I dreamed of isolation and loneliness. I saw a man outside my walls so eager to live and experience life and yet terrified to leave his shell's safety. He longed for simpler times. Times less lonely and isolated. I couldn't tell if he was crying. His face was solemn, and his eyes were distant. He knew he had a purpose; the success of his mission depended solely on him. And yet the man outside the walls of my shell placed a hand on my cage and looked at me with tender mercy.

"Live," the man said and walked away. Though he was gone, a piece of him remained...

I woke up in a cold sweat. The shade of the massive trees sheltered me from the intensity of the early sun. No, it wasn't trees that were blocking the sun. Turbulent clouds were gathering overhead. This was by far my strangest life... and it was only the second day. What the hell was that dream?

I cleared the wispy memory from my thoughts, and since I was already prone, I started the day stretching. My arms sprawled out wide, and my hands opened and closed, returning feeling to my fingers. After a few stretches, I brought my hand to wipe tiredness from my eyes. My hand—missed? Never had I failed such a menial task before. Gouge my eye in haste? Sure. But miss my face entirely? I looked down in disgust.

That soggy bastard stole my hand!

Foolish thoughts ruled my mind for only a moment before I regained clarity. I glimpsed at my nub in disgust and could only shake my head and laugh. I knew ice armor was an advanced skill. I didn't realize it would be this difficult to learn. It makes sense why so many cultivators didn't risk learning skills on their own. It was a dangerous path to follow.

I took note of the timing of the storm. This was probably when it would roll around without cultivating the mana or creating a greater disturbance, such as death. Based on the accumulated water, I predicted the storm wouldn't be as intense as before.

I also noted that the wolfbears had yet to arrive. It took them nearly three days when I stayed and cultivated and only a mid-day when I left for the spring to come. Were they that sensitive to my presence? If so, why did they appear at all the first time?

The wolves and weather were minor mysteries for now. Not something I needed to investigate, although the timing was important to know if I ever planned to leave the ice block here. As it was now, that wasn't a safe option. If I was going to any town, I needed to do something with my frozen body first. That was also a problem for another time. I wasn't going anywhere in this life. I refused to put myself into a situation where I had to explain what happened to my hand.

Mystery priority number one... what do I do with my nub?

The obvious solution presented itself as soon as I brought up the question. Ax hand was the only answer. It was pure poetic irony. If bards were to witness this day, they'd write ballads of the fallen left hand. From its frozen crumbles, it rose from the frosty ashes like a phoenix burning for new life and purpose.

The plot was there. Now, all I needed was the ax. I rested my back against the tree and worked out the details of my new left hand for the next three hours. When the storm started, I summoned a dome, which I had to keep freezing.

I raised my masterpiece to inspect it closer. My left hand resembled a war ax commonly found in the hands of highlander orcs. A shaft extended the ax head from the wrist, giving me extra reach. The ax head was double-sided with a log-curved blade on each side. I added a sharp tip at the top of the ax to boost my piercing.

The difficulty of crafting the ax was not in crafting it but in connecting it to my arm. The solution was unpleasant, and I broke a promise I made a nap time ago. The vow was foolish, and I shouldn't be held accountable to such high standards.

At the end of the day, all that mattered was that the ax was awesome and firmly secured to my frozen forearm. The bards would sing, indeed.

Rain continued to pour throughout the day. It turned to a light mist and only relented when the storm clouds parted. The weather remained overcast, and the ground was extra damp. I was far enough away from the battlefield that I didn't have to watch the rain bloat corpses. Nor did I have to deal with the smell it was bound to release. That was until I realized I needed to refreeze my body. I cursed the mud as I trekked to my stake and again when I trekked back to the forest. It was good to be thorough when it came to curses. At least, that's what was said in the witches' creed.

The wolfbears hadn't shown up yet, which was irritating but not a big deal. Although killing was a surefire way to progress, body cultivation could be done with all sorts of physical training. I ran through all of my katas, implementing my new form in all of them. After finishing my forms, I sprinted, managing to cut myself only a few times. Then I started chopping trees.

I knew the trees had no feeling, and everyone thought druids were weird for humanizing everything green. That didn't stop any of the judgment I felt from the towering colossus.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

It also didn't help that my map shop stood next to a brewer who insisted trees could taste nutrients, hear sounds, communicate, and send signals through their tissue network when they were being cut. Bettsy was eccentric even for witch standards. She also happened to be right most of the time.

