The forest was alive.
Not metaphorically.
Ethan could feel it—every tree, every root, every blade of moss watching, waiting, breathing in sync with something vast and old and patient—
And hungry.
Always hungry.
(Just like you.)
The tunnel had ended twenty minutes ago—or maybe two hours ago, time felt wrong here, stretched and compressed like taffy—and now Ethan walked through darkness broken only by bioluminescent fungi growing in spiral patterns up the tree trunks, glowing faint blue-green, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
Or maybe he was syncing to them.
He couldn't tell anymore.
The air smelled like wet earth and ozone and something floral-rotten, sweet decay, the way a greenhouse smells after you forget to ventilate for a week and everything starts composting itself, and his LE was—
(176/500)
—dropping, slowly but steadily, like the forest was tasting him, sipping his energy to decide if he was worth keeping or worth mulching—
The trees grew taller the deeper he went.
Roots thicker.
Light dimmer.
And then—
He saw it.
In the center of a massive clearing—
A tree.
No.
The Tree.
The same one from Kaito's vision, except real now, solid, present—its trunk was a city block wide, bark black-grey like storm clouds, roots spreading like highways, disappearing into earth, and its canopy stretched so high Ethan couldn't see the top, just kept going up and up into darkness that might have been sky or might have been something else entirely—
And carved into the trunk—
A face.
Human. Female. Ancient.
Eyes closed.
But aware.
Watching.
Ethan stepped closer—his legs were shaking, whole body shaking, but he forced himself forward because turning back meant dying in the sanctuary, dying slowly from Primordial integration, becoming a tree with human memories—
The face's eyes opened.
They were solid green.
No pupils.
No iris.
Just chlorophyll.
And they looked at him—through him, into the deepest parts of his soul, seeing everything he'd ever hidden, every fear, every desire, every shameful thought—
Ethan fell to his knees.
Not from choice.
From weight.
The presence was crushing—like atmosphere, like gravity, like being at the bottom of the ocean with the entire sky pressing down—
"ETHAN CROSS," the tree spoke.
Its voice was wind through leaves and roots cracking stone and the sound of forests burning and regrowing and burning again across millennia.
"YOU CARRY MY SEED."
Ethan couldn't speak.
Could barely breathe.
Managed: "I—I didn't ask for it—"
"NO ONE ASKS." The tree's expression didn't change. "THEY ARE CHOSEN. OR THEY ARE NOT."
"Why me?"
Silence.
Long.
Deep.
Then: "BECAUSE YOU ARE HOLLOW. AND HOLLOWS CAN BE FILLED."
Its roots shifted—one rose from the ground, massive, thick as a bus, coiling in front of Ethan like a serpent—and it split open, bark peeling back to reveal—
A seed.
Identical to the one Kaito had shown him.
But larger.
Pulsing.
Alive.
"TAKE IT," the tree said. "AND I WILL MAKE YOU STRONG."
Ethan stared at the seed.
It was beautiful—iridescent, shifting colors, green to gold to deep crimson, and he could feel the power radiating from it, enough to level cities, enough to reshape continents, enough to—
"What's the cost?" he whispered.
The tree smiled.
It was terrible—too wide, too many teeth, wrong—
"EVERYTHING."
Ethan's hand hovered over the seed.
(Take it. TAKE IT. You'll never be weak again. Never be helpless. Never watch people die because you weren't strong enough fast enough GOOD enough—)
He thought about David Park.
About the twenty-three dead.
About his mom—alone in a hospital bed, dying slowly from cancer while he worked double shifts and still couldn't afford treatment—
About the hunger.
(Always the hunger.)
He pulled his hand back.
"No," he said quietly.
The tree's smile faded.
"YOU REFUSE?"
"I refuse to lose myself." Ethan stood—legs shaking so hard he thought he'd fall, but he stayed upright, met those terrible green eyes. "I'll get stronger. But on my terms. Not yours."
Silence.
The forest held its breath.
Wind stopped.
Light dimmed.
And Ethan thought—
I'm going to die. I just refused a god and now I'm going to—
The tree laughed.
Deep. Resonant. Shaking the earth beneath Ethan's feet, vibrating through his bones, and small animals fled and insects fell from branches and somewhere in the distance a bird screamed—
"GOOD," the tree said.
