. Other people joined in. Their voices became a thunderous wave. The questions they posed to Finlay were his own doubts.

    Finlay approached his mother and leaned down to hug her.

    She was¡­ there. But also, wasn¡¯t. She was an illusion.

    This is the path I chose, Finlay thought to her. I¡¯m going to do this.

    It was different from his parting words to her in the real world, saying he ¡®had¡¯ to do it as if his hands were tied. Ilaya was his second home; he wanted to save it. The World Tree didn¡¯t force him. No one did. It was his sole decision, and he was firm in his resolve to do so.

    She disappeared in his arms. Other people faded away as well. The chains, however, didn¡¯t become lighter.

    It wasn¡¯t over yet.

    Walls of towering purple flames encircled Finlay. In the blaze danced tormented shadows. It was the attack at the heart of Aegis Forest that he couldn¡¯t stop. Finlay achieved six Link as a Soulheart Warden after twelve years on Ilaya. All that strength, and he was easily killed by the dark creature. Its foreboding slender form lurked amongst the anguished bodies writhing in the fire, reminding him of his defeat.

    Like before, a hand rested on his shoulder. Finlay had to confront this phantasm to move forward. He turned around to face himself.

    It¡¯s all on your shoulders. His other self repeated their previous encounter.

    I choose to bear it, was Finlay¡¯s reply.

    You¡¯re weak, came the next seed of doubt. The purple flames closed in on them. The shadows suffering inside multiplied.

    I choose to be the strongest there ever was, Finlay thought, strong enough to change the future. He believed it. The impossible had happened once¡ªhe was given a second chance. He¡¯d make the impossible happen again and change the future. Simple as that.

    His other self looked him in the eye and delivered the reality needling at him. You weren¡¯t chosen to be a hero.

    I choose to be a hero, Finlay answered with conviction.

    The flames roared and consumed him. He didn¡¯t flinch. The flames didn¡¯t hurt him. Only the chains were burned away. His other self disappeared as the blaze died down. The endless darkness of the abyss was no more. Finlay found himself standing on a vast plain of glass reflecting a cloudless blue sky.

    No, not glass. It was water. He reached his latent anima pool.

    Tinkling sounds like wind chimes. Finlay looked over his shoulder. A ripple from afar expanded, the edge of a gentle wave approached him. The ripple touched his feet. A cool sensation coursed through his body. New, yet not. Different but something he was accustomed to.

    Other ripples formed elsewhere as if an invisible finger kept touching the water¡ªit was the natura. The ripples multiplied, their circles overlapping.

    Finlay formed an inverted triangle with his fingers near his belly. He turned it the right way up as he raised his fingers to chest level. His mind shrine would construct itself soon. Time to leave.

    Rustling leaves. Buzzing insects. A parched throat. Cramped muscles and stiff joints.

    He opened his eyes in the real world to an intense light. He crawled out of the hole and beheld the forest of gold. It was so bright everything seemed to be burning but curiously wasn¡¯t blinding that¡¯d make him squint.

    Aethersight this early? Last time, he gained this ability only after reaching two Links, and not to this extent. Was this the result of self anima-sensing?

    He could see the natura flowing up the trunks of the lofty trees, the powerful streams branching into ever smaller capillaries, bringing the life of the world into the whole plant. Examining the tall grass around him, he saw each blade had intricate webs of light throughout its structure. Across the undergrowth, thousands of pinpoints of light show the minute insects crawling about, each absorbing natura.

    Looking down at his hands, Finlay observed anima circulating through his body¡ªveins of blue with hints of gold. It should turn to white once he began purification. He needed a crucible for that.

    Problem was he hadn¡¯t experienced building his crucible from scratch because Cassini¡¯s anima triggered its formation before. The Core monks and the elves didn¡¯t teach Finlay how it happened the old-fashioned way since he already had a crucible by that time.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be too different from crucible expansion exercises,¡± Finlay muttered to himself, standing straight. He performed it with his feet flat on the ground to feel the force of excessive natura trying to enter his body. Easier to circulate anima within his torso to make the crucible with outside pressure, or so he theorized.

    He brought his fists together in front of his chest, knuckles touching, thumbs raised to form a triangle. There were many ways to close the life conduits of the body. This was what he found most comfortable after years of training.

    Finlay took a deep breath and held it.

    Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the newfound yet familiar awareness of anima swirling in disarray inside his body. He couldn¡¯t control the torrent that it was¡ªit¡¯d take a few days, even with his incredibly fast progression¡ªso he exerted force through all his life conduits, similar to flexing the entire body to pose for a bodybuilding competition.

    The excited anima rushed in all directions, crashing into each other, pushing outward to form the crucible. It was similar to heated air expanding inside a hot air balloon. He could sense the crucible was shaping up to be much bigger than what he started with as an apprentice Warden in his past life. It should¡¯ve been enough.

    But Finlay didn¡¯t stop.

    Continuing to hold his breath despite protests from his tired lungs, he maintained the movement of anima in his body. Flows merged. Stronger currents overcame the others. His anima began to flow in one direction. It whirled in his still-forming crucible.

    Bigger and bigger the swirl became as Finlay agitated it. His arms trembled to hold the pose and keep his life conduits closed; his knees wobbled as strength left him. Exhaustion plagued his body. He began to rock himself back and forth to bear the pain, making sure to remain standing. Intense pressure welled up in his chest like a bad case of heartburn. A massive headache added to the mix, as if screws penetrated his temples.

    Just a little more, he urged himself. The more developed his crucible was today, the stronger he¡¯d become for the battles of tomorrow.

    His ear was ticklish. Something warm flowed out. He felt a few dribbles exit his nose too.

    This is the time to endure!

    His crucible solidified. A wave of relief washed over his body as the first refined anima cooled his life conduits. Finlay inhaled deep. He released the lock and let himself fall on his knees, severely exhausted. He opened his eyes to a swimming world. He was so tired his Aethersight got turned off.

    He wiped the liquid coming out of his nose.

    Red? Blood.

    It was also blood that came out of his ears.

 13. The Hunted

    The force of the anima swirling in Finlay¡¯s body manifested a physical aspect and wreaked havoc inside him. This shouldn¡¯t be possible at this stage, having just built his mind shrine. However, retaining extensive experience in anima manipulation from his past life, he achieved the impossible and expanded his crucible the biggest it could.

    Unfortunately, there was a price to pay for the impossible.

    A vomit was coming up. As he heaved, pinpricks of pain wracked his body as if dozens of tiny needles were inserted into his muscles. He coughed up blood. Not much. But it was still bad.

    Mental strength fought back his body¡¯s pleas to collapse. The Lumin Wisp¡¯s residual healing was gone. Either it had run out repairing his injuries or too much time had passed. Probably both. No more health potions either. Good thing he had foraged medicinal herbs.

    Finlay crawled to Cogwyn¡¯s cloak. He chewed the remaining saegenta leaves in a rush instead of carefully squeezing out its juice. Next, he crushed a couple of stalks of dagtalan and inhaled the scent of its oils. It cleared his mind and reduced his headache. He had also picked some flowers that could dull pain. They were supposed to be boiled to make potions but since he neither had fire nor water, he just popped them into his mouth.

    The herbs could only do so much. The natura emanations of the world pimple did the heavy lifting to keep him alive. If he formed his crucible in this risky manner somewhere normal¡ªnot that it¡¯d be possible to do so¡ªhe would¡¯ve died.

    Finlay lied down, making sure his body had the most contact with the ground. He felt the natura, stale it may be, pass through his muscles. While resting, he started to practice amplification to help his body recuperate.

    The little he could see of the sky was turning from dark to orange. It was sunrise again¡ªanother day had passed. He made good progress with almost two days on Ilaya. Would¡¯ve been better if he already reached the lifestream, but he celebrated the win of successfully forming his crucible. A very significant win.

    The sun had fully come out of hiding when Finlay decided to move again. To address the complaints of his grumbling stomach, he searched the roots of the trees for mushrooms.

    Grandpa Swaney¡¯s reminders about mushrooms came to mind, ¡°You have to know ¡®em to eat ¡®em.¡±

    Heeding this advice saved Finlay from an upset stomach or, at worst, death, in his early days on Ilaya. None of the usual tips, such as avoiding red and orange caps, those with spots, and certain gills under the flaps, were reliable even for experts. Just go for the ones he could confidently recognize and not risk the others.

    Through years of surviving in forests, observing people he met along the way, Finlay came to know which of the Ilayan mushrooms he could eat and which could eat him. The latter weren¡¯t part of the Sporeal Tide. There were actual monster mushrooms native to Ilaya.

    Didn¡¯t taste good at all.

    Another nugget of knowledge from Grandpa Swaney about mushrooms was they were just the fruit of the fungus, the same as an apple and its tree. There was a whole network of fungi underground going about their business. And they had lots of businesses besides the decomposing part most people know about. Finlay also learned that this fungal network could wrap around or bore into tree roots. Trees could then use the network to send water and nutrients to each other.

    This blew Finlay¡¯s mind when he first heard it. He researched online if his grandfather was just messing with him. Turned out, it was true. Thinking now, the forest could be considered as one giant organism, with everything in it connected.

