The night was almost over, and soft shades of purple and yellow could be seen on the horizon. Although the sky was still filled with dark clouds, they were not as oppressive as the ones that had dominated the night. Despite the ever-present clouds, Narvel had never witnessed rainfall in this place. Admittedly, he had only been here for at most three weeks, which wasn't enough time to conclusively rule out the possibility of rain, but the plethora of dead trees gave him that impression.
Throughout the night, Narvel had been safe as long as he kept moving—never pausing even for a moment since leaving the fungi-dominated area of the forest. After jogging a bit further, he arrived at a more familiar area, the very place where he had first appeared during his initial summoning. He recognized the area by the presence of several dilapidated stone houses scattered about. These houses had long been invaded by and integrated into the skeletal trees, clearly abandoned for ages.
When he first encountered this place, Narvel had wondered if any civilization still lingered nearby. However, he soon concluded that if there were any survivors, they were either long gone or situated far from this site. After reading a few things online, he couldn't help but wonder if these stone houses might have once served as the former Anchor of the Hollow Forest.
With no time to waste, Narvel pressed onward, bypassing the area without stopping until he reached his designated location. About an hour and a half later, he spotted the familiar gigantic roots that signaled he was very close to the tree. At that moment, the sun was already up, bathing the entire forest in light. Although it remained cloudy, the sun provided sufficient illumination. At the same time, Narvel observed other Beasts and Monsters of various sizes, shapes, and types, all moving peacefully along the thick tree roots.
Each root was as wide as the trunk of the skeletal trees around them—and these were only the smaller versions of the roots belonging to the colossal tree. The further he advanced, the closer he got to the tree, and the larger the roots implanted in the ground became. Even the larger monsters gradually appeared smaller when compared to these enormous roots.
Being the only human in this area attracted many curious gazes from these creatures, many of which had never before encountered a human. Some paused and looked at Narvel with genuine curiosity, others with a glint of hunger in their eyes, and still others with a deep-seated hostility that seemed to originate from within. It was a feeling they too could not fully understand.
Nevertheless, they all knew better than to attack any creature in this place, especially during the daytime. But this unspoken agreement did little to dispel the sense of oppression or threat Narvel felt. Still, their mere existence oppressed him.
Larger beasts exuded an aura of dominance—unintentional and inevitable—that pressed down on his chest like a physical weight. He quickened his pace, ignoring the creatures that eventually lost interest.
Eventually, they simply ignored Narvel and continued on their way. At one point, some of the creatures halted their journey and lay down on the ground as though they wanted to rest, even though they did not seem tired at all. This was a common sight for Narvel; he had witnessed the same behavior the first time he was here. Despite the mixed reactions and behaviors of these creatures, Narvel was not concerned by any of them.
Almost another hour passed before Narvel saw the first leaf—a pink leaf reminiscent of a delicate Sakura petal.
As he neared the base of the colossal tree, the soft pink hues deepened, gradually transforming into a rich crimson color that resembled the nighttime sky's vibrant glow. The closer he got, the more the petals altered in form. No longer did they retain the familiar shape of a petal; instead, they morphed into a stunning variety of leaf forms.
On some branches, they resembled the broad, smooth leaves of a lotus, while on others they took on the delicate, segmented appearance of cloves. In certain areas, the leaves even mimicked the slender, pointed form of pine needles. It was as if this magnificent tree were a living tapestry, a fusion of hundreds of different trees interwoven into one.
To Narvel, the base of this tree resembled a gigantic wall, as though its surface was alive with intricate plantations that clung to every crevice.
Interspersed among these were leaves that looked like plantain leaves, each one cradling glistening droplets of pure water. This water was a precious resource—the only place in the entire expanse of the Crucible where Narvel had ever managed to drink. When it came to sustenance, he had learned to survive on the smaller beasts that appeared as if they were no more than a month old.
The larger beasts were far too strong and cunning to target, and the Monsters, with their strange, often humanoid anatomies—creatures that not only repulsed him but also rendered their meat inedible—left him with little choice.
