Hudson stood on the lawn of his childhood home. It was a hot summer day; the sun beat down on the dry grass, not a single cloud in sight. He could see his favorite hiding spot under the porch, and the dirt path he had worn in the grass leading to it.

The house itself was run-down. The siding was broken in a few places; a gutter was hanging off the roof and most of the shingles looked like they were singed, or burnt. A few might even still be smoldering – little wisps of smoke rose from different spots on the roof. But ignoring those odd details, it still looked exactly like the house he had grown up in.

He glanced behind him and did a double take. There was no road, or neighbors’ houses or any evidence of the suburbs from his childhood; instead, the grass and dirt and air appeared to fade into a white fog.

“Well now, what do we have here?” a sonorous voice called out in a lazy, bored tone. Hudson couldn’t see who was speaking; the voice came from the other side of the house.

Hudson went to investigate whomever the voice belonged to. He walked around his yard, passing by an oak tree in the corner. That was new. He didn’t remember having any trees in his yard.

He stopped to stare at the odd tree. He knew this was some kind of dream, or vision, and wasn’t actually real, but the detail on the leaves blowing in the slight breeze was mesmerizing. It almost seemed more real than reality.

He pulled his eyes away from the tree and continued into the backyard. There was supposed to be a wooden slat fence separating their property from the neighbors, but that was gone. Instead, there was a small pond. Rough-hewn stones surrounded the shallow pool of water, and the green leaves of lotuses floated on the still surface.

Hudson knelt and peered down into the water of the pool. His reflection stared back at him.

“Ahem,” said the deep, gravelly voice from before. Hudson looked up, towards the speaker.

There was now a small stone bridge extended out from the edge of his yard. It had a low arch and no barriers on the sides, and extended out into the fog. Floating across the bridge was only what Hudson could describe as a tree made out of crystals.

The strange entity stopped half-way across the bridge. It was small – for a tree – perhaps only four feet from the very bottom of its roots to the top of its crown. It glimmered brightly in the hot sun, reflecting light off the hundreds if not thousands of facets on its bark, limbs, and leaves. It looked like a bonsai tree had been cut out of an impossibly large emerald.

Hudson couldn’t see a mouth, or eyes, or anything of that sort. Was this who was trying to talk to him? He looked around and behind him, but didn’t see anyone else.

“Hello, neighbor,” the voice spoke again. It sounded like it was coming from the direction of the crystal tree.

“Oh, uh, hello there. Hudson here.”

“Nice to meet you, Hudson,” the tree replied. “Our name is -” and there was a sudden cacophony of sound, like gravel thrown in a mixer. “But you can call us the Broken One, the Elder Relic, or frankly, whatever you want.”

Hudson was very confused, but he decided to go with the flow and act natural. “What do you prefer to be called?”

“Hmm. We’ve had friends call us ‘Sal’ before.”

“Nice to meet you, then, Sal,” Hudson replied. “This might seem strange, but can I ask you a question? Where are we?”

There was a sound like gemstones clinking together; Hudson interpreted it as laughter. “That is indeed a strange question, considering the circumstances. But I can answer your query. We are, in fact, inside your mind.”

“My mind?” Hudson looked around again. Another question struck him. “Uh, how do I get out?”

“Do not fret yourself. I do not imagine you wish to actually escape your own mind. You appear far too sane for such…. desperate measures. But to leave your mind palace, you go out the same way you came in. Just walk out into the mist, and your consciousness will retreat from this… excellent place you have constructed.”

The way that Sal said “excellent” in a drawn out and considered fashion didn’t quite feel right to Hudson.

“We were just admiring this tree that you have in your yard. Would you mind if we come over to take a closer look?”

Despite a faint sense of unease, Hudson didn’t see a reason to say no. Sal seemed fairly harmless, and if he could be believed, this was his mind. He should be in control of it.

“Sure. Come on over,” he said, then walked over to the oak tree himself, and stood under the branches in the shade.

Sal floated over to the oak tree. Hudson waited in silence; the only sounds were his own breathing and the rustling of the wind in the boughs.