    Too bad the Sporeal Tide wants to destroy the World Tree instead of coexist, thought Finlay as he chewed on a golden parasol mushroom.

    No one knew where the Sporeal Tide came from. Even the elves who warred against it for a hundred and seventy-three years on their original world didn¡¯t have much to say other than that the Sporeal Tide could open gates to other worlds, a skill shared by World Trees across dimensions. Some elven scholars theorized that the Sporeal Tide used World Trees as jumping-off points to the next world they¡¯d attack. Why else would the invaders leave the World Tree for last? Dwarven researchers countered this, asserting they didn¡¯t have a World Tree where they came from. Their ancestors escaped the Sporeal Tide only because a portal from Ilaya connected to their world.

    That was the least of the disagreements between elves and dwarves. They fought each other for decades before the first humans arrived on Ilaya, resulting in both races being woefully unprepared when the Sporeal Tide found them again.

    ¡°Convincing elves and dwarves to unite early¡­¡± Finlay shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s going to be one of the toughest missions on my list.¡±

    Having eaten a boring fill of bland mushrooms, he packed the rest into his cloak bag and made his way to the spring he had passed on his way up. He felt some nostalgia for surviving in a forest.

    ¡°A sponge-pitcher?¡± Finlay noticed it with Aethersight while scanning his surroundings as he drank water. He had missed such a useful plant because its leaves were deflated and covered by frizzy shrubs.

    Finlay plucked one of the sponge-pitcher¡¯s springy leaves and dipped it into the small pool that collected the water gushing out of the rocks. The leaf puffed itself to the size of a volleyball, sucking plenty of water. He carefully bundled the sponge-pitcher leaf in the cloak so it wouldn¡¯t get squeezed too much as he moved.

    As he tied the cloak, Finlay noticed red smudges on his arm. It was from wiping his bleeding nose.

    He washed the dried blood around his nose and mouth as well from his ears down the sides of his neck. He also wet the bloody spots on his clothes, scratching the hard bits to remove them. Not a good idea to travel in the forest with the smell of blood. That was like waving an ¡®I¡¯m injured¡¯ flag to the predators.

    Finlay set off at twice the speed of his pace a couple of days ago.

    Getting marinated in an excess of natura did wonders to his body¡¯s constitution. He felt like a new person. Well, he technically was. Having built his mind shrine and crucible, he was no longer a normal human. He effortlessly climbed precarious rocks and ran up steep slopes, winding through mazes of trees without slowing. His breathing was easy and his body was light. His muscles weren¡¯t groaning from exertion.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    A couple of feldeers feeding on newly grown shoots didn¡¯t notice him coming until he blew past them. They squeaked in panic and jumped into the bushes.

    Descending the mountain on the other side, Finlay picked up more speed. He alternated between accelerating and amplifying his anima to get a feel for it. To not waste time, he took this opportunity to hone his evasion skills and reaction. He jumped from rock to rock, avoiding branches and roots, maintaining his balance as momentum threatened to fling him away.

    ¡°Holy Firstborns!¡± Finlay exclaimed as his foot slipped on a patch of slimy fallen leaves.

    And he found himself flying.

    Spinning mid-air, he tucked his limbs and twisted his body to dive into trees instead of the rocks. He crossed his arms in front of his face as not-so-inviting branches caught him. Switching on Aethersight, he peered through his arms and the tree branches to plan his next move. He broke through the crown of the first tree and crashed into the next, grabbing a thick branch he had seen coming. His joints creaked as his body got flung forward; momentum tried hard to pry off his fingers. Not enough strength to hold on without risking injury. Finlay decided to let go. He had slowed himself enough that he hit the trunk of the tree below with not much force.

    He tumbled down, breaking more branches, and landed on the ground somehow upright. He looked around. Did no one see the awesome thing that just happened?

    ¡°That was¡­ lucky.¡± Finlay broke into chuckles. Then he jolted. ¡°Luck!¡±

    He patted his pockets for the World Tree seed¡ªit was still there. The only casualties of his blunder were his clothes accented with small tears and the squished sponge-pitcher leaf, wetting the cloak bag. He wrung the cloak and drank the last contents of the leaf.

    Should be more careful. He was messing around after years of doom and gloom and death. Going to be dumb if his hero¡¯s journey ended with a stupid mistake.

    Finlay still trained anima manipulation but didn¡¯t push his pace much. He hastened again only when the path leveled reaching the valley. The towering rim of the Big Bowl peeked above the tree line in the distance. Unsure how long it¡¯d take to scale those walls, he made a few stops along the way, harvesting fruits, more mushrooms, and some edible herbs. He also refilled his sponge-pitcher leaf from a water bulb tree.

    By midday, he was more than halfway across the valley to Big Bowl, its cliff walls looming ever higher.

    The valley was mostly trimmed grass and sparse trees, courtesy of the tri-horned bogdons hard at work eating everything green. Finlay ran with all his might across the open space, anima giving strength to his leg muscles, as he savored the winds howling in between the mountains. It brought back the day he first learned to accelerate anima flow¡ªhe sprinted from Worwick¡¯s inner gate to the outskirts of the town to test his speed.

    Back then, he had to avoid the people going to and from the town. Here, male bogdons were his concern.

    A large bull with particularly prominent horns stopped chewing cud and turned Finlay¡¯s way. Finlay gave it a wide berth, ignoring the temptation to jump over it. He probably could do it and the lumbering beast wouldn¡¯t care. But if the bogdon did care, one swipe of its horns and he¡¯d be gone.

    Larger than the bison of earth and clad with a thick hide impenetrable to fangs and claws, bogdons didn¡¯t fear any predators here. But those not from around here, the bogdons had to fear¡ªthe trappers after their Soulhearts. When forming a defensive circle, bogdons could imbue their neighbors with strength and durability¡ªa useful ability for armies. Wardens not strong enough to be a lynchpin for squads would be assigned to support duty with bogdon Soulhearts. Luckily for the bogdons, Gilders didn¡¯t have that many Wardens to employ this formation for its armies.

    A bogdon cow? Finlay noticed the smaller bogdon with short horns ending in nubs.

    He had to hop over this one. It was a game he used to play with other apprentices of Isidore, a stupid challenge to whittle away boredom whenever they found a large beast. Amusing to feel nostalgia for something yet to happen.

    Finlay veered for the bogdon cow and leaped while he was several feet away. He arced across the air and down to the bogdon¡¯s back. He landed on it, both of his feet firmly planted, its rough hide stopping him from slipping. Then he jumped even higher. The bogdon continued munching on the leaves of a sapling.

    From this height, Finlay had a clearer view of his next challenge. Given what happened with awakening his anima-sense, climbing Big Bowl might not go as smoothly as he envisioned. Though he wasn¡¯t going in blind. He had successfully scaled the Big Bowl twice before, even if that was twelve years ago.

    The first time was with Cassini as part of his training. Not only was the climb terribly intense, but the other side was a whole different world teeming with life and those that wanted to end his life. Cut off from the rest of Gilders and empowered by residues of the ancient lifestream, the flora and fauna inside the caldera evolved into wildly different paths from their relatives. Big Bowl beasts had valuable Soulhearts, but trappers rarely ventured inside because of the danger and the difficulty of transporting their catch over the walls.

    A month after his climb with Cassini, Finlay explored Big Bowl on his own to gauge his improvement. They were leaving Worwick in a few days and Finlay wanted to hunt his first Soulheart to use after he¡¯d get his sternial.

    Not the brightest of plans. He was lucky to return to Worwick in one piece. The seed lucky charm to the rescue.

    ¡°Maybe I shouldn¡¯t plant this seed and just use it as a lucky charm instead?¡± Finlay muttered jokingly to himself.

    Competition in an enclosed area could be why Big Bowl beasts were stronger and more vicious than their counterparts outside. Finlay should be on his toes every step of the way there.

    Not that here was safe either. Predators were bound to be lurking around. Finlay was sure he could find a few if he maintained Aethersight. But it caused him headaches as his brain wasn¡¯t used to processing it yet. Predators wouldn¡¯t bother him anyway; he looked different from their usual prey and moved fast.

    Or maybe they would bother with me?

    Finlay sensed eyes with killer intent were on him¡ªa predator. This wasn¡¯t an ability gained from anima manipulation, but rather an inexplicable sense honed over years of fighting.

    Some scent of his blood must¡¯ve stuck and invited unwanted attention. He was an unfamiliar target, but the predator could be thinking he was injured, waiting to see if he¡¯d bleed out or exhaust himself. Nothing with regular vision or Aethersight. Must be watching him from behind.

    Are you really going to chase me? Plenty of animals could outrun Finlay even if he pushed his limits with anima manipulation. But a predator would have a territory. It wouldn¡¯t want to go into another.

    Just keep running and it¡¯d give up.

    That was supposed to be the plan, but several minutes later, Finlay could still feel a murderous gaze on him. Either the predator had a very wide territory or it was watching from far ahead and Finlay had just entered its territory. He couldn¡¯t go somewhere else because he was aiming for a specific section of the cliff wall.

    The grasslands turned into a wooded area as the ground sloped upwards. Everywhere ahead, past the trees, was the cold grey of the Big Bowl¡¯s edge reaching up the sky. Soon, Finlay would have nowhere to go but to climb up, which he didn¡¯t want to do with a predator hunting him.

