The World Tree
4317 stirred to the scent of dew and wildflowers. For a fleeting moment, he completely forgot about the pain.
There was no cold iron beneath his back, no bloody chains slicing into his wrists. Just soft grass brushing against his skin. He blinked slowly, as pure light filtered through his lashes, not the sterile glare of the artificial lamps, but a warm, boundless blue, he had never seen.
It was vast and blue. A ceiling of impossible heights. And fluffs of cotton clouds drifted across it. Not the sickly smog that hung over the dome. They looked like living brushstrokes across the endless blue. Wisps of silver mist dancing lazily across the heaven.
Those must be clouds, he thought, dazed. Brother talked about it a lot. It's pretty. The sky… it's so blue.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows. Around him an endless plain stretched like a dream unspoiled.
Emerald grass.
Not the mutated, glass-shard flora of the Blight Zones, but thick, vibrant blades of emerald green, dewdrops catching the light like scattered diamonds. It stretched in every direction, a rolling meadow dotted with wildflowers in impossible colors – sapphire blue, crimson, violet – their subtle, sweet scent perfuming the air. Colors 4317 never knew existed. Their sweet scent clung gently to the air.
No blaring sirens. No crackling loudspeakers, no beatings or bells. Just… peace.
His eyes caught on something distant. Then it widened.
The Tree.
It wasn't on the horizon – it was the horizon. A colossal pillar of living wood, larger than anything he'd ever seen. Wider than the cities. Soaring upward until its trunk vanished into the impossibly high sky. Beyond the clouds. Its bark wasn't bark; it was intricate, shifting patterns of silver and deep jade, like frozen rivers of light flowing upward.
High, high above, obscured by atmospheric haze and distance, the suggestion of branches fanned out, holding up the very sky itself. Vines like golden arteries curled up into the sky. Leaves drifted down, glowing with hues no spectrum could define.
Its presence wasn't imposing; it was foundational. The heart of this impossible world.
He stared, slack jawed. He couldn't still process what he looked at. He felt so tiny, so vulnerable, yet he didn't feel afraid. He felt a calming sense.
For the first time in his life, 4317 felt no immediate threat. No grinding pain. No collar's bite. The sheer, overwhelming openness of it all, the quiet beauty, was a balm on his ravaged spirit. The tension bled from his muscles. A sigh escaped him, ragged but genuine. He let himself sink back onto the soft grass, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. To breathe air that cured his soul...
Is this death? Brother… are you in a place like this?
The subtle shift in light registered before the presence did. A cool shadow fell across his face, gentle as a cloud passing before the unseen sun. He opened his eyes.
A figure stood beside him, silhouetted against the vast Tree. Not human. Not entirely.
She appeared as a young woman woven from sunlight and willow branches. Her skin held the warm, dappled hue of birch bark, shifting subtly with her movements. Hair like spun moonlight cascaded down her back, threaded with living vines bearing tiny, glowing buds. Her eyes were the most striking – vast, pupiless pools of deep, ancient green, holding swirling galaxies of silver light. She wore a simple gown of woven moss and starlight, shifting with an inner luminescence.
"How long will you sleep, little root?" She asked. Her voice was the whisper of wind through leaves, the sigh of deep earth, both young and impossibly old. "The soil is ready. The trials await."
4317 sat up slowly, wariness warring with the profound calm the garden exuded. The place itself made fear feel wrong. "What are you?"
"Ari, a reflection of the World Tree." the woman replied, her leafy hair swaying as if in a breeze only she felt. "And this is the antechamber of the World Tree. I'm its voice. Its thought. Its dreams." She tilted her head, those cosmic eyes studying him. "And what are you looking at so intently, little root?"
"Pretty." He said in a daze, "The prettiest of anything, I ever saw."
Ari Smiled, her soft laughter sounded like sloshing water from a fountain, "Thanks, little root. I see, you have a lot on your mind. And yes, you may."
"Did you… did you just read my thoughts?" 4317 asked wide eyed.
"Yes, you make silliest expressions, little root. It's always a blessing to witness such pureness. Frail but beautiful." Ari said, coming closer to him, and sat on the grass in impossible grace.
He couldn't look away even for a second. He was mesmerized by it. But he could see the expectant expression, so he asked without hesitation, "Am I dead?"
"No."
"What about 3952? Did he come here? I miss him."
"Not everyone wakes up here. Many simply die.
Worry not, he'll be in heaven. He was pure and sweet like you."
Tears rolled from 4317 eyes. He cried his heart out. Ari sat in silence.
