World Chaos

Beneath the Re'garthea Tree, Beowulf stood erect, arms outstretched to the black spotted fruit dangling by a hair length of microfibers. It was said the Re'grathra bore a single fruit every one thousand years, though they only ripened after two. A full three thousand years in total. An arguably short time to one that had lived cycles. 

In his youth, in another life, before he met his Devil, Beuwulf had eaten from one, gaining enlightenment to become one with the world. Not only had he bolstered his source past the realm of refinement into Nascent. He had gained minor control over Spatial properties. He had never seen one again, at least not until now; a gift from the Lumaris, no doubt.