    He had to deal with it.

 14. A Nice View

    With no Adorned weapons, Finlay¡¯s chances of winning were abysmal. And he was a long way from tempering his body to wrestle beasts with his bare hands. But dealing with this predator didn¡¯t mean to defeat it. Just discourage it from thinking he was an easy meal.

    Birds scattered. They had spotted the predator. He couldn¡¯t. It was keeping its distance.

    What could this be? A terror bird wasn¡¯t known for stalking its prey; he should hear angry stomping feet by now. Couldn¡¯t be Myrclaws¡ªthose shadowy wolf-like creatures hunted in packs and were usually active at night. This was either a jarlion or a mountain Itsiri.

    The predator seemed to be in no hurry to catch him. But he was sure it was there. His senses hadn¡¯t failed him yet.

    Fine, his senses had made many mistakes before. If it turned out nothing was chasing him, then great. But if something was there, it was herding him to a dead end before revealing itself.

    The crowd of trees thinned as Finlay drew closer to the foot of the caldera¡¯s lofty edge. He passed broken pieces of an ancient statue and stopped before the cliff face. This was supposed to be the shortest part this side of the Big Bowl, but it stretched up so high he couldn¡¯t see its top. He had nowhere to go. He turned around to meet his fan who probably wanted an autograph.

    Or not.

    A jarlion emerged from behind a bowed tree, lithe yet muscular, its fur more yellow than the usual orange. It was smaller than the one at the auction house. No mane. A female. That explained why it followed him this far. Jarlionesses freely wandered through the territories of males, only avoiding or fighting other females. The lack of darker streaks on its face meant it wasn¡¯t a full adult.

    It appeared to be in good health and its dark amber Soulheart wasn¡¯t lit up¡ªit wasn¡¯t desperate to fight for food. Likely more curious of Finlay, given its young age, than hungry. Wouldn¡¯t be fun to be its plaything though. A slap of a paw wider than his face could break his neck.

    The jarlioness stalked the outer area of the clearing, eyeing Finlay, possibly trying to figure out what he was.

    A jarlion had a capture rating of eight if Finlay rightly recalled. According to the Hunter Guild Union that established this system a century ago, it meant eight average hunters could capture a jarlion without anyone dying. Finlay was pretty interested how they went about measuring this.

    The Union released a compendium of details for fifty of the most hunted beasts. They didn¡¯t really capture beasts for Soulhearts back then as the trappers of today did, but they used a ¡®capture rating¡¯ instead of something related to killing so hunters could gauge how difficult the encounter was with plenty of room for error. That was good thinking.

    However, the rating system wasn¡¯t completely reliable. Some individuals of a certain species were stronger than others, like male jarlions compared to females. Hunters then and trappers now preferred to capture male jarlions as they had better Soulhearts for Linking and manifesting abilities. The system also ignored variants, like how the terror birds inside the Big Bowl had iron-infused beaks for some reason.

    Finlay couldn¡¯t ask the Union who the ¡®average¡¯ hunter was because it broke up during the Elderbone Wars. The hunter¡¯s guilds comprising the Union were located in different warring kingdoms and couldn¡¯t stay united, choosing support their respective nations.

    At present, the various organizations making up the continental Soulheart trade followed the Union¡¯s olden system and expanded it, covering hundreds of various beasts. They didn¡¯t test with ¡®average¡¯ hunters, thankfully, instead gauging the difficulty of a beast in relation to those already recorded.

    ¡°It feels weird to be this weak again,¡± Finlay muttered, looking in the direction of the jarlioness but not meeting its eyes to avoid provoking it early.

    The monster with the highest capture rating that Finlay had hunted solo was an Adam-amin dragon living in the sand towers of Fardunha. It had a rating of a hundred and seventy. That didn¡¯t mean a hundred and seventy hunters could capture it with no casualties. Since the adjusted system wasn¡¯t linear¡ªa monster with a rating of sixteen wasn¡¯t only twice as strong as a jarlion¡ªthe rating of the Adam-amin dragon signified that it could demolish an army of ¡®average¡¯ hunters.

    The jarlioness approached Finlay, its padded feet completely silent with each step. He might end up the one demolished if he made a mistake.

    Should he shout and wave his arms to try to scare the beast away? Better not. The jarlioness might consider him a threat and activate its coat of lightning or electric shock aura. It shouldn¡¯t think he was worth expending energy over. He crouched low and made himself small and harmless while removing the cloak bag tied to his back. No sudden movements that might spook the beast. Getting electrocuted wasn¡¯t fun; he knew that from experience.

    The jarlioness slowly closed in. It¡¯d strike when it was one leap from reaching him. If he ran away, he¡¯d just delay getting mauled by a few seconds. He had to surprise it.

    He opened his cloak and let its contents roll out¡ªthe sponge-pitcher leaf, fruits, and other things he collected. The jarlioness inquisitively tilted its head but still advanced, recognizing no danger.

    Finlay picked up a fruit. That made the jarlioness stop. He whipped back his arm, winding up a throw, cycling anima for strength. An attack, the jarlioness must''ve thought. It roared and charged forward. He hurled the fruit. Inexperienced with projectiles, the jarlioness didn¡¯t evade such a small object. The fruit shouldn¡¯t hurt it, but Finlay threw it was such force that it splatted over its eyes. Surprised by getting hit, the fruit¡¯s juices clouding its vision, the jarlioness leaped to attack.

    Finlay unfurled the cloak and threw it over the jarlioness as he moved sideways. Landing next to him with the cloak wrapped around its head, the jarlioness turned around. It snarled in anger and confusion.

    Taking advantage of the opening, Finlay launched a kick to the side of jarlioness¡¯s head. He couldn¡¯t direct anima to a specific part of his body yet and empower it, so he flared the cycling to give strength to all his muscles. A second kick still couldn¡¯t make the jarlioness step back.

    A clawed swipe came. Finlay had already jumped away, expecting it.Stolen story; please report.

    The hair on his arm stood on end. Bad news. He ran.

    The jarlioness crackled with electricity. He counted to three and dove down. Bolts of lightning shot out from the jarlioness in every direction. One passed over him and hit a tree, scorching its bark. A burnt smell filled the air. The jarlioness flailed its head, not understanding the cloak covering it. Frustrated, it charged up even more electricity.

    Finlay managed to scramble behind a giant headless statue before the jarlioness released its power. The statue shielded him from the worst, though some shocks still rocked him as electricity crept over the ground. He peered from behind his hiding spot. The jarlioness looked his way as burnt pieces of the cloak fell from its face.

    Sorry for losing your cloak, Cogwyn, Finlay thought as he stepped forward, carrying himself as tall as he could. Contrasting earlier, he raised his arms to look bigger and more formidable.

    From the perspective of the jarlioness, Finlay was an unknown prey who had inexplicably blinded her. He even hit her twice. It didn¡¯t hurt her much but it showed he wasn¡¯t afraid of an apex predator like her. She was also forced to expend energy with nothing to show for it. This prey wasn¡¯t worth the trouble since she wasn¡¯t hungry¡ªthis was what Finlay hoped the jarlioness would conclude. Fake it till you make it applied very much to fending away predators.

    Sure enough, the jarlioness plodded to the trees as if nothing had happened between them. She gave him one last look before disappearing in the thickets.

    ¡°Not only the cloak but my food and water are gone too.¡± Finlay checked the blackened ground where the jarlioness had stood when it used its ability. ¡°Oh, there¡¯s a fruit left.¡±

    He had to gather supplies again after reaching the other side. Should take a few hours getting over this wall. He hoped to finish before the sun went down. There I go again estimating how long I¡¯d accomplish something.

    This span of the cliff wall was around a furlong; other areas were up to twice or thrice taller. Well, a furlong wasn¡¯t really a measurement of height. It supposedly was the distance a groff could plow a field in one go without rest¡ªa furrow long. This measurement most likely came from Earth because Finlay had read a furlong used in a book. Humans of Ilaya also used feet and yards, with slightly different pronunciations.

    Finlay couldn¡¯t recall who told him but he heard that a furlong was equal to six hundred and sixty feet. He never got around to finding out whose foot was used as the standard. Using the Earth''s foot, a furlong was a little over half the height of the Empire State Building. Sounded daunting putting it that way, but he should simply focus on climbing. There was a place to rest two-thirds of the way up.

    He might not have climbing gear¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t know how to use them anyway¡ªbut he had a superhuman body. And experience was his best asset. He found the spot where he climbed before¡ªa narrow crack that ran almost the entire height of the wall. An ancient earthquake must¡¯ve caused it. The gap could fit two people shoulder to shoulder, and it was perfect for him to sort of shimmy up the wall. In case of an emergency, he could lean back and wedge himself in place by locking his knees.

    ¡°Here goes.¡± Finlay started the climb.

    Acceleration and amplification.

    And shimmying.

    <hr>

    ¡°Such a nice view¡­¡± Finlay said.

    Sitting by a ledge, he swung his legs as he savored the cool air. It wasn¡¯t as thin as one might expect at this height. Could be that the supercharged plants inside the Big Bowl produced an excess of oxygen. The hundreds of bogdons grazing the valley beyond the forest ringing Big Bowl were like grey beetles scurrying over a green carpet.