"Why me?"
"Something bloomed in you, still blooming deep inside you. You amaze me. I forgot the last time I saw such resilient will.
Tierless. Grave Maw Cleaner. Mutated pseudo bloom slayer. Survivor."
The titles struck him. Cleaner? Slayer? He remembered the monstrous plant in the arena, the mutated Jax… "Mutated pseudo bloom slayer?"
"Jax, mistake the Tree never blessed." Ari said, "You'll learn about them if you live long enough.
Enough chitchat, let's start.
Ari raised her hand. The air shimmered before her, coalescing into intricate, glowing symbols that hovered between them – geometric patterns interwoven with root-like tendrils of light.
"The Blooming," she explained. "The Tree doesn't judge, it responds. Pass the trials. Strength. Wisdom. Will. Each trial refines the spirit, unlocks potential the harsh soil of your world buried." Her gaze sharpened, the silver galaxies swirling faster. "You carry scars deeper than flesh, little root. The collar's bite. The grave's shadow. The mutant's teeth. The Tree sees resilience forged in that crucible. Your endurance… exceptional. Your will… unbroken."
She gestured, and the symbols rearranged, forming a translucent, shimmering pane of light hovering in front of him. Words and numbers glowed upon it:
---
< SYSTEM INTERFACE >
Name: N/A (4317)
Seed: World seed
Race: Human
Rank: Tierless
Level: 0
STATUS: INITIALIZING BLOOM
ATTRIBUTES:
Strength : 9.2
Vitality : 10.4
Agility : 7.8
Intelligence : 7
Wisdom: 9.1
SP. ATTRIBUTES:*
Endurance: 12.3
Will: 20.9
SKILLS: N/A
TRAITS: N/A
ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:
- «Cleaner»: Defeated Grave Maw Mutant unarmed and tierless.
- «Mutant Slayer»: Eliminated mutated pseudo bloomed.
---
4317 stared at the display. Strength measured? Endurance quantified? Will given a rating? It was alien, yet the descriptions resonated painfully true. "This… numbers. I don't understand ?"
"A framework," Ari said, the interface dissolving into motes of light. "Reflection of soul. The Tree uses trials to unlock its potential. The creation is vast. Trials are just a way to understand it.Accept it and raise the tiers. You'll learn eventually."
She stood up, drifting closer, her bare feet leaving no imprint on the dew-kissed grass. "Your first choice lies before you. The Trial of Strength. It will test your body's limits – endurance, raw power, vitality. How deeply do you wish to delve into your own forge?"
She gestured again. Three symbols materialized, hovering like holographic seeds:
«Seedling»: Standard challenge. Balance risk and reward.
«Saper»: Heightened difficulty. Greater strain, greater insight.
«Worldroot»: Utmost extremity. Push beyond known limits.
Ari's cosmic eyes held his. "The Worldroot path is rarely chosen. It is the forge of legends… or graves. Yet…" Her voice softened, almost a sigh. "The Tree senses the shadow clinging to you, little root. The collar's mistress seeks anchors in the Blighted world. Roots grow strongest when straining against stone."
Elera. She was still out there. Still hunting. The pristine peace of the garden felt suddenly fragile.
4317 looked at the symbols. At the «Worldroot» seed pulsing with a dangerous, deep emerald light. Resting was a luxury he'd never known. Safety was an illusion. His strength, his endurance, his will – they weren't gifts; they were weapons honed in darkness. To face what was coming, he needed them.
He didn't hesitate. His hand, calloused and scarred, reached out and touched the «Worldroot» seed.
It flared, searingly bright, imprinting itself onto his palm for a second before fading. The air hummed with sudden, potent energy.
Ari inclined her head, a gesture that held both respect and solemn warning. "The stone awaits the root, 4317. Prepare for the weight of worlds."
Behind her, the base of the impossibly vast World Tree shimmered. A section of the intricate bark-patterns flowed aside, revealing an archway filled with swirling, deep green light. Not inviting. Challenging.
The path to the Worldroot Trial lay open. The garden's serenity retreated, replaced by the familiar, anticipatory thrum of impending struggle. 4317 rose to his feet. He felt no fear, only a grim focus. He had survived Elera's cages and Jax's teeth. He would survive whatever awaited and seize his own luck.
He walked towards the archway, leaving soft footprints in the perfect grass, the scent of wildflowers momentarily replaced by the ozone-tang of raw power. The verdant threshold faded behind him as the emerald light of the trial swallowed him whole, and he heard Ari's whisper, "May the light guide you."