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I woke up a foot in the air, mistaking it for an OBE until I fell into the damp catch of the hollow.

Swinging my head around, I wondered why I wasn’t home in bed.

And then it all came back.

I closed my eyes, preparing another countdown, and then snapped them open.

The cryptid?

She was gone. All that remained was ash and a dense black goo that smelled of iron.

I tried to get up, but not before the ground sent me flying again. This time, I realized the floor shook from a distant thud. Something was stomping or falling, and it was heavy enough to turn the earth into a trampoline.

The earth?

Right. What was the word? Ne—Nebunarnia?

Black blood jolted my memory.

Nebunarrik.

I’d never forget it, and more importantly, I was now operating under the assumption that I’m out of town. Way out of town.

Delusion or otherwise, the empirical truth didn’t matter right now. So long as the illusion persisted convincingly, I’d have to adapt.

I’d drawn the line at life-ending fear, as always. My one red line. But everything else could be real. Why not?

I grunted painfully as I hit the floor again.

Should I stay or should I go?

Outside could hold new threats, but not all was grim.

Rays of light bounced their way in, telling me the night fell to day. Curiously, the color was weak. Not overcast weak, but as if a spongy haze conquered the lands, granting passage only to the strongest beams.

Either way, sunlight always meant fewer monsters. And oftentimes, more humans.

Getting to my feet, I took a moment to appreciate my accomplishment. I made it to daylight.

But it didn’t feel like the victory I had in mind. Not one to brag over.

I couldn’t live up to my promise to Will until I saw a dawn back home. Until then, I’d climb into the light.

Crawl actually.

Saying goodbye to the spiders, ashes, and stench of my hollow, I brushed my bare bare of everything I could and prepared to meet civilization. I crawled out slowly, following the natural staircase of revealed roots as I rose to ground level. I poked my head out of the rotten mouth, spying the world as a rodent might.

And then I heard it.

Not a thump, but a machine. A mean one.

It ripped and roared with a sharp familiarity. A chainsaw.

And then doubled up. Chainsaws.

The creek, crack, and then crash of a monstrous tree shook me silly. Afraid my head would be crushed, I squeezed back inside, a bit more concerned with the monsters of the day. Like a turtle, I peeked in and out, seeking additional info before exposing myself to more everforest madness.

Possibly human, possibly worse. As I learned last night, humans were not always the rescuers of first resort.

I waited a moment, hoping to hear the sounds travel further away, which would allow me to stalk them from a safe distance. Not for their number, unless they had the Nebunarrik equivalent of 911.

But somehow I doubted those Nebunarrik emergency services served anyone anyway.

This world, this place — it’s less civilized. Based on the slaver interactions, it existed at the weird intersect between capitalism and colonialism, where money and violence rarely departed.

Frankly, I preferred my era of bootleg phone apps and parasitic profits.

As I burned more time, the noises evolved. The crashing ceased, but what replaced it grew closer. At first I heard a hum, and then a buzz. Helpless spiders evacuated and clumps of damp soil fell into my hair. My below-ground chute vibrated forebodingly.

Placing my hand to the nearest sidewalk-sized root, I had the faintest recollection of a cavity being drilled.

They’re boring into this tree?

Worried about being caught in a woody dental nightmare, I weighed hiding against hightailing it out of here.

Unwilling to let fear paralyze me, I elected to get out before I got bored to death by whatever machine wanted in.

Fortunately, I had one weapon with which to defend myself in the worst case. A weapon that filled each of my pockets. An instrument often used to convert, to claim or to corrupt. Unlike the fire whip, it was a weapon I knew how to wield.

And I also possessed the damn book, ‘Intelligence for Idiots,’ which the cryptically strange woman found and brought in last night. If this was an RPG, my starting gear was eclectic indeed.

Shirtless, and with my book in hand, I began crawling out of the lone exit. My waist didn’t bog me down. It should’ve, but money managed to light my mood.

Unsure of what I was worth exactly — I, nevertheless, felt too rich to be in trouble. If I had problems, I could buy solutions.

Or get robbed and left for dead.

That’s why I need to spend wisely.

After completely birthing myself out of the snug passage, I properly took in the daytime everwoods for the first time. Unsurprisingly, the night concealed much. This forest was far from earthly. While distinctly autumnal flora came in many familiar shades of orange and red, the overwhelming sea of leaves suggested this forest produced more foliage than any woody stalk on my world.

Amongst the splatter of leaf fall, I spotted faded pinks and old golds, giving me the odd sensation of hidden luxury. Like spotting a nugget of gold in the rocks of a dark cave.

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You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Fleetingly, I waded through the knee-high leaf litter, pushing through the vibrant auburn hues for the more regal piles of sepia-colored leaves. Upon closer inspection, they looked like edible gold leaf — the thin material obnoxious restaurants might coat food with.

