Zealth tried to pull the sword free.
Before he could, the boy's golden light swallowed him.
The dungeon vanished.
Grass touched his bare feet.
Zealth blinked.
No. It wasn't him.
Not Zedric.
Not Zealth.
He was smaller.
Shorter.
His hands were not armored. They were thin, dirty, and full of grass stains. He was running across an open field under a bright sky, laughing so hard his chest hurt. Other children ran with him—faces he did not know, names he somehow remembered.
Luko.
Sami.
Terra.
A girl shoved him from behind, and he fell forward into the grass. Instead of getting angry, he laughed harder. The others piled onto him, all elbows and knees and childish insults.
"Farmer boy Herol!"
"Slow legs!"
"You tripped first!"
He should have been confused.
He was.
But beneath the confusion, happiness bloomed.
Not his.
The boy's.
Herol's happiness.
Warm, simple, complete.
Zealth tried to move his own body.
It did not obey.
He was watching through the boy's eyes.
Feeling through the boy's chest.
A blink—
The field vanished.
A dining room replaced it.
Small.
Wooden.
Poor.
A table stood in the middle, with clay bowls and half-portions of food. Two adults sat across from each other—probably the boy's parents. His mother's hands were thin and restless. His father's face was burned dark by sun and worry.
"We cannot stretch this for another week," the mother said, voice trembling. "There is no grain left after this."
The father stared at the bowl in front of him.
"We will find something."
"Where?" she snapped, then immediately covered her mouth, guilt twisting her face. "Where will you find it? The fields are dead."
The boy stood near the doorway, small hands gripping the wooden frame.
Zealth felt the tears before he understood them.
The boy was crying quietly.
Not loudly enough for his parents to hear.
The room blurred.
Sadness pressed against Zealth's chest. Small sadness. Helpless sadness. The kind of child felt when adults spoke in broken voices, and no one explained how the world had become wrong.
A blink—
Dry earth filled his hands.
The boy knelt in a field.
The soil cracked between his fingers, pale and powdery. Too dry. Far too dry. Crops that should have stood green had bent into brown, brittle shapes. Leaves curled inward like dead hands. The wind dragged dust across the field.
His father stood several rows away, staring at nothing.
The boy looked down at the soil.
Please.
The thought was not Zealth's.
Herol's.
Please grow.
Nothing grew.
A blink—
A temple.
Stone floor beneath his knees.
The boy knelt before an altar carved with a god Zealth did not know. The statue had no face, only a hollow oval framed by carved branches and open hands. Candles burned around it, though half had melted into crooked piles.
The boy pressed his forehead to the floor.
"Please," he whispered. "Help us."
His voice cracked.
"Anyone… please."
Silence answered first.
Then golden light appeared.
A seed floated above the altar.
Zealth felt the boy's awe flood through him—pure, trembling hope so sharp it almost hurt. The seed glowed like sunlight trapped inside a shell.
A voice came from nowhere.
Soft.
Deep.
Impossible to place.
Plant it at the center of town.
The boy lifted his head.
The seed drifted down into his hands.
Feed them. Save them.
A blink—
The town square.
The seed had become a tree.
A beautiful one.
Its trunk was pale gold, its leaves broad and green, its branches heavy with fruit that shone like small suns. People gathered beneath it in disbelief. Then joy.
Someone laughed.
Someone cried.
A woman climbed a ladder to reach the higher branches. Men jumped, grabbing fruit by the handful. Children held baskets beneath the tree and cheered when golden fruit fell into them. The boy stood among them, smiling so widely his cheeks hurt.
His mother hugged him.
His father placed a hand on his head.
"You saved us," his father said.
The boy looked up at the golden branches.
For the first time in the memory, the hunger was gone.
People ate.
People sang.
People praised the tree.
They praised him.
The boy hugged the seed's empty shell against his chest like a treasure.
A blink—
The tree changed.
The golden leaves blackened first.
The fruits grew heavier, darker, too many for the branches. People still climbed for them. Still grabbed. Still laughed.
Then the roots moved.
A woman screamed.
A vine wrapped around her waist and pulled her into the trunk.
A man swung an axe. The branch opened like a mouth and swallowed him whole.
The golden fruits burst, spilling black sap over the square.
Panic shattered the town.
The boy ran.
A root caught his ankle.
He hit the ground hard.
"Help!" he cried.
People ran past him.
Friends.
Neighbors.
The same children from the field.
"Luko!"
No one stopped.
"Sami!"
No one turned.
"Mother!"
His mother stood across the square, eyes wide with terror. His father grabbed her arm, pulling her back as roots tore through the road between them.
"Father!"
The boy reached out.
A root wrapped around his waist.
Then his chest.
