Morning
He woke to a thin shaft of sunlight slipping through the tangle of roots and pressing against his closed eyelid. Warm. Soft. Alive. Arthur did not open his eyes at once — he simply lay there, listening to his own body. His back did not ache. His shoulders did not burn. For the first time in what felt like forever, he had slept deeply, without jerking awake at every rustle.
The root shelter was dry and still. Somewhere deep within the tree, the wood gave faint, crackling sighs, as if it were slowly "breathing" after the cold of the night. He ran his palm over the wall — not earth, not dirt, but smooth, warm timber that gave strangely under his fingers, like old, well-worked leather. His fingertips left a faint imprint that smoothed itself out almost at once. The surface was warm, but not hot — living, rather than heated.
It smelled of dry bark, the ghost of yesterday's cookfire, and something else — faint, sharp, like the scent of a storm before it breaks. And that scent did not fade; it hung in the air, caught.
He sat up, rolling his neck. His joints gave a quiet crack. His stomach reminded him of itself with a dull, insistent clench. Yesterday's rabbit was long gone.
Food first. Then the tree.
He knew the creatures did not come close to the trunk, and that knowledge let him move more calmly than in the first days. But the habit of caution had already burrowed into his muscles: whenever he went outside, he looked first, listened, drew the air in through his nose.
He wore what remained of his clothes: underwear, a long-sleeved shirt, and the chestplate. The rest had long since rotted or burned. The chestplate pressed unpleasantly when he moved, chafing here and there, but he had stopped noticing.
Today the forest smelled ordinary: of wet leaves, damp moss, distant rot. A branch snapped somewhere — but it was only the wind.
---
The Hunt
He moved slowly, placing each foot toe-first, then heel. Dry twigs did not crunch under his weight — he chose patches of moss where his steps were swallowed by that soft green cushion. Sometimes he held his breath to catch any extra sound. The axe was ready in his hand, though he had not yet taken it from his belt.
He spotted the first rabbit by the stream. The water ran in a thin ribbon between stones, catching the light in patches. The creature sat alert, ears swiveling, but it was looking the other way. Arthur froze, unblinking, and waited until the rabbit lowered its head to drink. Then he threw the sharpened stick he had prepared. A miss. The stick rustled into the grass. The rabbit bolted for the underbrush, but he already knew the line it would take. He circled around the far side of the bush, crouched, and when the animal burst out almost under his feet, he brought the flat of the axe down. A dull, wet thud. The rabbit twitched twice and lay still.
After that it grew easier. He found a rabbit run and set simple snares of pliant twigs and his own hair — cut a lock with his knife, not without regret. The hairs clung unpleasantly to his fingers. By midday he had four carcasses.
The slimes appeared as he was making his way back. Three of them — blue, translucent, pulsing — oozed out from under the roots directly in his path. Once he would have panicked. Now he simply took a step back, judged the distance, and split the nearest one with a full swing. The slime's insides splattered cold, sticky gel with a sharp, sour reek. He finished the second with an overhead blow; the third tried to crawl away, leaving a trail, but it was far too slow.
Too easy. The thought flickered through his mind. Why is it so easy? Or is it because of the tree?
He exhaled and scooped the gel into the clay bowl.
---
Return and Dressing
At the base of the tree he had made himself a work space: a flat stone for a table, a shard of flint for a fine knife. The stone was still damp with morning dew. He hung the carcasses from a protruding root, skinned them, and set the hides aside. The offal he buried under a bush, covering it with earth and leaves and weighting it down with stones.
He roasted one rabbit at once. He built the fire in a hollow between the roots so the flames would not show from a distance. The meat hissed and spat, fat dripping. The smell rose up and was lost in the canopy. He ate slowly, barely tasting it — hunger made everything equally precious.
When he was full, he felt a surge of strength.
Now.
---
The Climb
He began where he had left off. The bark already bore his notches. Now, fed and rested, he moved faster. The axe bit into the wood with a dull, solid sound, sometimes with a crack of fibers. Splinters fell away and vanished in the gloom near the roots.
His hands began to hum, then to burn. He paused, glanced down — the ground was already far below. The forest looked like a dense carpet in which something occasionally stirred.
He kept climbing.
The first branch appeared when he was beginning to tire. Thick, sturdy, it jutted out almost level, forming a natural platform. He hauled himself onto it and sat, legs dangling.
From up here the forest was different — a sea of green stretching into the distance, and the higher he went, the colder the air grew.
