La-la-la... la-la-la...
A faint sound drifted into Raymond's ears. It almost sounded like a child singing a nursery rhyme—high-pitched, innocent, but muffled, like it was coming from far away.
His whole body ached. His head spun.
He felt like he was floating, sinking into a pile of cotton. Everything was hazy, soft, dreamlike. Part of him just wanted to let go and drift back under.
Then reality crashed down.
I'm not in a regen pod. I'm not home. I'm still here.
His eyes snapped open.
Above him, thick branches stretched toward the sky, covered in lush green leaves. A gentle breeze brushed his face, cool and fresh. The leaves—each one about the size of a palm—rustled and swayed above him. Through the gaps, he spotted clusters of red fruit hanging from the branches, bobbing gently. They looked... edible. Tempting, even.
Then the memory hit him. The fall. The beast. The chase.
And the sound—that strange, childlike singing—it was still there. Close now. Too close.
He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. Following the noise, he rounded the trunk—
And froze.
His blood turned to ice. Every hair on his body stood on end.
La-la-la... la-la-la...
The singing continued, high and clear, but now he could see the source.
"Scan radius ten meters," he commanded, his voice barely a whisper.
"Task initiated. Beginning analysis..." The chip's mechanical voice hummed in his mind.
Red threads appeared in his eyes, giving his dark pupils an eerie glow. Data waterfalls cascaded across his vision. And with each new piece of information, cold sweat beaded thicker on his forehead.
Thousands of leaves. Hundreds of thousands. They had gathered in rings around the base of the massive tree. But these weren't ordinary leaves—they had tiny limbs. Arms. Legs. Small mouths opened and closed on each leaf's surface, emitting those tiny sounds that merged into the haunting nursery rhyme.
They held hands—or rather, held each other's tiny leaf-limbs—forming circles within circles. They moved their little feet in time with the melody, their soft footfalls against the earth creating that rustling whisper he'd heard.
"Unknown energy fluctuation detected. Insufficient data for complete analysis," the chip reported.
Raymond's scalp prickled. His brain felt like it was about to explode.
His body trembled uncontrollably. Forcing himself to move, he turned his head—slowly, his neck muscles so tense they felt rusted—and took in his surroundings.
About ten meters to his right, a grassy slope rose sharply. A clear trail of disturbed grass and broken branches marked the path of his tumble down the hill.
At the base of the slope, maybe fifteen meters from where he stood, something else caught his eye. A tangled mass of root-like tendrils, each as thick as a finger, formed a bulging mound several meters across. Dark purple-black liquid oozed from between the yellow-brown roots, seeping into the soil.
The roots pulsed. Contracted. Writhed.
The chip zoomed in. Through gaps in the writhing mass, Raymond caught a glimpse of something—a patch of black fur, thumb-sized, attached to a scrap of hide. Then the roots shifted, and it disappeared from view.
The bear-thing, Raymond realized. That's what's left of it.
La-la-la... la-la-la...
The singing grew louder. Clearer. And closer.
The rustling footsteps came from behind him now.
Raymond's neck craned around, muscles screaming in protest. The rings of dancing leaves had moved. While he'd been distracted, they'd encircled him. Dozens—no, hundreds—of the little leaf-creatures now formed a complete circle around where he crouched.
One stepped onto the back of his hand. He felt it—a tiny tickle, like a butterfly landing. Then another. Another.
Without thinking, he snatched his hands up, pressing them against his chest.
The leaves that had been on his hands fluttered gently to the ground, letting out tiny squeaks of surprise. They wobbled on the dirt, turning in circles as if confused, searching for their places in the dance.
But the ring had already closed. The leaves on the ground scurried back and forth on their thin little legs, trying to rejoin the moving circle, but the gap had sealed without them. They chirped in frustration.
A voice—ancient, slow, creaking like old wood—rumbled from somewhere above.
"Awake?"
Raymond's gaze shot upward. The trunk of the massive tree... changed. The bark shifted, rearranged, and a face emerged. Old. Wizened. Gray-brown eyelids blinked open, revealing eyes deep-set in the wood—eyes that held centuries of wisdom. And curiosity. Sharp, probing curiosity.
"I'm awake," Raymond managed, his voice steadier than he felt.
His eyes flickered red as he commanded another scan. The result came back the same as before: unknown energy field surrounding the tree. Impenetrable. The leaves, too—the chip registered nothing unusual about them. They simply... were.
The ancient face on the trunk grew solemn. A long pause stretched between them. Then the tree spoke again.
"According to the wizard's principle of equal exchange, you must now compensate me for my losses."
Raymond's scalp tightened.
The few leaves that hadn't found their place in the dance had given up. Frustrated, they swarmed his legs, tiny limbs pounding against his thighs in miniature fury. Their little mouths puckered, and they made sounds like sobbing.
Another long pause. Raymond said nothing—he didn't know what to say.
The tree's expression hardened. Its eyes grew stern.
"The beast that hunted you has been slain," it rumbled. "For this, you owe additional payment. Otherwise, I must conclude that you have violated the wizard's principles first."
The words barely registered before the chip screamed in his mind:
"WARNING! WARNING! Unknown intensity radiation detected. Immediate evacuation to distance exceeding three hundred meters required!"
Raymond couldn't move. Not with those ancient eyes boring into him.
Fumbling, he tore at the pack on his back, gently pushing aside the leaves that had climbed onto his legs. He upended the bag onto the grass in front of him, his voice cracking as he spoke:
"This is everything I have. Take whatever you want."
The contents spilled out—bottles, jars, a few dull black stones. His entire inheritance from Gumede.
A rustling sound came from the tree. The ancient face softened slightly, a flicker of satisfaction in those deep eyes. Branches reached down, slowly, deliberately, gently sweeping the singing leaves away from Raymond's offering.
A thin branch extended—so thin it still bore tender new shoots and two or three fresh buds. It brushed softly against Raymond's leg, making his exposed skin prickle and shiver, then moved to examine the scattered items on the ground.
The delicate green shoots touched each bottle in turn, lingered over the jars, and finally came to rest on the black stones. One stone in particular—thumb-sized, unremarkable—seemed to catch its attention.
The branch curled around it, lifted it gently from the grass, and withdrew.
Raymond watched, transfixed, as the branch carried the stone toward the ancient face on the trunk. The tree's mouth opened—a dark opening in the bark—and the stone disappeared inside.
It swallowed.
And waited.