The root closed—the seed disappeared back into darkness—and the tree's face leaned closer, massive, filling Ethan's entire field of vision.
"GOOD. THEN WE NEGOTIATE."
Ethan's breath caught.
"You'll... you'll still help me?"
"HELP?" The tree tilted its head. "NO. I DO NOT HELP. I DO NOT NURTURE. I DO NOT CARE." It paused. "BUT I RESPECT THOSE WHO REFUSE ME. STRENGTH RECOGNIZES STRENGTH."
Its eyes gleamed.
"LISTEN CAREFULLY, SEEDBED. I WILL TEACH YOU CONTROL. BUT YOU MUST FEED ME."
"Feed you what?"
"LIFE." The tree's voice hardened. "THOSE WHO WOULD DESTROY THE GREEN. BRING ME THORNBOUND. BRING ME THOSE WHO BURN AND POISON AND CUT. AND I WILL GIVE YOU STRENGTH."
Ethan's stomach turned.
"You want me to kill for you."
"I WANT YOU TO PROTECT." The tree's bark cracked—anger, barely contained. "THE THORNBOUND HARVEST MY CHILDREN. DRAIN THEM. SELL THEM. THEY ARE PARASITES." Pause. "AND PARASITES MUST BE CUT OUT."
It leaned back.
"DO THIS, AND I WILL TEACH YOU TO WIELD ME WITHOUT LOSING YOURSELF. REFUSE, AND YOU WILL DROWN IN MY ROOTS."
Ethan stood silent.
Thinking.
(Kill Thornbound. Protect the forest. Protect Users. That's... that's not evil. That's self-defense. That's—)
(—convenient. Very convenient. The voice in your head that wants to justify feeding, wants to justify becoming a monster—)
(—shut up—)
"How many?" he asked.
"FIFTY THORNBOUND LIVES. BRING THEM TO ME. AND I WILL GRANT YOU MASTERY."
Fifty people.
Fifty lives.
Ethan thought about Briar—about how she'd smiled while choking Mira, how she'd called him delicious, how Thornbound had pumped herbicide into the sanctuary and killed twenty-three people without hesitation—
(They're not people. They're soldiers. Murderers. They chose this.)
(Just like you're choosing this.)
He met the tree's eyes.
"I accept."
"THEN GO, SEEDBED." The tree's smile returned. "AND BECOME WHAT YOU WERE MEANT TO BE."
Light flooded the clearing—blinding, white-green, burning—and Ethan felt something shift inside him, the roots around his heart pulsing once, twice, then settling into a new rhythm, slower, deeper, controlled—
The world went white.
Ethan woke in the sanctuary.
Lying on the dirt floor of the training hall—same spot where he'd collapsed after vomiting LE, except cleaner now, the blood and sap scrubbed away, fresh soil laid down—
Mira stood over him.
"You were gone for six hours," she said flatly.
Ethan sat up.
Felt... different.
Stronger.
Centered.
The roots around his heart pulsed—steady, calm, like they'd been there forever, like they belonged—and his LE reserves felt deeper, more stable, a well instead of a shallow pool—
(284/500)
(Primordial Integration: 41% - STABLE)
Mira extended a hand.
"Kaito says you made a deal."
Ethan took her hand—her grip was warm, callused, strong—and stood.
"Yeah."
"What kind?"
Ethan looked at her—at the sanctuary beyond, at the white-sheeted bodies being carried away, at the survivors sitting silent in circles, staring at nothing—
"The kind that keeps me human," he said.
"And the cost?"
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"I kill Thornbound. Fifty of them."
Silence.
Mira's expression didn't change—didn't soften, didn't harden, just stayed flat, assessing—
Then she smiled.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
Hungry.
"Good," she said. "Because we're going hunting."
They stood in the sanctuary's war room—a root-woven chamber near the eastern wall, maps spread across a table made of compressed moss, pinned with red marks indicating Thornbound activity—
Sylvia was there. Kaito. Three other council members.
And Mira, standing beside Ethan, arms crossed.
"The Thornbound are consolidating," Sylvia said, pointing to a cluster of red marks northwest of the sanctuary. "Supply depot. Forty soldiers, maybe more. They're preparing for a second assault."
"When?" Mira asked.
"Three days. Maybe less."