Only then did he lift his gaze higher.
---
The Hollow
It sat in the fork of the trunk. Huge. Oval. Too regular. The edges were smooth, as if worn from within. The air around it felt colder.
"I don't like this," he muttered.
His voice sounded flat, as if the tree were eating the sound.
He thought of the game. Terraria. There had been giant trees, yes, but he did not remember anything like this. And that meant only one thing — there was something here he did not know.
---
The Test
He tossed two of the rabbits onto the branch across from the hollow. The carcasses struck the bark with a dull slap and caught among the smaller offshoots.
Silence.
Not a sound.
He did not wait. Slowly, he climbed back down.
---
Evening and Night
Before dark he caught more rabbits. The forest grew louder, the voices of its creatures carrying from a distance, but they never drew close. He returned to the shelter, ate, and let exhaustion take him.
And then the stars began to fall.
He heard a thin, high whistle, soft and airy. He peered outside — in a clearing thirty yards away lay a Fallen Star. It glowed with a soft, pulsing light, and the grass around it looked silver. As he watched, two more streaked down from the sky. Three stars, almost a perfect triangle.
"Shit."
Two zombies shambled out from behind the distant bushes. Slow, dragging, they moved deliberately toward the light. Arthur slipped outside, crouching low, using every bit of cover. He took the first one with a single swing — severed its head. The body dropped like a sack. The second turned, but too slowly. Arthur hacked off its arms at the elbows, then its head.
"Damn... all those taekwondo and bukijutsu lessons actually paid off. Phew. Good thing I went to them."
He quickly gathered the stars. They were warm, faintly vibrating. He stuffed them into his pockets. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he picked up the severed zombie arms and wrapped them in a rag. He left the head — the smell of rot was too strong.
Back in the shelter, he let out a breath and listened. Silence. The forest had gone quiet again. He took a piece of charcoal from the firepit and drew a single line on the smooth wall. The counting had begun.
Before sleep, he stared for a long time toward the hollow. The tree hummed, barely audible. And that hum was almost soothing.
---
Veridis. The Night After the First Day
She caught the scent long before she saw the prey.
First came the smoke. Bitter, acrid, it rose from the roots and seeped into the hollow, making her nostrils flare. Then — meat. Hot, fatty, blood-rich. Her stomach clenched in a painful spasm. She had not eaten properly in days — only the small rodents she could catch without leaving the tree.
And then the scent changed. It drew closer.
She peered cautiously out of the hollow. The branch opposite — the one that grew almost level with her den — now held something. Two small, dark shapes. They smelled of meat. Raw, but fresh. And they lay right where she could reach them, barely exposing herself.
Veridis froze.
Two instincts warred inside her. The first — hunger — demanded she snatch, tear, swallow. The second — fear — whispered that it was a trap. This was how humans hunted: they left bait and waited for the beast to fall. She had seen it once, before everything collapsed. Her mother had dragged her away, hissing: "Never take what lies too conveniently."
But her mother was dead.
And she was hungry.
She waited a long time. The sun shifted, the shadows lengthened. No one came. The tree was silent, the forest lived its own life, and the meat still lay on the branch, leaking its last moisture.
Veridis made her choice.
She crept out of the hollow — slowly, belly pressed to the bark, ready to bolt back at any instant. Her paws trembled. She stretched her neck, seized the nearest carcass in her teeth, and tore back into the darkness of the hollow. Her heart pounded in her throat.
Inside, safe, she tore the rabbit apart and swallowed it almost without chewing. The taste was bland, the meat tough, but the ache in her belly finally stopped. She ate the second one more slowly, already sated, and when nothing remained she licked her muzzle for a long time, collecting every trace of flavor.
Where did it come from?
She did not understand. But before curling up and closing her eyes, she looked out once more. The branch was empty. And far below, among the roots, a tiny fire burned — small, but stubborn.
The human was there.
And he had left her food.
She did not know why. But her belly was full, and for the first time in many days she fell asleep without the gnawing ache of hunger.
---
Day One (After the First Mark)
He woke later than usual. The sun was already pouring through the roots, and the shelter felt almost warm. Arthur stretched, rolled his shoulders, and checked the stars. They still glowed faintly. The zombie arms lay in the corner, giving off a weak reek of decay. He decided to examine them later.
First, food. He roasted one of yesterday's rabbits, ate it, and washed it down with water from the clay bowl. Then he looked at the system. Two blueprints were filled to about forty percent — or perhaps the system was showing how far they could be filled. The zombie arms produced no reaction.