    Finlay was taking a break after an hour and a half of climbing, snacking on the fruit that survived getting toasted by the jarlioness. He didn¡¯t recognize this particular fruit but wasn¡¯t too concerned it was dangerous. Its bright orange color meant it was supposed to attract birds that¡¯d eat it and scatter the tree¡¯s seeds¡ªlow chance it was poisonous.

    ¡°Want some?¡± Finlay offered the fruit to the giant statue sitting cross-legged beside him. ¡°No? I¡¯ll finish this then.¡± He chuckled, somberly shaking his head.

    Talking to inanimate objects or animals was one of his tricks to remain sane during long trips alone. It distracted him from thinking about all the dead he was leaving behind and all the death he¡¯d face ahead. He didn¡¯t know if this happened to other people, but traveling alone warped his sense of time. That was why he always looked for the sun to make sure he was progressing. Walking and time passing¡ªhe should be going somewhere, right? Fortunately, this trip to the Big Bowl wasn¡¯t existential dread-inducing like traversing a wilderness slowly getting overtaken by otherworldly molds.

    ¡°You know, this is the third time we¡¯ve met,¡± he told the statue. ¡°The first time in this timeline though.¡±

    At about eight feet tall, the sitting statue was humanoid, slender and long-limbed. Its four arms were raised at chest level, hands and fingers forming signs Finlay couldn¡¯t quite decipher. Were they ancient handlocks for life conduits? The statue¡¯s face had vaguely feline features and its head extended back like a baguette. They must have very big brains.

    This statue was of a Kymorathi, the people that ruled Ilaya thousands of years ago. Finlay had encountered many of their statues in hard-to-reach places. There were probably many more of them, but those were the only ones that survived the march of time and meddling of other races because they were hidden. The statue near Finlay was in a good condition considering the thousands of years in faced the elements.

    Finlay leaned forward to see the other statues sitting in the row. ¡°I forgot there are many of you here.¡±

    The ledge he sat on was a long horizontal strip carved out of the cliff face, home to almost a dozen statues of Kymorathi, not counting the empty slots. Some good-for-nothing pranksters must¡¯ve thought it funny to push the statues over the edge. Or maybe someone who hated the Kymorathi did. These statues were damn heavy to move just for a joke.

    Makes it even more of a wonder how they got up here. They were made of a different stone than the cliff wall.

    Why here of all places? Who was going to see them? The contents of this ledge weren¡¯t visible from below. Ilaya boasts so many mysteries that Finlay regrets not having the time to investigate them.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask the goatkin about the Kymorathi someday.¡± Finlay dusted his pants and went to the edge of the ledge. Less than an hour and he¡¯d reach the top. The descent would be much easier.

    Hands tingling with rushing anima, Finlay grabbed the corner. The crack he wanted to return to was a few feet further left, and he needed to swing himself over there. Confidence was the key; hesitation was death. He jumped sideways, pivoting around the corner, and released his grip. He caught the edge of the crack and pulled himself inside.

    Up we go, he urged himself, fighting the temptation to look below.

    He relied more on his legs to push his body up because his forearms and fingers were weak. People seldom developed grip strength even if doing physical labor. Most work was pushing and lifting instead of pulling. This crack in the wall allowed him to cheat the climb. Without it, he¡¯d have no hopes of reaching inside the Big Bowl without becoming at least a Monolinker Warden and using a suitable Soulheart.

    Later in the afternoon, though nighttime was still some time away, Finlay reached the top of the wall. He shook his tired arms as he looked back where he came from.

    The next mountain over¡ªhe didn¡¯t know its name¡ªblocked the view of Worwick. How long did it take him to reach here, minus the world pimple side trip? Probably half a day in total? He should train himself to travel faster. He needed to return to town for various errands and couldn''t spend that much time traveling one way.

    He turned around and beheld the Big Bowl.

 15. So Close and So Dangerous

    Dense fog rolled over the vast lands far below, hiding most of the forest that boasted the colors of the rainbow. Giant obelisks poked out of the mists, some slanting, others broken; sleek and black save for silvery carvings that jumped out to Finlay whenever he looked at them though he was far away. The obelisks, like the many-armed statues, were also built by the Kymorathi. Supposedly. Scholars have clashing theories because the runes on the obelisks were different from those the Kymorathi employed in their magical artifacts that survived to this day.

    Although no one could be sure who made the obelisks, some of their runes have been deciphered. Those runes were crucial in making sternials and the rise of the Wardens. Replacing Adorned weapons to house Soulhearts, the human body would be the vessel. In a way, humans borrowed the Soulhearts of others for themselves, taking care of it in the warped space of sternials. Hence, Wardens.

    Clues of the vibrant life below pranced above the silvery cover that partly concealed the caldera. Different kinds of birds nested on the peaks of the black obelisks, flying snakes chased flying fishes, and sky gem lilies bobbed in the air.

    Finlay switched to Aethersight. The caldera didn¡¯t turn into a disco party because he was too high on the wall to pick up the life residues of the plants and animals below. The obelisks, however, blazed like lighthouses from sucking up the natura of their surroundings.

    Returning to his normal vision, a melancholic smile formed on his face.

    The first time he reached this place, chills of excitement went up his body. The Big Bowl truly looked like something out of a fantasy book, compared to the random forest with random magical creatures Finlay had hiked through. He lost that sense of adventure as the years went on. Seeing all of this again made him forget his body¡¯s soreness that anima cycles couldn¡¯t fully suppress.

    He noted the position of the obelisks and mentally mapped where to go. Then he turned his gaze farther north.

    The blanket of fog ended at the opposite side of the Big Bowl, bounded by walls far taller than where he stood. Beyond that were muddy forms of the mighty mountains of perpetual ice, several days of traveling away. They were so tall he could see them from the Big Bowl.

    I should give the Frost Trolls a visit, he thought.

    Nearly two years from today, at the height of the Gilders'' civil war¡ªor its absolute bottom, looking at it from another perspective¡ªthe Sporeal Tide would descend from the north. Spore-infected Frost Trolls and other monsters would lay waste to Gilderian towns and cities, capturing people to be enslaved like their hosts were. All the warring factions would be caught by surprise. Any resistance crumbled and the infection was released to the whole continent.

    This was the Sporeal Tide¡¯s earliest appearance on Ilaya.

    Well¡­ a bit earlier than that. Some months maybe. The Sporeal Tide would¡¯ve needed time to spread through the Frost Trolls tribes before attacking the Principality of Gilders.

    Finlay didn¡¯t know much about Frost Trolls. He hadn¡¯t met any, whether normal or mutated, only seeing pictures of them in books. Instead of waiting for the Sporeal Tide at Gilders, he considered investigating the northern mountains and stop the first Fairy Ring¡ªthe portal circumscribed by alien mushrooms used by the Sporeal Tide to travel across worlds¡ªfrom going up. An expedition with that grand a goal would need lots of preparation.

    Could he bring an entire Gilderian army by next year? He couldn¡¯t even begin to contemplate the steps required to pull that off.

    ¡°Want to compare to-do lists?¡± Finlay asked the Kymorathi statue nearest him.

    There were hundreds of statues to his right and left, sitting in a line. Could even be thousands of them atop the Big Bowl¡¯s rim. Instead of facing outward like the statues Finlay had met on the way up, these looked inward at the caldera. They also seemed to be performing handlocks of some kind. He couldn¡¯t really intuit what they were for because the anima flow with four hands doing locks would be different from two.

    Were these statues connected to the obelisks, maybe trying to extract natura from the long-lost lifestream passing through this area a long time ago? But these statues appeared to be pure stone in his Aethersight. Nothing special other than their cool design and intricate carving that barely weathered over millennia. All that labor and resources for what?

    They couldn¡¯t be purely decorative, were they? Something religious related?

    ¡°I suppose humans have built the pyramids,¡± Finlay said. ¡°And we don¡¯t have magic to pull it off.¡±

    He toured the top of the walls, saying ¡®hi¡¯ and ¡®hello¡¯ to the statues, as he looked for a way down. No crack on this side to cheat and make his descent safe. However, there were bizarre vine trees that grew from inside the caldera and up the walls, gigantic tendrils digging into rocks to hold on, and springing entire trees their whole length as if they were branches. He didn¡¯t know what they were. Probably some magical mutation caused by anomalies in this area because he hadn¡¯t seen them elsewhere. He could even jump down from coil to coil of the tendril, its leaves and net of branches providing a great cushion.

    ¡°Found it,¡± Finlay said, jogging to a coil of vines that had slumped over the wall and choked a few statues into rubble.

    A few more centuries and the vine might touch down on the other side. If Finlay succeeded in stopping the Sporeal Tide, this vine-tree would have all the time in the world to go wherever it wanted to. It might even crawl all the way to Worwick.

    With only half the time of his ascent, Finlay climbed down the vine tree and dropped into the new world of the caldera. The sun was still up but already hidden out of sight by the walls, their shadows painting vast tracts of the colorful forest with grey. On cue, plants and animals started to make light for various purposes such as attracting food.