He clutched the golden seed shell tighter, sobbing.
"Please!"
The tree lifted him.
The town screamed below.
No one came.
A blink—
Zealth was back.
The present slammed into him with heat and rot.
"That was...reality."
The Rotbound Farmer was gone.
Only golden particles remained where the boy had floated, drifting upward like fireflies before fading into nothing.
"People care only what benefits them."
The cracked seed fell to the ground in two pieces.
Then the tree began to burn from the inside.
Not from Cinderbrand's flame alone.
From the boy.
Golden fire spread through the roots, rushing upward into the trunk. The black bark dried instantly, splitting open as heat poured through every crack. The skulls above rattled violently. Green light burst from their eyes, then died one by one.
The Rotbound Tree of Death groaned.
The sound shook the entire hollow.
Zealth stumbled back.
"Oh, that is definitely my cue."
A branch crashed down behind him, exploding into flaming splinters. Another root snapped in front of him, whipping across the ground like a dying serpent. The narrow entrance beneath the tree was still visible, but only barely. Fire rained around it.
Zealth grabbed Cinderbrand and ran.
The hollow became chaos.
Burning roots collapsed from above. Skulls dropped from the branches, some still glowing, cracking against the ground like porcelain. Flaming chunks of wood fell around him, each impact sending sparks into the air.
He ducked under one falling root.
Jumped over another.
A burning skull bounced beside his foot.
He kicked it away without thinking.
"Sorry. Reflex."
The narrow crawlspace ahead was half-blocked by a burning vine. Zealth slid feet-first beneath it, dragging himself through the cramped opening as flaming sap dripped onto the ground behind him. His torn tunic caught fire at the edge.
He slapped it out while crawling.
"Not the only clothes I have left!"
The base of the tree shook violently.
The roots around the entrance tightened, trying one last time to close.
Zealth forced himself forward, shoulders scraping bark, teeth clenched. A beam fired from a dying skull outside, wild and unfocused, carving into the ceiling above him. Stone rained down.
He pulled.
Twisted.
Kicked.
Then spilled out from beneath the tree into the main hollow.
He did not stop running.
Behind him, the massive tree burned from within. Flames climbed the trunk, golden at the center and orange at the edges. The skulls hanging from its branches burst one after another, releasing small clouds of green ash. The black roots dried and cracked, turning brittle as the fire ate deeper.
The tree groaned again.
Long.
Terrible.
Almost relieved.
Zealth reached the far side of the hollow and threw himself behind a broken stone wall just as a massive branch crashed down where he had been. Fire washed over the top of the wall. Heat pressed against his face.
Then the system spoke.
Supreme Undead Defeated
Rotbound Tree of Death has been defeated.
Rotbound Farmer has been released.
Zealth lay on his back, breathing hard, staring at the dark ceiling.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he laughed once.
Weakly.
"Released," he muttered. "That's one word for it."
Loot panels appeared in a neat column, utterly disrespectful to the emotional weight of what had just happened.
Normal Drops Acquired:
Rotbound Bone Shards x86
Withered Root Fiber x144
Rot Ash x73
Skull Fragments x59
Dryad-Tainted Bark x41
Cursed Sap Clots x28
Ancient Farming Charms x12
Burnt Root Resin x35
Old Copper Callis x216
Zealth glanced at them.
"Yeah, yeah. Thank you for the scraps."
Then the rare drops appeared.
He sat up.
Rare Drop Acquired:
Key for Everything x1
Zealth blinked.
"What kind of lazy name is that?"
Another panel appeared.
Rare Drop Acquired:
Golden Blood Fruit x3
A small image of golden fruit pulsed beside the text. Beautiful, warm, and deeply suspicious.
Zealth's expression darkened slightly.
"Hard pass on eating those."
Another panel.
Rare Drop Acquired:
Crystal Skull x1
He stared.
"Of course."
Then the last drop appeared.
Rare Drop Acquired:
Silver Spoon and Fork x1 Set
Zealth stared longer.
Much longer.
The burning tree collapsed in the background, sending sparks across the hollow like falling stars.
Zealth slowly turned his head toward the loot panel.
"A spoon and fork."
The panel glowed helpfully.
He looked down at his torn tunic.
No armor.
No shield.
No replacement buckler.
No defensive gear of any kind.
Just bones, roots, fruit, a skull, a suspicious key, and cutlery.
His face went flat.
"I lost fifteen-hundred-Callis armor," he said slowly, "and a two-thousand-Callis shield."
The panel remained silent.
"And you gave me tableware."
Somewhere inside the burning ruin, a skull cracked apart with a tiny pop.
Zealth covered his face with one hand.
"Jupiter01," he whispered, "you are a comedy written by debt collector."