"Alright. Now the main thing."
He climbed again. Faster this time, more confident. He reached the same perch below the hollow and looked at the branch where he had left the rabbits the day before.
There was nothing there.
No bones, no fur, no bloodstains. Only smooth, clean bark, as if nothing had ever been placed there.
Arthur climbed down slowly. His heart beat faster than usual.
"Damn. I knew it... Maybe it's birds? Or something like that... No. Even zombies are afraid to come near this place. Let alone ordinary birds. Shit... Is it a giant owl? Or... what? I didn't see any animal fly here this morning. So it's a nocturnal creature... But what kind? If it doesn't fly and lives in the hollow, I would have noticed it when I went out for the stars... Hell. Alright, don't panic. The best way to calm a creature, if it isn't a herbivore, is to feed it. Let it get used to the idea that food comes from me, not a threat."
He climbed up again, bringing the remaining rabbits. He tossed them onto the same branch. Four carcasses. Let it eat. Or them. Whatever it was.
---
Scouting and Return
He spent the rest of the day scouting. He tried to approach other giant trees in the forest, but quickly retreated: there were too many tracks around them — animal, human, and some he could not identify. Too great a risk. His tree, for all its strangeness, remained the safest place.
He returned by sunset. The shelter smelled of smoke, dried meat, and that faint, sharp scent he had begun to associate with this place. Arthur sat against the wall, stretched out his legs, and allowed himself a minute just to breathe. His muscles ached from climbing; his palms were raw from the bark.
He was no longer a newcomer here. His body was slowly adjusting to the strain, and his mind — to the constant background hum of fear. The fear had not vanished, but it no longer paralyzed him. It was simply another condition of survival, like hunger or cold.
He took the three Fallen Stars from their niche in the roots and laid them out before him. They still glowed softly — a gentle, pulsing light. He picked one up. Warm. Slightly vibrating, like a taut string under his fingers.
"So... the system."
He focused, and the familiar outlines swam into his inner vision. Two blueprints were filled to about forty percent. New, blurred shapes had appeared beside them, too indistinct to make out.
Arthur ran a finger over one of the stars. In the game, everything had been simple: open the inventory, press a button, see the recipe. Here — nothing. Only vague images and gut feelings. He brought the star closer to his eyes. For an instant he thought he detected a rhythm in its pulsing — not chaotic, but measured, almost like breathing.
"Maybe if I just... think about what I want to make?"
He closed his eyes and imagined the simplest object — a torch. The star in his palm grew warmer, the vibration intensified, and then abruptly stilled. He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed.
"Alright. Not today."
He set the stars aside and turned his attention to the zombie arms. The smell had faded. The system showed no reaction to them. He wrapped them up again and shoved them into the far corner.
The shelter wall now held one charcoal mark. He drew a second beside it.
Day One was done.
He lay down on his bed of moss and dry grass, pulling the scrap of hide over himself like a blanket. Sleep would not come. His thoughts circled the hollow, the stars, and the tree's strange behavior.
"Who are you? And what do you want?"
There was no answer. Only the tree hummed, barely audible, as if breathing somewhere deep inside itself.
Arthur closed his eyes and let that hum carry him into sleep.
---
Veridis. The Night After the Second Day
She waited.
All day she had sat in the depths of the hollow, curled around her own tail, listening. From outside came sounds: the crack of bark, the occasional thud — the human was climbing again. She caught his scent: sweat, smoke, something metallic. He came close, but not to her. He stopped somewhere below, then descended.
And then the food appeared again.
This time — four carcasses. They lay on the same branch, and their scent was thick, rich. Veridis stared at them for a long time, motionless. The same feelings warred inside her: hunger and fear. But now hunger was stronger. She already knew: this was not a trap. Or if it was, it was a strange one — one that gave her food and left her untouched.
She crept out faster than the day before. She seized one carcass, dragged it into the hollow, and devoured it. She returned for the second. And the third. The fourth she saved for later — for the first time in a long while, she had a store.
Sated, she lay in the dark of the hollow and gazed down at the tiny fire among the roots. The human was there again. He did not leave. He did not attack. He simply... was. And he gave her food.
Veridis did not understand. But something inside her — something old, nearly forgotten, something that had once responded to the warmth of her mother's wing — stirred.
She curled into a ball, pressed her nose against the saved carcass, and closed her eyes. For the first time in many nights, she did not dream of vines.