Tilting his head upward, Narvel couldn't help but gulp as he took in the vast canopy. "Even after reaching the clouds, the top still seems so far away. Will I be able to attain a desirable height before night falls?" he muttered to himself, his voice mingling with the soft rustle of the leaves and the snores of the creatures of the forest resting around this area.
Resolutely, he moved toward one of the free leaves that held a small reservoir of water. With a careful pull, he tilted the leaf, drinking deeply from its crystalline pool. As the cool water coursed over his tongue, he felt his body refresh and his stamina reinvigorate. Narvel felt as though he was about to burst with power, but he was mindful not to harm the leaf.
For he had noticed that the creatures surrounding this tree behaved with a respectful caution—they did not engage in conflict near the tree, nor did they dare to damage its precious leaves.
'I can never quite get used to this,' Narvel mused quietly. 'Come to think of it, could this tree also bear fruits? If it does, what sort of transformation would occur in my body if I were to ingest them?' His mind wandered over the possibilities as he observed the tree with a mix of curiosity and reverence.
At that moment, Voidscale had already made its way to another leaf, drinking the water as fast as it could. Once it finished, the serpent moved to a second and then onto a third leaf, consuming the water there as well before coming to an abrupt stop. Voidscale didn't pause simply out of whim; it sensed the intense, hostile gazes of many powerful creatures fixed upon it.
Narvel recognized that same tension—he had experienced similar oppressive stares during his first encounter with this place.
Much like his pet, Narvel found himself overcome by greed, tempted to drink from more than the allotted tree leaves. However, the weight of the surrounding gazes—a silent decree from the forest's denizens—deterred him.
It was then that he realized a crucial truth about this enigmatic place: every creature here was entitled to drink from only one leaf. This silent rule was enforced by the powerful beings that roamed these woods.
"Greedy fool," Narvel scolded, his voice low and edged with exasperation as Voidscale hurriedly rushed back to perch on his shoulder, clearly terrified by the oppressive pressure emanating from the surrounding beasts. Voidscale squinted its eyes at Narvel, its gaze filled with unmistakable displeasure, yet it said nothing further.
Narvel's eyes then shifted to the base of the colossal tree.
There, scattered around like nature's own scaffolding, were numerous thin, delicate branches that seemed to offer a pathway upward. He studied them carefully, wondering if these fragile limbs could truly support his weight.
His doubts were momentarily dispelled when he caught sight of other monsters—sleeping peacefully atop some of the branches high above.
With a determined set to his jaw, Narvel began moving toward these branches. The closer he got, the more he noticed the myriad of curious stares cast his way by the forest's denizens.
Each creature, whether lurking in the underbrush or poised on a nearby trunk, seemed to regard him with an astonished fascination, as though they had never before witnessed someone attempting to scale the immense tree.
Undeterred by their inquisitive gazes, Narvel pressed on.
He took the first cautious step of his climb, and in that very moment, something truly magical occurred.
The colossal tree, as if aware of his intent, began to move in subtle yet deliberate ways. Branches that had previously spanned wide and distant suddenly shifted, closing the gap between them. It was as if an unseen architect had designed the tree's structure to form a perfect staircase just for him. The branches arranged themselves with a precision that left Narvel momentarily stunned into an abrupt halt.
The forest was already a place of strange wonders, but now it has revealed a new level of the inexplicable. The natural world around him seemed to pulse with a sentient rhythm, and the sheer beauty of the moving branches momentarily halted his breath. Even the creatures that had been dozing atop the branches—those who had kept their eyes closed in oblivious slumber—stirred from their repose.
One by one, they woke up, their eyes snapping open to fix on Narvel with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
So taken was he by the spectacle that he stood frozen for an instant, unable to move as if caught amid a dream.
Then, as if summoned by fate itself, a gentle, soft breeze swept onto his back, urging him forward and propelling him to take the second step of his climb. This unexpected push from the wind was both reassuring and mysterious.
He wanted to step down from the branch now, but he couldn't help but feel safe on it. Unconsciously Narvel found that he had taken a few steps forward and the world around him had changed into a pathway filled with colorful petals that swayed continuously in the air.