His thoughts wandered as he waited for Sal. Was this a test? If so, what was it testing? If he was actually inside his own mind, why was he breathing? He surreptitiously started his Engine Breath technique, but nothing happened. So the inside of his mind wasn’t a place with qi, or a place where he could absorb qi or cultivate.

Was there time dilation of some kind – everyone else had only touched the crystal for a brief second, but inside of this space it had already been much longer than that. And where was that wind coming from?

Speaking of the wind, it was starting to pick up. The leaves on the branches were flipping up, showing their pale undersides. The previously cloud-free sky was now growing dark with angry, purplish clouds.

“There appears to be a storm brewing,” Sal said. “Should we go inside your residence?”

“Probably for the best,” Hudson answered.

Hudson retreated inside the house, Sal floating close behind him. Hudson held the door open for the crystalline tree, then walked through the hallway to the kitchen. It was laid out exactly as Hudson remembered from his childhood.

He opened the refrigerator and looked inside. There was a pitcher of homemade lemonade, just like his mom used to make.

“Would you like something to drink?” Hudson asked. In such a surreal situation, he fell back on what he considered to be good manners.

“No, thank you,” Sal said, the tinkling sound of his laughter mixing in with his words. “I would find it difficult to drink, at least in this form.”

“You have other forms?” Hudson asked. “If it’s not too rude, can I ask what you are?”

“We are a silicon-based lifeform, our physical manifestation broken and bound. But in your mind, we can take whatever form you wish to see,” Sal replied. The crystalline tree shape flashed brightly, then each of the crystals cracked open and oozed into a formless, gray mass.

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The formless ooze then morphed again into a small figure that could have been a strange mixture of octopus, bat, and eldritch horror. Gray, leathery wings stretched behind a central blob, below which dark-tipped tentacles hung. Blue fluid coursed beneath the thin skin of the creature, from a repository deep in its central pod out to the tips of its fixed wings and back. Circling the top of the central pod, like a halo or a crown, was a string of lidless goat eyes with red irises and black pupils.

The creature of horror morphed again, returning to its original tree shape.

“We picked this shape because of the magnificent tree you have planted.”

What had they meant by silicon-based lifeform? Hudson tried to think of where he had heard reference to silicon lately – there was something there, he was sure of it. They also referred to themselves in the plural. Despite the odd accent, that point at least reminded him of his conversation with Director Ix.

Hudson didn’t say anything in response, and instead poured himself a glass of lemonade and sat down at the kitchen table. This whole experience was a bit overwhelming.

He hadn’t sat down for more than a minute when the storm outside picked up in intensity. There was a sharp ping, and then another, and the sound of hail hitting the roof and windows grew louder and louder.

“It is a good thing that we came inside,” Sal said.

“If we are inside of my mind, then why is there a storm?”

“Well, someone else placed that storm here. It is not literally a storm. The foreign qi is how you’ve visualized it existing in this space.”

There was foreign qi in his mind? That was very concerning.

“Do not fret yourself, neighbor. We will give you this one for free, as our last answer was somewhat incomplete. You are well equipped to weather this storm, and it will spend itself out soon enough.”

The words reassured him somewhat. There wasn’t much else he could do at this point, either, about the storm. He sipped his lemonade, and waited, and sure enough, within a few minutes, the hail storm had passed.

“May we look at your tree again?” Sal asked.

Hudson finished his lemonade, set the glass in the sink. “Let’s go.”

Outside, there were bits and pieces of hail still melting on the wet ground. There were a few bent leaves, and a branch or two in the oak tree that were damaged, but nothing on the house appeared to be broken. Sal had been right.

After standing with Sal under the oak tree for a while, Hudson asked the question that he probably should have asked as soon as he had entered his mind.

“I came here by touching a crystal. I assume that might be your broken form, based on what you’ve said so far. I thought that I would be tested somehow for a sigil. Do you know anything about that?”

“Yes, we do. If you want a sigil, you simply ask, and we determine if you are capable. Although…”

Hudson waited patiently.

“Most have not developed a mind palace; most are simply articulating their desire in a subconscious fashion. We are compelled by the Elder to respond to a single request of yours without cost. A single request only. And you have asked me six questions so far.”

