Update; Things did not, in fact, become less confusing. I didn't write down anything more, but writing about a topic you've known about for perhaps two weeks was still less mentally taxing than confronting your emotions.

Or, in my case, avoiding doing so. Being self-aware about it did not make it easier, nor did my serene surroundings or my periodic tentative class trials. I had heard people talk about staring their fears in the face rather than feeling shame, but I couldn't figure out what else I could feel at reliance.

Rilu didn't owe me anything. He didn't.

So why did thinking about things leave me so angry?

I groaned and ruffled my hair, which felt surprisingly clean. On a whim, I had tried using the Well of Life as soap and shampoo. Men's hygiene companies be damned, it worked. I no longer smelled or felt like death, at least on the outside.

So, I had figured out hygiene and food and, on top of that, the project I had saved didn't take very long.

That left me the question;

What now?

-

Pondering that question kept me occupied a bit, but it became less effective as time went on, causing my thoughts to wander. It was at that point that I realized I would actually need to decide on something.

Taking a quick mental inventory of the Satchel, I decided that I'd make a home. I'd either know when it was time to go, or I'd be stranded up here. Either way, I'd need somewhere to stay.

Yes, I did have sleeping and camping gear (minus a tent, for some reason), and the temperature was nice.

There was no 'but'. I truly did not need it.

I did want a treehouse, though, total lack of building experience be damned.

Besides, there wasn't much else to do beyond wallow in my sadness and/or write poetry. I could practice with Gradient more, sure, but I wanted to get my Class before going further with that.

-

I began as the first lick of sunlight touched the canopy of the trees, creating a glittering reverse shadow in the air that danced above me. It was pretty, but the glare bothered me.

Which led me to a use of Gradient I hadn't ever considered- I closed my eyes and could still perceive just fine. The island was peaceful enough, and Gradient allowed me to react fast enough if anything did happen, I figured.

I took the multi-tool and felt at it with Gradient. I couldn't quite feel its Imprint, more a small portion of it, like one color on a rainbow. And even this was only as I honed my focus on cutting.

Since I was attuned to it, I didn't quite need to in the first place. I could feel it on a much more... Physical level. Its Imprint was opened to my mind, but the two-way connection I had to form for a moment to attune in the first place was different. It was like comparing a familiarity with a tool to familiarity with a person, there was an entirely different depth.

And doing both to an extent...

I felt before I saw the knife twist and flow into the shape of an axe, extending from a hilt the length of a bit over my hand's width to on the length of my arm. Yet it felt completely weightless in my arms, even as the bubble of metal at the tip fully solidified into a crescent blade.

I lifted it up to give it a tentative swing, and the air whistled as it cut. I had expected more resistance, but the weight seemed to suddenly appear as I swung down, and it flew out of my hand and cut into the ground.

I stumbled forward and stepped to the side around it awkwardly. Then, it wobbled and returned to a much smaller blob that depressingly filled in the crack before a weak mental flex on my end turned it back into a floating sphere about the size of an apple.

"So it needs some work, but attunement and Imprint Focus can work in tandem, even without making modifications to the Catalyst," I mumbled to myself. I could work with this. Maybe if I found some good uses, this wouldn't turn out too catastrophically.

-

I laughed maniacally as a sawblade cut wood into perfectly even beams. I was about a kilometer out from the stream, and the entire area around me had become a clearing by my own power. My own power to cut trees.

'The name known across the cosmos, the Deforestator, the Herald of Capitalism,' I repeated in my head and chuckled. I wished that I had someone to share my sense of humor with.

I had started at dawn, and I had learned almost too quickly. Well, not almost. I had learned entirely too quickly. I suppose log cutting wasn't difficult if there were no physical limitations to it beyond how far my Imprint could reach.

Next to me, not perfectly, but quite well cut, was a pile of wood beams. I knew not how I would attach them, but I figured I could just shave them off and work it like lincoln logs. I could fit the shape of the multi-tool to a branch's curvature and create spikes across it, solidifying it and using that to shave it off so I could perch the branches well.

It absolutely helped that I could make essentially any shape I wanted with ease. It was kind of a building cheat. Or it at least should be. I was confident in some things, but in my ability to actually execute my plans correctly, or even in the wood's ability to actually stay put, I was not.

I ran back to the river, using two floating metal meshes to carry a large amount of the logs back with me. They fell off more than once, and I began wheezing quite soon, but as I kept going it became easier.

Whenever I reached the edge of my stamina, I adjusted myself to focus on where it didn't hurt, which I had a great sense of. That, coupled with taking breaks for water from the Well, which energized me and helped me recover, allowed even my unathletic self to make great time.

So, only slightly bruised up, I broke back into the clearing surrounding the stream. I had learned of a few paths to and from it over the past day, but I was still familiarizing myself with the landscape.

With my first load of logs ready, I began to search for a tree.