    Add in the bright moon and Finlay wouldn¡¯t need to rely on Aethersight to navigate come nighttime. It wasn¡¯t the answer to darkness anyway. He could fall into a ditch or trip over a rock; those wouldn¡¯t show up in his sight.

    It was bizarrely humid inside the caldera as if he were somewhere tropical like the Dawnkeep Islands or the rainforests of Lamech. The air had that stickiness about it. It wasn¡¯t cold despite the heavy fog and this place being further north.

    ¡°I can figure out mysteries after I plant the seed,¡± Finlay said.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Cogwyn used the obelisks as landmarks when telling Finlay about where his party found the lifestream. Finlay had pretty good memories of the Big Bowl¡ªgood as in clear, not enjoyable¡ªbecause of the ton of his near-death experiences here. Also, first times always made an impression, and his first solo mission trying to hunt a Soulheart was definitely unforgettable. But even if Finlay knew where to go, he hadn¡¯t explored the northeastern side of the caldera where the lifestream was located. His sense of adventure was returning.

    ¡°I¡¯m just going to borrow this.¡± Finlay grabbed a glowing bulb the size of a basketball. It was dangling like the lantern of an angler fish from a tall plant he didn¡¯t know the name of.

    He effortlessly pulled it off the plant and hurried away as a green liquid sprayed out the exposed end of its stem¡ªit was acid that smelled like rotting bananas. The acid dissolved the grass around the bulbous plant as if thousands of invisible caterpillars had eaten them away. It was strong enough to corrode a rock that got splashed on, hissing as it scarred the hard surface.

    The bulb Finlay held, as well as the several others remaining on the plant, contained chemicals that made a type of light attractive to animals. A tap from an inquisitive creature would detach the bulb. The surprise acid shower would then kill the animal, its quickly decomposing corpse becoming fertilizer for the plant.

    That meant the bulb was dangerous to carry around. But Finlay had a purpose for it.

    It should be somewhere around here, Finlay thought, warily alternating Aethersight and his normal vision as he delved deeper into the forest of the Big Bowl.

    He came upon a place that ticked off his senses like the world pimple. An assortment of grass, mostly green with some odd colors mixed in, wrapped around the base of large trees and boulders. It was a picturesque scene for a relaxing trek through the woods despite the failing light. But ¡®normal¡¯ wasn¡¯t how the Big Bowl should look. There were no animals here, even tiny rodents scurrying inside burrows. Only insects here and there. And the plant life was too simple and felt curated to look normal.

    Something dangerous had taken up residence here, lying in wait to capture and eat anything with meat that passed by¡ªa Living Skin.

    Finlay always thought it was a nonsensical name because skin was living unless removed or if the body died. But he could guess what the guy who came up with it probably thought of. The Living Skin was a slime monster that spread across a large area, burying itself in the soil and nurturing grass to grow over it as camouflage¡ªits whole body could be thought of as skin. If prey mistakenly wandered on top of it, the slime would contract in half a blink and wrap around the poor animal, crushing its body instantly.

    Cassini had told Finlay about the resident Living Skin of Big Bowl during their trip here. Apparently, it was famous in Worwick for claiming many human lives, parking itself on the path most hunters and trappers took.

    It was important for a Warden to be knowledgeable of the creatures of Ilaya. Besides the obvious part of not getting killed by said animal, deducing the Soulhearts used by enemy Wardens and knowing their strengths and weaknesses was crucial in a fight. Mind games and surprises were features of Warden battles. Most people, even Wardens, underestimated just how quick and stealthy Living Skins could be. Finlay knew an assassin-for-hire specialized in transforming into a Living Skin. That was just his entire thing, and he was very good at his job.

    I still can¡¯t spot its Soulheart, Finlay thought. The natura lines he perceived were only those in the grass. Their brightness was a tiny fraction of those back in the world pimple.

    Colored blips sparkled in the shadows. Soulhearts. Different from what he was looking for. He picked up a few animals interested in the glowing bulb. They were just in time.

    A sudden shift of natura lines to his right.

    He threw the glowing bulb that way without thinking twice and sprinted full steam ahead. He didn¡¯t bother to check if that was the Living Skin. It¡¯d be too late if it really was it. Shrieks of animals that chased after the bulb told him he was correct.

    He felt bad using them as bait, but there was no way he could pass the Living Skin otherwise. Taking other routes, like the one he explored without Cassini, would lead him too far from his goal. Those paths had their own challenges he couldn¡¯t tackle at his current strength.

    All traces of the sun had vacated the sky as it became truly nighttime. The moon and glowing plants lit his way. But it wasn¡¯t the end of the dangerous encounters.

    Finlay met a mountain Itziri as he forged a trail from obelisk to obelisk. This beast that looked like a cross between a hyena and a warthog had a capture rating of six. Mountain Itziris had this ability to suddenly dash forward at several times their normal speed, and their energized tusks could put a serious dent on an iron shield.

    He could discern from its uneven steps that this Itziri was injured. Stealing a few glances at it, he saw that it was malnourished, desperate to hunt even weird-looking prey like him. Healthy predators wouldn¡¯t care about prey that wasn¡¯t their usual diet.

    Finlay tried to lose it by crawling through a rotten log but it managed to find him again. He picked up a sharp rock. Where was a small space he could lure it to? Restrict its movements so it couldn¡¯t gore him with its tusks. A wound or two would make the mountain Itziri think twice about trying to eat him.

    An earthshaking roar stopped Finlay in his tracks. It literally made his bones tremble and his heart palpitate wildly. He couldn¡¯t move. The Itziri also halted, letting out a small whimper. The racket of animals in the forest fell silent.

    A Grumpbeing! There was one living inside the Big Bowl?

    This monster with a fortyish capture rating was nearby; Finlay felt the sense of dread its aura brought. The ground shook from the heavy footfalls. The Grumpbeing was coming to eat the prey it had snared, which included Finlay. He concentrated his will and stabbed his leg with the rock. The shock of the pain broke him free of the fear paralysis.

    He ran opposite the shadow of a hill approaching, ignoring the burning in his leg and blood warming his pants. Judging himself safe, Finlay climbed up a tree. Gritting his teeth while tying his wound with a strip torn from his shirt, he observed the slow-moving Grumpbeing appear. It chomped on the Itziri immobilized by fear. Square stone teeth ground against each other as it chewed its food.

    ¡°That¡¯s a valuable Soulheart¡­¡± Finlay said.

    Strong Wardens could shrug off the fear aura with ease, but if used at the right moment, it could buy a couple of seconds. That was an eternity in a fight. Just have to remember it affected allies too.

    Finlay persevered in his journey with a slight limp. His injury upped the danger level. More close encounters tested his quick thinking, experience, and instincts.

    The non-stop action made him worry about the World Tree seed he¡¯d plant. Some animals might try a nibble of it. Even with the nutrients of a lifestream, the World Tree wouldn¡¯t be instantly gigantic. He''d need to figure out how to protect the young World Tree because he couldn¡¯t always be around. The location of the lifestream, as Cogwyn described it, was easy to defend and hard to reach for most animals. It was a vast cave with its ceiling collapsed¡ªan ancient sinkhole.

    It should be near, Finlay repeated in his head as blinked away the salty sweat from his eyes. It should be or else I¡¯m toast¡­ I miss the buttered toast from the office cafeteria.

    Fatigue took its toll and his thoughts started to swirl. A beginner¡¯s body wasn¡¯t meant to extensively cycle anima like he did. His mouth was dry and his stomach rumbled. Pain gnawed his wounded leg. He was yet to obtain the ability to regenerate his body.

    Plant the World Tree seed and worry about the wound afterward.

    Focus. This was unfamiliar ground. He switched to Aethersight, ignoring his strained eyes and burgeoning headache.

    The horizon was ablaze with light of all colors¡ªthe lifestream was truly nearby!

 16. Hot and Cold

    The sight of the goal invigorated Finlay. He coaxed his tired body forward¡ªbear with it a little longer.

    He thought he was home free, but there was one last obstacle he had almost forgotten. And then another problem showed up. The good news was that they might cancel each other out.

    ¡°Make a move already,¡± Finlay grumbled, peering through the cover of leaves.

    The toppled obelisk Cogwyn had mentioned as a landmark was in sight, the broken pieces of its body absorbing moonlight instead of reflecting it. Finlay couldn¡¯t check if this obelisk could still suck natura from the ground because everything would be just light in his basic Aethersight this close to the lifestream. Straight past this obelisk, over the mound on the other side, was the opening to the sinkhole.

    A terror bird traipsing next to the obelisk didn¡¯t want to make Finlay¡¯s journey any easier. It must be quite hungry to roam around at night. It tilted its head, maybe curious of a faint foreign smell. Were the crushed medicinal leaves not enough to mask the scent of Finlay¡¯s injury?

    Or did the terror bird sense its impending end? This time, it was the hunted, not the hunter.

    Finlay scanned the surface of the obelisk. An odd shimmer against the black told him of camouflaged tendrils snaking closer to the terror bird¡ªa kudzun. Good thing he remembered Cogwyn¡¯s story about their near-deadly tussle with this aggressive vine monster. According to Cogwyn, they nearly lost Beor in this particular kudzun¡¯s body if not for Trance honing on his anima and Cogwyn digging him out in time.

    You¡¯re taking too long, Finlay thought to the kudzun.