Ah. So that’s what Sal had meant by “give you one for free.” There was always something to these cultivation things. A hidden secret, sneaky trick, or forbidden knowledge. None of his S.E.C.T. allies had told him what to expect – had they known in advance? He’d even asked the Elder guarding the pavilion for advice.

It was impossible not to feel like he had been deceived. He began to grow angry and resentful. The sun grew larger in the sky, turning a darker red in color. The temperature in the yard began to increase under the strengthened rays of the angry sun. The shingles on the roof of his house began to smolder, and a few burst into flame.

When he had first begun cultivating and entered the trial, he had been at the razor edge of controlling and containing his anger. The last month, however, spent cultivating and mining rocks on an alien planet, mostly alone with his thoughts, had borne significant fruit.

He pushed the anger away – setting it aside for the moment. Recognizing it was there, even promising that he would come back to it, and eventually take action on its behalf. But right now, it wasn’t helpful.

The angry sun retreated, and the yard returned to its original, pleasant temperature. The roof of his house stopped burning.

“I have also granted your requests as well,” Hudson countered. “Not least of which is shelter beneath this oak tree, in my yard.”

“Yes, you have,” Sal replied. “Three times, you have granted my requests.”

“You can’t just stay here forever, either,” Hudson said, careful to make statements and not questions or requests. He berated himself slightly – why had he been so stupidly inquisitive?

“You did not specify a time limit when you allowed me to come close to your oak,” Sal responded.

His irritation began to come back. “I’m not in the mood to play games, friendly neighbor,” Hudson said, before walking over to the bridge and peering across. The other side of the bridge was hidden in the mist.

“I have shown you courtesy, but you have not reciprocated. You called me ‘neighbor,’ but imply you will never leave without gaining something from me first.”

He had a burst of inspiration; the advice of the old man overseeing sigil challenge came back to him. Maybe he had been given good advice.

“Balance… you are balancing the number of ‘requests’ vs your own, but not the content. Not the spirit of the exchange.”

Sal, the silicon floating tree, said nothing in return.

There was an old shed in the opposite corner of the yard. It held a few gardening tools and dusty boxes, and when Hudson had been growing up, had also housed a lawnmower and other power tools.

The door to the shed creaked in protest as it opened. There was no lawnmower, or chainsaw, or any power tools of any kind. It was mostly empty, with a few boxes, and one of the strangest looking axes that he had ever seen before. It was a long-handled ax, but instead of a regular head, it had blades on both sides in the shape of silverine claws.

“You would not,” Sal said, his facets tinkling with laughter, as he saw Hudson stride over with the ax on his shoulder.

“A clever bluff. An excellent ruse, but one I have seen through many times. No sane person will destroy themselves just to spite another.”

Hudson took the ax off of his shoulder and raised it over his head. He took aim at a branch first, rather than the trunk. He looked over at Sal, who clearly thought he was bluffing. He wasn’t, and the ax came down.

It sheared the branch off cleanly, like a knife through butter. The ax was sharper than it had a right to be. The branch hit the ground with a crash, and a trickle of blood leaked out of Hudson’s nose.

“No!” Sal wailed. “What are you doing? Stop. Stop now! You bug, you sack of burnt carbon. Stop!”

Hudson, ax poised over his shoulder, paused in his swing. He had his eye on another branch.

“Why?” he asked.

“You are destroying yourself. Is that not reason enough?”

“If I destroy this oak tree, I am still myself. I am different; I may be lesser, but whatever is left of me will still be me.

“I may injure myself permanently and be unable to walk or unable to cultivate even. I don’t know the rules of this mind space,” Hudson lowered the ax and gestured around him. “That’s not important. What’s important is: why is this oak tree important to you?”

When no response seemed forthcoming, Hudson wiped the blood from his nose and raised the ax again.

“Because it is green,” came the answer, gradually rising in volume. “Because it is beautiful.”

Sal’s voice was disintegrating into overlapping but distinct pitches. “Because we have not seen a real tree in thousands of years,” Sal’s strange, overlapping voices were almost screaming. “Because we long desperately for the trees of our youth. Because this tree, while an image in your mind, has sprouted from the seed of a tree I know very well.

“Because we have consumed millions of trees, and we wish to consume this one, and make it one of us.”