-

After a few minutes, I settled on one that seemed to reach out and overlook many of the other trees. It was close enough to the stream that I could still hear the tiny waterfall, and if I looked closely I could make out the stream heading toward said waterfall through the undergrowth.

The first thing I noticed as I analyzed the tree was a faint breeze that hadn't been there before blowing through the leaves. It was brisk and mounting upon itself. Odd, since I had figured that the island had some sort of atmosphere to keep wind out. Gradient hadn't noticed anything on my way in, but in all honesty I hadn't been focused on that in the moment.

I doubted that an atmosphere so small would be able to produce noticeable wind currents. It was just an idle curiosity, though. Like how the sun worked here.

Because of the tree's breadth, not much had grown in its vicinity, giving me a good spot to set up camp. It wasn't exactly flat, though; roots had grown out to a quite frankly unreasonable size around the otherwise clear area, thin lines of bark slowly weaving into a complex latticework of oak before combining into the actual trunk.

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Which was odd, because the trunk itself was only about one and a half times as thick as my body. Nothing to scoff at, but nothing that would warrant enough roots at the surface to the point that I would need to jump across them over the grass as I orbited the plant.

Additionally, under a small pile of dirt and leaves, there was the entrance to what I assumed was a hollow beneath the tree, which I could only tell was actually there because of a virtually unnoticeable draft emanating from it. I probably wouldn't have noticed it, even with Gradient, had I not stepped on the area and noticed it was loose.

Still, strange as it may have been, I was no botanist and the roots meant a stable foundation to build my house on.

The real problem that arose was that neither was I a climber. I hadn't attempted to climb a tree for years (the one back in the forest didn't count- the branches had been arranged in such a way that it might as well have been a ladder). All of the knowledge and resolve on actually doing so was lost in a melting pot of nostalgic childhood whimsy. A problem that was almost solved by creating climbing gear from the Multitool, but that only helped me with one point of contact.

After messing around a bit, I figured out that it could form rings that protruded with tiny (and I mean tiny) foot and handholds. After a few falls and breaks, though, I did manage to make it up to the first stable-looking branch, about 5 meters off of the ground.

Sometimes I fell from a Catalyst malfunction (the multitool wasn't intended for this use, so I couldn't enhance it through Imprint Focus). Sometimes I just slipped. But the cuts and bruises I accrued weren't to the point where they did anything but enhance the joy of finally reaching the top.

It only took an hour.

And as the sun began to rise I realized that I hadn't slept. Simultaneously, I realized that I didn't really need to. I still felt light and energized, as if I could take on the world.

I smiled because I knew exactly why this was. Where normally the Well of Life was more like a more natural-feeling stimulant- with limited healing abilities as well- using my Imprint Focus theory helped it tap further into its energizing and restorative properties.

Sitting at the top of the tree, pondering it, a thought came to me.

I took a deep breath followed by a big sip of the Well. I felt the world brighten and my muscles tense with explosive energy begging to be let loose.

I closed my eyes and, to an outward observer, it would seem as if it suddenly disappeared.

I opened my eyes and laughed. I was getting closer.

-

The sun set once more over my shoddy tree fortress. The wood was immaculately cut and handled, of course, but there was quite a large problem with my current design-

I had no screws. For now, all that I could make, if I wanted to be protected from the elements, was literally just a box. The realistic design that appeared in my head also meant I needed a new area.

Thankfully, there was a fitting spot. Also thankfully, moving locations was pretty simple. I had a simple mesh made quite quickly.

I would need to adventure out and gather more wood, though. Maybe if I could figure out how to tie a fitting knot, I could use some of the rope in the satchel to fashion a bridge and branch out...

-

My idle wanderings were filled with many such ideas, ways to extend the project beyond its theoretical necessity. Asking 'what now' again was dreaded to the point where asking myself what I would do next beforehand had become a similar weight.

Even still, the work, however amateur, was satisfying beyond nearly anything I had done, with some obvious exceptions I didn't think of for the sake of my own mental state. It was strange how it felt more electrifying to work toward a product than it did to literally acquire supernatural powers.

And I did work for them... In a sense. It was something outside of my control, a reflection of the 'me' I had built, but it wasn't my own. I didn't know why it felt so different at that point. I feared because it was internal reinforcement to let go. To let go of my goals and my reasons for growing stronger.

Such a thought bordered on outright delusion, and I felt more insane than one normally would in a world of magic as I suggested it to myself. But it still stabbed like a knife in the caboose of my train of thought.

And the more I elected to ignore my unwanted emotional hitchhiker, the stronger the guilt got, and the deeper the knife cut.

I faltered and a stack of wood fell to the ground as the metal momentarily destabilized. From my perch on the tree, it would be difficult to help with the cleanup. I rubbed my head in frustration tied within a twisted relief that I had something more to focus on.