    The flightless terror bird suddenly flew a dozen feet above the ground. It squawked in panic as spiked vines wrapped around its body and smashed it against the obelisk, injecting it with paralyzing toxins and digestive juices.

    Finlay sprinted past the terrified terror bird and the kudzun starting its dinner.

    The ground angled steeply upward. He dropped on all fours, madly climbing over the small hill with hands clawing on rocks and dirt. Move fast! The terror bird had fallen silent. The kudzun would go for him next. Assume vines were zipping after him.

    He went over the peak and let gravity help him on the way down. He rolled but didn¡¯t try to halt his fall. Seconds, scratches, and torn clothes later, he tumbled into the edge of a shrubbery. Thorny and thick. He stopped moving, even breathing, and listened for any sign of the kudzun.

    Crumpling dried leaves and crunching pebbles. The kudzun was after him! Its vines moved fast, ignoring stealth because it knew that he knew it was there.

    With no time to find another path, much less think, Finlay dove into the thicket. He crawled on his elbows, avoiding the thorny branches. It was like those war movies where soldiers trained to move under barbed wires. Because of the rustling leaves and breaking branches as he moved, he wasn¡¯t sure if the kudzun continued to reach for him. Its tendrils couldn¡¯t be this long, were they?

    Keep moving, Finlay decided.

    The Kudzun¡¯s capture rating of twenty-seven was deceptive. It was a measure of the average kudzun. There was that ¡®average¡¯ nonsense again. Young kudzuns could have the range of an acre¡ªthe area a groff could plow in a day¡ªwhile ancient kudzuns were known to take over entire forests if unchecked by predators. Not wise to assume this was a small kudzun without having seen the rest of it.

    Thorns raked Finlay¡¯s face. He kept his head low, eyes opened only in slits.

    Forward. Faster. Was he going the right way? Darkness everywhere.

    No, there was light. Moonlight?

    He inwardly cheered as he emerged out of the thicket. He pushed himself to stand up but his hands didn¡¯t find any ground¡ªthey went through the leaves. Off-balanced, his upper body toppled forward. This was the sinkhole¡¯s edge!

    He hooked his feet onto some plants and stop his fall. No time to feel relieved. Were those slithering sounds he heard?

    Shadows and foliage obscured the rocky features of the cliff wall going down, but the moon¡¯s brushstrokes revealed some ledges. Maintaining composure, he mapped his descent in a snap while ignoring the tremendous drop. Careful or his next mistake would be his last. He grasped a plant growing sideways from the rocks. Praying to any god that¡¯d listen to make the plant¡¯s roots sturdy, he swung his body over the edge. The plant bowed from his weight but held.

    Above him, tendrils stretched over the cliff, stark black against the cloudless sky. The kudzun hadn¡¯t given up on him.

    The plant he hung from drooped a few inches. And some more. Finlay then found himself falling. The kudzun reached down to the sound of the breaking plant.

    Finlay madly grabbed at other plants and succeeded in entangling his arms in some vines. He alternated tightening and loosening the coiled vines around his arms to gradually lower himself, stealing glances at the kudzun following him into the sinkhole as he gauged where to go next below.

    Dangling from the vines, he ran sideways on the wall, as far left as he could. Then he jumped and swung to the right, aiming for a tiny ledge. The vine snapped. He was mid-air. He reached for the ledge and grabbed it with anima-infused strength. Momentum tried to pull him away. He didn¡¯t let go even if the tips of his fingers were scraped raw. He slammed against the rocks but remained hanging on.

    Is it still after me? Shadows of kudzun tendrils wriggled above, a mass that blotted out the stars.

    Finlay held his breath.

    Finding nothing or probably extending too far, the spiked vines retreated.

    He chuckled in relief. ¡°Who else wants to eat me next?¡±

    Coming as no surprise, it wasn¡¯t the end of his troubles. The ledge protruded a mere foot from the wall and couldn¡¯t accommodate him if he climbed on. It was beginning to loosen. He let go and dropped almost thirty feet to a bigger shelf below. It was still small that he didn¡¯t have space to roll on the ground and lessen the impact. He landed on his two feet and bent his knees to somewhat absorb the force. Some nasty bone cracks. Then he leaned back onto the rock wall and held on.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Blood streaming down his leg felt hot as cool air whipped him. His wound had widened. He rewrapped it and checked himself for other injuries. Some of his fingernails had broken off. More scratches. A few spongy bruises. Small price to pay for surviving¡ªhe expected a dislocated joint at the least.

    Finlay¡¯s heartbeat settled and so did his breathing. All in a day¡¯s work.

    Part of him missed the feeling of genuine fear. Many moments could¡¯ve been his last during this trip, and yet they were child¡¯s play compared to what he had gone through before.

    Yet, it wasn¡¯t so good to be fearless. Toward the end of his past life, he had accepted death would claim him. He was just delaying it. Only a cynical sort of survival instinct remained.

    Now, he shouldn¡¯t die. Could not allow himself to die. Weight of the world and all that.

    If the events to play out this month were different, he would¡¯ve trained himself for a couple of weeks before heading to the Big Bowl. But there were many things to do and so little time. Unknown variables were also at play. What would the World Tree look like when planted? How much guarding would he need to do? What did a growing World Tree require?

    It wasn¡¯t just the World Tree he should worry over. He couldn¡¯t have a civil war going on next to the precious World Tree. The sooner he could plant the seed, the sooner he could assess how to go about stopping the lords fighting over Worwick. Oh, and he also had to figure out how to handle the upcoming Speckle rush.

    And, and, and¡­

    It was more like ticking chores off a list than saving a world. Or maybe this was how saving a word was supposed to be. He didn¡¯t know because it was his first time. Just think of it as a quest log in a computer game.

    ¡°Been a while since this felt like I¡¯m in a game,¡± Finlay mused as he stared at the moon sailing on the black seas. The moving moon now revealed more of what was below him. He took in the breadth of the sinkhole that could comfortably hold the whole of Worwick in its bottom.

    If the Big Bowl was a different world in contrast to the outside, this unnamed but ancient sinkhole was also a world unto its own. Sheer limestone walls surrounded it, the moonlight revealing the beautiful bands of varying shades formed by eons of geologic movement. Finlay just wanted to sound fancy in his head. He couldn¡¯t even recall what the difference between geology and geography was.

    The trees at the bottom of the sinkhole were gigantic even if few. Connected with branch bridges that could fit wagons, their gnarled trunks spiraled upward instead of growing straight. Cloaks of vines and leaves draped over crystalline formations that caught the moon and stars, hinting at vibrant colors in the daytime. He was no expert but those crystals could be Speckles sucked dry of their energies.

    There were two waterfalls, maybe more he couldn¡¯t see, cascading down the limestone walls¡ªstreams that drained into the sinkhole. If there was plenty of water here, there were bound to be some animals.

    And the lifestream should be here. The sensation assured him it was there even if he couldn¡¯t see it.

    Unfiltered primeval natura rejuvenated his battered body, similar to the healing effects of the world pimple though much more pronounced yet seamless. He barely noticed when he was no longer exhausted. Absent was any light-headedness, unlike the effects of stale natura emanations. His mind was as clear as could be after a good night¡¯s sleep.

    He knew how it should feel because he had visited two lifestreams before.

    The first ran under Vinthir, the capital of the Solvi empire, with its exposed portion housed inside the vast imperial palace. Finlay didn¡¯t get to see it because he wasn¡¯t exactly free to explore the palace. The other one traversed the Cindrest Canyon between the territories of the dwarves and elves. Rather than give life, it was the source of many conflicts and deaths between the two races. Finlay got to see the actual flow of the lifestream of Cindrest before both elves and dwarves had to abandon it with the coming Sporeal Tide.

    There were four more lifestreams on Ilaya. He didn¡¯t have the opportunity to visit those because the Sporeal Tide had already taken over them. Those blasted mushrooms must have evil designs for the lifestreams. Counting this one in Big Bowl, that was seven lifestreams in total he had to protect.

    Seven he was aware of. There were bound to be others not yet discovered or kept secret for obvious reasons.

    If only he knew how the invasion of the Sporeal Tide progressed so he could figure out which places to fortify. No official records because chroniclers were dead. He only had rumors passed around, which weren¡¯t so reliable. And his memories of those tidbits were likely faulty.

    ¡°One at a time,¡± he said with a sigh, wrenching control of his mind from worries.

    Having no kudzun trying to catch him, Finlay was deliberate and careful in his journey down. No luxury of a crack on the wall like when he entered the caldera. But he was strengthened by anima manipulation and primeval natura. His fingers gripping the slightest of holds could support twice his body weight, and his muscles didn¡¯t know tiredness.

    There must¡¯ve been a vein natura deep below the sinkhole, a remnant of that explosion that created the Big Bowl¡ªthat was the reason for the lively ecosystem here. The recent earthquake then pushed a world vein upward and exposed it to become a lifestream.

    Halfway down the limestone walls, the perilous descent softened into a slope. ¡°Is this¡­ soil?¡±

    Finlay gingerly lowered his foot and tapped the greenery to check if there was ground below. He hopped down and found it solid enough. It was steep but much better than climbing straight down while clinging on harsh rocks. Why was this huge pile of soil against the wall here? Plant life wasn¡¯t extensive, just a grass cover.