Ethan studied the map—the depot was marked with detailed notes: guard rotations, herbicide storage, Harvester presence (unconfirmed)—
"We can't fight them here again," one of the council members said—older man, bark-skinned, voice rough. "We lost twenty-three in the last attack. We don't have the numbers."
"We don't need numbers," Mira said. "We need precision." She looked at Ethan. "How many Thornbound are in that depot?"
"Forty," Sylvia repeated.
"Then we kill forty." Mira's smile widened. "Ethan needs fifty for his deal. This gets him most of the way there."
Silence.
Everyone stared at her.
Then at Ethan.
"You're suggesting a raid," Sylvia said slowly.
"I'm suggesting survival." Mira leaned forward. "Thornbound won't stop. They'll keep coming until we're all dead or harvested. We can sit here and wait for them—" She paused. "—or we strike first."
"With what force?" the bark-skinned man demanded. "We have maybe fifteen combat-ready Users left. Thornbound have forty soldiers, tactical gear, Harvesters—"
"We have Ethan."
All eyes turned to him.
Ethan swallowed.
(Forty Thornbound. Forty lives. Can I—)
(David Park's face. Twenty-three dead. Briar smiling.)
(Yes. You can.)
He met Sylvia's gaze.
"I can do it."
"You absorbed a Harvester and nearly killed yourself," Sylvia said. "You vomited so much LE you strangled seven people with rogue plants. And now you want to fight forty Thornbound?"
"I made a deal with the Primordial." Ethan's voice was steady. "It's teaching me control. I won't lose it again."
"You can't promise that."
"I can try."
Silence.
Kaito stepped forward.
"Let him try," the Elder said quietly.
Everyone turned.
"Ethan has bound himself to the Primordial through negotiation, not submission. That is rare. Perhaps unique." Kaito looked at Ethan. "If he says he can control it, I believe him."
Sylvia's jaw tightened.
"And if he's wrong?"
"Then we lose one User instead of forty-three." Kaito's expression was unreadable. "A calculated risk."
(One User. That's all I am. A calculated risk.)
Mira's hand found Ethan's shoulder.
Squeezed once.
(You're more than that.)
Sylvia exhaled.
"Fine. We raid the depot in two days. Mira, you'll lead tactical. Ethan, you'll focus on—" She paused. "—elimination."
"Elimination," Ethan repeated.
The word tasted like copper.
"Yes." Sylvia's eyes were hard. "Kill them before they kill us. That's the mission."
She turned away.
"Dismissed."
That night, Ethan sat by the Memory Tree.
Alone.
The leaves shifted—faces blooming and fading, screaming and laughing, dying over and over—
David Park's face appeared.
Young. Scared.
Dead.
Ethan reached out.
Touched the leaf.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
The leaf didn't respond.
Just cycled to the next face.
And the next.
And the next.
Twenty-three dead.
Because of him.
Because he wasn't strong enough.
(You're strong now.)
(Stronger.)
(Soon you'll be unstoppable.)
He pulled his hand back.
Looked at the growth-scars on his forearms—pale green lines pulsing faintly, permanent reminders of what he was becoming—
Not human.
Not plant.
Something between.
Something hungry.
Behind him, footsteps.
Mira.
She sat down beside him.
Didn't speak.
Just sat.
For a long time.
Finally: "You okay?"
Ethan laughed.
It sounded broken.
Like a branch snapping.
"I made a deal to kill fifty people," he said. Voice flat. Empty. "Do I look okay?"
Mira was quiet.
Then: "I killed my first Thornbound soldier when I was sixteen. He was nineteen. Conscript. Didn't even want to fight." She held up her hand—vines visible beneath skin, pulsing green. "I drained him dry. Watched him turn grey. Die."
She looked at Ethan.
"I threw up for an hour. Couldn't eat for three days. Thought I was a monster."
"What changed?"
"I killed the second one." Mira's smile was bitter. "And the third. And eventually I stopped counting." Pause. "You don't stop being a monster, Ethan. You just get used to it."
Ethan stared at her.
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No." Mira stood. "It's supposed to make you ready."
She walked away.
Ethan sat alone.
Feeling the roots around his heart.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Growing.
Always growing.
And somewhere deep in the Old Growth, the Primordial stirred.
Tasted his resolve on the wind.
And smiled.