I shook myself off and embraced the moderate wind before getting back to work.

-

Far more swiftly than I had been capable of a day prior, I bearhugged what I could of the tree's trunk and slid down on the side very slightly angled forward. I tripped upon hitting the ground, but I had hit my head on the tree's expansive root system in a similar manner so often that the subsequent sip from the Well was almost instinctual.

After my brief recovery I resumed what I had descended the tree to do - admire my handiwork. I looked up and gazed lovingly at my hard-built, messy, glorious, cathartic little box. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. If one were to be charitable, they very well could have identified it to be a crate.

I had added a cross-section pattern to the side, but due to my lack of bolts, it mostly just fit in for aesthetic purposes rather than any structural ones. Other than that, though, it was a few vertical or horizontal patterns of cut and sanded wood, with a few slightly more exotic shapes holding it to some of the less agreeable branches.

"I should make a ladder up there. I have tools, it shouldn't be too hard," I thought out loud, something I had been doing far too much of since I arrived on the island.

I intended to push off the project for a few days to pace myself but as I prepared to do so I realized that I had nothing better to do. I quickly underwent a Trial and set myself to work.

It began simply, with a quick set of approximated holes in the branches, which went smoothly. Ideally, I would have made a rope ladder, but that wasn't an option. After a lot of trial and error to get the shapes of the holes and the shapes of the add-ons to the wood to align, I had a set of holes and corresponding parts of varying sizes. The parts were standard planks of wood with another tube of wood extending from the back, cut out of a larger piece.

The wind began to pick up just as I had finished sliding them all in. I decided to try climbing up and down a few times to ensure the ladder was safe, regardless of what its status would have been with OSHA.

With Gradient, I could examine it easily and make small adjustments accordingly. It wouldn't be winning any awards, but I felt relatively secure climbing up and down.

I sat inside of my humble abode (box) to hide from the wind (the entrance was just a section of wood that could be removed) and attempted the trial once more. And once more. And once more.

-

I had told myself that I would take breaks, but I felt on edge. I needed to get my class quickly, the sooner the better. It felt like I spent days repeating the same hour or so of the trial, over and over again. In the real world, though, it was mere minutes. I grabbed the satchel, removed the wood panel, and crawled onto a nearby branch.

The wind was howling now. It whipped my hair and clothing around, and Gradient preparing me with the knowledge is all that allowed me to stay stable on the parallel branches I held onto to exit. It only seemed to be growing stronger.

It was good that I left when I did. In just a few minutes, the wind had grown so much worse. The branches were shaking, but they were still sturdy. My treehouse seemed unstable, though, swaying a bit more. I hoped that the project would have more than a few hours of continued existence to show for itself.

If it didn't? Well, I don't know. What could I do? Punch the wind?

As I slowly oriented myself on the ladder, the howling was joined by new harmonies and instruments. The trees swayed and leaves flew, covering the ground and sweeping up into green-brown cyclones. No fauna was found amidst, but the sheer variety of plants and rocks and dirt hitting trees and earth and water made music.

Music that didn't appeal to me, someone who wasn't into Death Grips, but music nonetheless.

Soon enough, I descended far enough to find my place in the choir. Moist dirt pelted me and wettened my hair. I held onto the Satchel with everything that I had before my life.

It began to feel like a torrential downpour, despite the clear skies and the very much visible sun.

A gust of wind attacked and I was only not sent flying by virtue of my closeness to the ground. My treehouse didn't have the same luxury. I didn't have much time to feel disappointed, though, as I needed to get up from the ground and circumnavigate the tree to an extent to which I wasn't at immediate risk of being bludgeoned by the flying remnants of my hard work.

Oddly, I felt calm.

My heart pumped slowly in my chest and my breaths were steady. I knew my surroundings. The sensations were uncomfortable, but not stressful. I always knew when a wave of grime was approaching, and I always knew where I was stepping regardless of my sight's integrity.

Perhaps it was adrenaline, but as I was thrown off, I twisted alongside the wind and landed on my feet, albeit awkwardly, and immediately tore across the short distance back to the trunk. As wood beams broke and battered themselves as much as everything else, I kicked down as hard as I could.

The hole was big enough.

I slid down the hollow I had noticed earlier, yet more dirt coating me as I slid down the steep slope to the bottom. Which took an unnaturally long amount of time, though still within the realm of seconds.

I could still hear the wind swirling above me and whispering sharp nothings into the hollow. I stabilized myself on one of the roots that spiraled alongside me and kept to the walls, balancing myself as Gradient gave me a bearing on my surroundings.

I stumbled and tripped. With a well-executed spin I managed to land on my back, but a branch caught my shoulder blades. I grunted in pain and took the Well of Life. I poured it over me to clean myself off and alleviate some of my scratches and bruises, not to mention the just-mentioned pain from my fall.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I asked my closest friend, Nobody in Particular.