    Whenever it rained, floods from the top must¡¯ve carried soil and deposited them here. Grandpa Swaney has a smaller version of this problem in his farm when it rained. Layer by layer, over a long period, these slopes formed. Trees couldn¡¯t grow because they¡¯d get piled on.

    As Finlay went down¡ªmostly slipping on the wet grass; superstrength couldn¡¯t help with that¡ªthe seed in his pocket became warm and started to pulse. Did it mean he was getting close to the lifestream?

    So¡­ where is it?

    Cogwyn must¡¯ve described its location in this sinkhole but that didn¡¯t stick to Finlay because he hadn¡¯t been here before. This crystal or that crystal? Did Cogwyn even mention a crystal? A tree? Which part of the sinkhole did they enter? Should be different from Finlay¡¯s path because they had some shenanigans with the kudzun.

    Finlay ended up playing a ¡®Hot and Cold¡¯ game to find the lifestream. A literal version of it. If the World Tree seed cooled, he was going the wrong way. He had to go in the direction that made it warmer. It became as hot as a bread roll fresh from the oven.

    ¡°I¡¯m so hungry I could eat a¡ªwhat¡¯s that?¡± A wisp of unearthly glow caught Finlay¡¯s eye. Rushing to it, he was prepared to be disappointed, finding perhaps just a firefly.

    The tail end of a snaking greenish-blue light beckoned at him. As he followed it, the thin ribbon became folds of unearthly gossamer cloth hovering close the ground. A slight tingle went up his legs as he stepped on the light. The aurora borealis, the northern lights of Earth, came to mind, though he had seen only pictures of them. But these were more beautiful, and they flowed around him instead of up the sky. There was pink, gold, purple, every color he could think of. Then he came upon a crevasse bubbling with colors he couldn¡¯t think of. His mind turned to mush trying to comprehend the lifestream that he had to close his eyes. Staggering from a pressure that quaked his anima, he backed away, shielding his eyes from the light that seemed to pierce his eyelids.

    He turned around and climbed up looked for a place to plant the seed. Ribbons of the inexplicable light reached for his pocket. The world was guiding him to a certain spot.

    Kneeling, he dug a hole. He then took out the World Tree seed and looked at it for one last time. It wasn¡¯t his family heirloom, but it was still from Earth. Once he planted it, he¡¯d have no more anchor to where he came from.

    He dropped the seed into the hole and lightly covered it with loose soil. Light swirled around the patch like drained water. A powerful force emanated from the ground, knocking back Finlay several feet. He quickly crawled back to the patch, praying that everything was okay.

    The tiniest curl of a seedling poked through the soil.

 17. Vassenet Affairs

    Elowen Jadelyne Vassenet stopped reading the storybook and gazed out the window of their room, apprehensive of the unfamiliar. The foulmouthed babblings of the drunkards at the bar on the inn¡¯s first level rolled without pause. The couple across the street continued to yell at each other while their baby cried. They didn¡¯t feel it, whatever it may have been. But Jade was sure it came from the north and passed over the town. This¡­ pulse¡ªthat was what first came to her mind¡ªwas different from that she felt earlier this week, but it also shook the anima in her crucible.

    Was it connected to the earthquake? The restlessness of the Frost Trolls? Could it spell trouble for Worwick? There might be something in this phenomenon she could use for the House Vassenet¡¯s cause.

    ¡°What is it, Lady Jade?¡± Tiffania tugged at Jade¡¯s clothes, looking up at her with concerned eyes that were the color of seaweed. Only Tiffania called her Lady Jade. All others addressed her as Lady Elowen.

    Jade softened her face. Tiffania always complained that she looked scary if she was serious. She patted the girl¡¯s hair, which was more auburn than her own strawberry blonde color.

    ¡°Nothing to worry about, my lord,¡± Jade said while planning to investigate what the pulse could be. She found too much unknown worrisome. ¡°Where were we in our tale?¡±

    Tiffania pursed her lips, an expression reminiscent of Aurelia, her late mother. She disliked being addressed as ¡®lord¡¯, but that was how it went, every elector for the princeps was addressed thusly, and she had learned to accept it. ¡°The dragon rider has¡ª¡±

    A knock on the door.

    Jade used her Aethersight to check who was on the other side, the Soulhearts in her sternial warming up. It was just a reflex. She knew it was the old man from his footsteps. Tired footsteps.

    In came Master Luvarci, ducking to not hit his head on the doorway. The Head Warden of the House Vassenet was a Quadlinker boasting two Adept Grade Soulhearts. Tales of his feats once danced on the lips of every bard of Gilders. But those days were long gone. If only he joined the Warden Orders of the Solvi Empire instead of staying with House Vassenet, his prowess would¡¯ve reached greater heights. There wasn¡¯t much of a future this part of the continent.

    What did he have to show for two decades serving the Vassenet lords? Stagnation and headaches. He became more of an administrator than the House champion.

    Often, Jade jokingly called Master Luvarci an old man, but he wasn¡¯t that old. The stress of keeping the House afloat through generations of¡­ problematic¡­ lords added a decade worth of wrinkles to his face and whitened his hair. His muscles had deflated much compared to how older family members described his bygone years.

    Even if Jade thought Master Luvarci made the wrong choice, she had nothing but gratitude for him sacrificing the chance to stand on the pedestal of legends to take care of House Vassenet. Following the old man¡¯s footsteps, Jade herself chose to stay despite the family¡¯s misfortunes when she could¡¯ve joined a sect and made a name for herself. Her criticisms for Master Luvarci setting aside his Soulheart Warden career could be directed to her too.

    When Lady Aurelia was alive, she pushed for Jade to go explore the world and seek her destiny outside of Gilders. Jade didn¡¯t heed her sort of adoptive mother, of course. She stayed with the family in its time of need.

    ¡°Granduncle!¡± Tiffania jumped off her chair and stood on her toes to hug his waist. Master Luvarci nodded at her. He must¡¯ve been truly tired or he would¡¯ve lectured the young lord on etiquette and titles. She excitedly asked, ¡°Have you chosen our champion for the tournament?¡±

    ¡°They were all inadequate, to say the least, my lord,¡± Master Luvarci replied.

    That¡¯s not surprising, Jade thought.

    The tournament wasn¡¯t a grand event that¡¯d attract serious competitors. The pay would be the incentive. Their family didn¡¯t have the resources of the Baccarats and Wyrenths to hire promising Dualinkers from far away. A couple of days ago, they petitioned the Aeolian Crest elder to lend one of his acolytes to be their champion¡ªthey had the right to Worwick and their cause was just¡ªbut they were denied. It was a skyward shot with no landing. The sects wouldn¡¯t want to waste a single second in small-time politicking.

    Frantic to find a suitable candidate, the Vassenets stretched their stay in Worwick, grating on the constable¡¯s good graces. The Lodge Master of the trappers offered their training grounds for the Vassenets to use¡ªit was a donation from the previous lord, so there were no favors owed. Dregs with barely any experience dueling a Warden came by the dozen to apply. Most were only Adorned weapon wielders. She¡¯d prefer hiring a Warden for the tournament.

    Jade wasn¡¯t looking down on them. Or maybe she was.

    She couldn¡¯t help it. They were trappers and mercenaries. And some disguised bandits. What chance did they have against Wardens of the highest pedigrees and tutelage? The Vassenets weren¡¯t even aiming to win the tournament. Their pitiable goal was to not be embarrassed. They¡¯d be jumping into the arms of embarrassment fielding any of those men.

    ¡°We still don¡¯t have a champion?¡± Tiffania¡¯s voice wavered. ¡°But this is our last night in Worwick. Can we stay for longer?¡±

    ¡°Our promise to the constable was to leave on the morrow.¡± Master Luvarci went down on one knee and gave Tiffania a quick hug. He always had a soft spot for her. ¡°We have used the meeting with the sect elder as an excuse to enter the town despite the princeps¡¯ orders. The elder has left, and so should we. Let¡¯s not place the constable in a tough position. He¡¯s a good man who has helped us many times in years past.¡±

    ¡°He has his own head to worry about,¡± Jade said. ¡°Many are eager for him to make a mistake.¡±

    ¡°What will we do for the tournament?¡± Tiffania asked. ¡°Let¡¯s accept Uncle Leyron¡¯s offer of a champion. His only condition is we have to lose when facing his champion. That¡¯s fine, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Jade¡¯s left cheek twitched. He¡¯s not really your uncle!

    She had explained to Tiffania many times that Lord Leyron of the Baccarats only acted nice to her for show. They had no blood connection; they were related by marriage to Tiffania¡¯s third cousin. The expensive gifts for her birthdays were par for the course in noble circles. He was now showing his true skin underneath the mask of civility, wanting to takeover Worwick.