The truth of the matter was I'm too soft for this. Even if I chop down every bloodwood, burn the stumps, salt the grounds, and drain the springs, it wouldn't matter. Nothing I did mattered. I'd die, and life would all reset… until it didn't reset—another question to be answered later. The forest would be repaired, and no one would know of my deeds. Deeds that didn't matter because trees didn't care. They couldn't; it wasn't in their nature.

Thud. The weight of my ax fell against the thick bark.

I'd already felled three trees and was working on my fourth. Even though my arm was tired, my ax was in great shape. It took little mana to hone the edge. It took me a few hundred swings to get used to a one-arm and hand swing. I only had to push past my mental block to realize the method was no different than any axing. My right hand held the shaft above the nub and added to the strength and precision of my cuts. However, regarding this fourth tree, 'cuts' was a generous term. I barely broke the bark.

Stop being a ninny. Thud.

This didn't matter. The trees didn't even care. Thud. Bettsy wouldn't even care. Thud. She would be begging for the sap and encouraging you to cut more.

Death is power. Thud. Save them. Live... I—I needed a break. Where were the damn wolfbears?

What was happening? Three loops deep, and already having an existential crisis... I was a disaster. Was it the suppression? Did I need to let all my memories out and have a cry? I was pretty sure I did that back in the box… a few times on my pike as well. Deliverer be damned.

"You're a damn tree," —this wasn't my proudest moment— "and my hand is a damn ax. Of course, I'm going to chop you. There was only one way this path led."

The tree stayed silent—a fact I was incredibly grateful for. My mind, on the other hand, unraveled.

"I know it's none of your fault my hand is gone. That doesn't change the fact that I have an ax for a hand, and you're a tree."

The tree maintained its vow of silence.

"It isn't justice. It's destiny. Something I thought you'd understand."

Thud. I should've never left that box.

"Your death will be a great bounty to the forest. You'll nourish the ground and bring new life."

Thud. Sweat dripped into my eye. I used the wrong hand to wipe and left a deep gash on the side of my cheek that stung from the residue of sap that entered it. Finally, the tree was fighting back. That made it worse.

"It's got to matter, right?"

Thud. I was content selling my maps. That was who I was. Not an adventurer. Not a hero. I was just the one that lived.

"Why was it me? I'm nothing special."

No answer.

"The others had so much more to offer." They could've brought so much peace if they just had the chance to live." Moloki, Knox, Jule, Samantha…, and even Kalani had lofty ambitions when they were done with the Marines. I had no aspirations other than to stay close to my friends.

The tree remained a tree.

"It wasn't fair." They were cut down in a pointless battle over the prized jewel of the Emperor. A damn armband bought with the blood of the people I loved. Their lives were spent like they were no more than a common resource.

Thud.

"I was there with them. I just wanted to stay with them. Why didn't I get to stay? Why was I left behind?"

Thud.

"I still miss them. Is that what you want me to say? It still hurts. It always bloody damn hurts." Thud. "Now I'm alone again. Why?

Thud.

"Answer me." Thud. Thud. Thud. "Please, answer me."

The tree cracked. The splitting noise reverberated from the surrounding trees, chanting a solemn song. I stepped away. The tree continued to crack, swaying slowly into my deep cuts. The chanting crescendoed as the cracks got louder and faster. The fibers could hold on no longer and finally snapped. There was no more chanting. The tree fell without a noise.

It was a beautiful giant. Its only mistake was being a tree near an arm that happened to be an ax. Thud.

I stood in silence a moment longer. I had nowhere I wanted to go. Everywhere reminded me of death. I thought of chopping another tree and decided that was a good idea. My feet remained planted. So I stood in hollow silence. Squids might be right. Time wasn't on my side.

A sinister laughter broke the reverent silence. Peace I didn't deserve was ripped away. My ax hung low at my side, its blade sharpened fresh for a fight. My head hung lower. A sword summoned in my right hand. I didn't bother silencing the laughter with an ice band. The hackles were nothing compared to the maddening emptiness inside me.

Lana saw this hollowness in me once. She loved me anyway.

I took a deep breath, my feet firmly planted. When the predators came to feast, I pretended to be the tree that wanted to live.