    Master Luvarci stood up, staring into nothingness with his jaws set. He spoke after several seconds, ¡°I am considering that, my lord.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± Jade exclaimed, closing the storybook in a loud snap. ¡°We can¡¯t trust him and whoever he¡¯ll send to us. This champion of his might quit on us on the day of the tournament or intentionally bungle his match to make us look like fools. And we can¡¯t complain. We can¡¯t say that our champion was one of Lord Leyron¡¯s men¡ªthat¡¯s stabbing our own foot. He could even expose us accepting his help. That¡¯s a showing of subservience. He¡¯d use that to push more for regency of the town.¡±

    ¡°Uncle Leyron won¡¯t do that,¡± Tiffania said. ¡°I know he plans to control Worwick. I¡¯m not na?ve. But that doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯ll break his promise.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Jade was tempted to ask which promise.

    That the loaned champion would uphold their standing in front of the other lords? That Vassenet holdings would be maintained during the regency? Or that Lord Leyron would return Worwick to Tiffania when she came of age? So many other promises. He¡¯d break them all.

    Who knew what nefarious designs floated in Lord Leyron¡¯s head? They had no clue of why Lord Leyron was suddenly interested in controlling Worwick. Perhaps he has for a long time, only showing his hand now.

    But Jade held her tongue, brushing away her protests. She didn¡¯t want to upset the little girl this late at night¡ªTiffania had been stressed by the burdens of adults too much. Jade reminded herself of her promise to Aurelia on her deathbed to care for Tiffania, including her mental state.

    ¡°We¡¯ll keep our options open, my lord,¡± said Master Luvarci. ¡°The Firstborns will guide us to the champion who¡¯ll win the tournament. Such isn¡¯t possible if we take Lord Leyron¡¯s deal. We aim high and win, the feldeers charge ever forward.¡±

    Tiffania¡¯s face brightened. ¡°If we win, we¡¯ll uphold the name of the Vassenets! The princeps will favor us, and the other lords will give us aid.¡±

    That¡­ is na?ve thinking. If they do win¡ªand that¡¯d be a miracle worthy of a pilgrimage¡ªthe most they¡¯d get was to delay the princeps deciding Worwick¡¯s fate by a year or two. It might be enough time to turn around their finances. Maybe not. But that was all their House could do¡ªdelay and vie for a better bargaining position. They should avoid owing any other noble family while maintaining a veneer of prestige.

    ¡°Appearances, appearances,¡± Aurelia would scoff when tutoring Jade about etiquette. ¡°The currency of power. Worth nothing. Worth everything.¡±

    ¡°You should rest now, my lord,¡± Master Luvarci said in a tone that ended the conversation. He wanted to leave Tiffania with happy thoughts, unrealistic they may be. ¡°We ride early tomorrow,¡± he added, leaving unsaid that it was better if fewer townspeople saw them leave their rightful territory.

    Jade was staying in Tiffania¡¯s room as a guard, but she followed the old man out for a quick question. ¡°Master, did you feel that¡­ pulse? It¡¯s similar to the previous one I told you about.¡±

    ¡°What? Ah, yes. I know what you mean. I was wondering if that was my skull-splitting headache or my strained chest. It is something else, it turns out.¡±

    ¡°Are you not worried?¡±

    ¡°Some kind of natura explosion in the Big Bowl,¡± said Master Luvarci with a shake of his head. ¡°You do know a lifestream flowed there in ancient times. The earth¡¯s unrest. Nothing that concerns us.¡± He gave her a tired, lopsided smile. ¡°I know you¡¯ll look into it, so just tell me about it when you do find out. But don¡¯t you have other things you¡¯re investigating?¡±

    ¡°Wha-what?¡± Jade¡¯s fake shock couldn¡¯t have fooled even a child. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    ¡°A mimic slime Soulheart is missing from our stores. Only you and Sinclair are well-versed in using it. I know you¡¯ve roped in Sinclair to aid you. I can¡¯t stop you. I only ask that you tread carefully and not let any harmful consequences of your actions find their way to our family.¡±

    Jade nodded. ¡°I swear on the feldeer¡¯s horns, master.¡±

    <hr>

    Jade reached up to rub the beak of her trusty avian-steed, Amberwynd. It didn¡¯t have a splotch of red or orange on its feathers; they were mostly white with blue and black streaks. Unfortunately, Jade¡¯s seven-year-old self was too stubborn to change the name after the egg hatched. ¡®Amberwynd¡¯ was the dragon in her favorite book. Her Amberwynd may not be a dragon, but it had claws and wings, and that was close enough.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but you have to leave tomorrow,¡± she told the avian-steed. ¡°I know you like Worwick and you don¡¯t want to¡ª¡±

    Amberwynd tilted its head and looked at her with its right eye.

    ¡°I was jesting,¡± she said with a laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t like Worwick either. Noisy, smelly, stuffy with all sorts of intrigue. The fields of Sandervale beckon me in my sleep, and you¡¯ll return there. But I have to stay.¡± She moved closer to Amberwynd and looked at its large round eye that reflected her face. ¡°Worwick is ours. We can¡¯t give it up. If we continue to give ground, we¡¯ll someday find ourselves with nowhere to stand on.¡±

    Amberwynd didn¡¯t understand her. Jade meant those words for herself. It was much easier to step aside and accept that fate did not favor them. However, life rewards action, as Aurelia would often advise her. If Jade didn¡¯t act, she would lose more and more. She abhorred losing.

    An eerie whistle, like the call of a forlorn bird, interrupted her thoughts.

    ¡°Sinclair, what of your investigations?¡± Jade asked, turning to the far corner of the stable. The bonded Warden of the Vassenets maintained his blanket of shadows.

    ¡°Lady Jade¡­¡± answered a wispy voice that could barely be heard over Amberwynd¡¯s anxious snorts. ¡°The last anyone saw of Finlay Rasband of Elmbow was two days ago. He left town, heading to¡ª¡±

    ¡°To the north,¡± Jade said. Did this Finlay Rasband¡ªit had to be a fake name¡ªhave anything to do with the pulse she felt?

    She met this mysterious character when their entourage entered Worwick. He appeared too well-kempt, his hair worked in a foreign style, piquing her curiosity. When he looked at her, he seemed to recognize her. But she was sure she had never seen him before in her life. Was he spying on her¡­ on all the Vassenets? He was a curiosity then, a potential threat now.

    ¡°Indeed, to the north, my lady. No one saw him return to Worwick. Trappers prowling the mountains have no word. The bandits in our pay are equally clueless as to his identity. More ghost than man.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s difficult to find someone who doesn¡¯t want to be found,¡± Jade said. ¡°The mountains are vast, and he is there while we are none the wiser as to his intentions.¡±

    ¡°I will check if he has connections to the Baccarats or the Wyrenths,¡± whispered Sinclair.

    ¡°Or the princeps. Don¡¯t forget about him. What about the quake several days ago?¡±

    ¡°The bandits disclaim responsibility. Five of them died in a cave-in because of it, including one of our contacts. I would¡¯ve dismissed it as natural movements of the earth were it not for this feeling you had.¡± A scrap of disbelief surfaced in his tone. It sounded like an intentional slip.

    ¡°I know what I felt, Sinclair,¡± Jade said. She was confident in her sensitivity to both anima and natura. Though she wasn¡¯t a prodigy like champion the Baccarats hired, Jade¡¯s anima-sense was on par with higher Linkers, allowing her to almost predict her opponents¡¯ movements from their anima flow.

    Other Wardens felt the pulse too, though not as strongly. That was why they were dismissive of her concerns. Or likelier, there were so many problems in front of their faces that they couldn¡¯t spare their thoughts to wonder about goings on the mountains. Jade should have done the same, but the wriggling worm of worry had burrowed in her head. The quake was anomalous and would affect them. Both her brain and guts agreed¡ªa rare occurrence.

    ¡°I will continue to learn what I can, my lady,¡± Sinclair said with a barely disguised sigh.

    ¡°And the rumors of a Frost Troll roving in our warmer mountains?¡±

    Yesterday, a trapper raved about a Frost Troll attacking his party, killing all except him. The tusked brute was allegedly diseased, its moldy flesh falling off its body, yet its strength wasn¡¯t diminished. Its condition could explain why its wanderings far south from the lands of snow.

    ¡°It remains a singular rumor from a lone trapper turned crazed by the attack,¡± replied Sinclair. ¡°The constable sent men in search of this Frost Troll. They found nothing. It could¡¯ve been a different beast rather than a Frost Troll.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps so¡­¡± Jade absentmindedly fiddled with Amberwynd¡¯s feathers while trying to fit together blocks from different molds in her mind. Many things were happening. She couldn¡¯t help but suspect they were all connected. ¡°For now, continue monitoring the movements of the Baccarats. I still can¡¯t pinpoint their motivations for trying to gain control of Worwick. This is exceedingly far from their holdings. Lord Leyron isn¡¯t a man to gather control and power for its sake¡ªhe has deeper motivations. And continue your search for a suitable champion.¡±

    ¡°I obey, tied by the bond.¡± Sinclair melted into the darkness, any trace of his anima wiped clean.

    Tip taps on the stable roof made Jade look up. The noise became a smattering of knocks. Seconds later, it was a heavy downpour crashing on the roof.

    Jade frowned. The Big Bowl always spawned these strange clouds bringing too much rain as if Worwick was to the south of the continent. She¡¯d get wet returning to the inn.

    It must be torrential up north if it was raining this hard here. She prayed to the Firstborns that the rain would interfere with the plans of the mysterious Finlay of Elmbow.