Are these worth som—

“YOU THERE. WHO ARE YOU?”

Somehow I had tuned out the noisy drilling behind me and now the operators were shouting at me too. For whatever reason, my brain blanked, just like it did on the book delivery after the car chase. In fact, I struggled to focus on anything else in the light of these golden leaves. They had a secret, a message they wanted to share. They sucked me in; I had to know…

“HEY!”

A rough hand pulled me back.

“That’s dangerous,” the figure said. Strong arms plucked me away with ease, though not as easily as the buyers last night did.

“How’d you get out here?” the mustached man asked.

“What were you thinking? Getting that close?” demanded the other.

Confused, I shook my head. Did I do something wrong?

The workman with the wiry facial hair let go of me, perhaps suspecting he came off as too aggressive.

“We’re sparkies,” he said proudly. “With the Calhoun outfit out of Camp Creuset.” He joggled my hand in a generous handshake. “I’m Rend, that’s Dauz.”

Caught off guard by the Earthly gesture, the new terms, and the friendliness, I failed to shake back.

For a full minute I played a mute as I studied their gear, which clearly indicated their place in the lumber industry. Or it did it a first.

The rusty medieval pauldrons shielding their necks turned my head, but not as much as the toothy monsters in their hands. The chainsaws were huge, too huge, like greatswords with sharkteeth.

Pretty metal.

And the… I followed the cords coming out of the back. Tubes, more like. They chased the forest floor, swimming underneath the deep leaf floor.

My eyes went back and forth, watching the energy in their gaze fall as I continued to ignore them for the pursuit of introverted information.

“Um…” I mumbled, but resumed spending the awkward silence by peering around them.

The show of equipment traveled far. Peeking past my company, I visually followed the tubes to their origin between two giant trunks. To their source.

It was some kind of fuel tanker on rickety treads. Not like those water trucks you see on highways, but more of a pickup with too much bed and a sad septic tank on top. Same capacity, perhaps, but the machinery and the wielding… I rubbed my chin. It’s off. Like it shouldn’t work.

I wasn’t an engineer, but the handywork — the visible mechanisms — suggested a missing piece was at play.

“Hey? You okay?” They exchanged concern. “Sunset sap in these parts is a deadly hallucinogen. You might need medical attention.”

The golden leaves? Sunset sap?

“How’s your SP—” Dauz added before getting cut off by Rend.

“He could be scourged! We shoul—”

“Kidnapped,” I interrupted. “I was kidnapped by human traff—”

Abruptly, I cleared my throat to clarify. “Criminal traffickers.”

Both sparkies raised their eyebrows in disbelief.

“No one comes out here unless it’s for top marks,” Dauz said as he leaned in, apparently thinking I’m still hallucinating.

“I’ve never heard of kidnapping around these parts,” Rend countered, his voice always a decibel too high. “It all happens in De’Ville these days. Sick place.” He then revved his chainsaw menacingly. "SICK."

Before I could respond, another laborer come out from behind a trunk. The trunk of my hollow. He had a curious monocle on his forehead and a maniacal expression on his face. He revved his chainsaw like he decided to put an end to any aspiration I had for a multi-story treehouse.

“I-” The brutality of serrated blades drowned out the rest. His chainsaw went into the bark with a buttery satisfaction, until it didn’t.

The sparkies escorted me a few feet away as I watched in bewilderment.

The wood sheath of the tree had given way to a sea of sparks. The chainsaw teeth were chewing and chewing, and turning the arboreal surgery into a sight fit for a metalworks factory.

“WE GOT ONE,” the lensed man exclaimed.

“Wait here.” And the two sparkies who found me returned to their calling coworker.

They both took a peek at the wooden wound before Rend grabbed a tool from the ramshackle tanker. He came back with a rod that extended forward. A telescope?

He poked it into the gash with surgical confidence. I walked closer, trying to get a better beat on their behavior.

After a moment of staring, my mind kept showing me that old meme. Yep, it’s woo-

“Everspark. Grade A core too. Saw three veins of color, at least.” He held up three fingers to express his excitement, as if the volume of his voice didn’t.

“Then we’ve got work to do,” Dauz announced as he and Rend returned their attention to me. “Listen kid, it’s gonna be loud, so make some distance. We’ll call the yarder over, and those boys will ferry you to camp.”

“Wait, what camp?”

“Camp Creuset,” Dauz said slowly. “And stop in with the medic when you get there.”

“Dauz,” the third sparkie yelled from behind the telescope. “Be proper with the guest, we got a brand to uphold.”

“CC#7 is what we’re supposed to say,” Rend said, frowning through the apparent pain of distant admonishment. “But the lead logger gives it the real name. Calhoun tradition, you see. And tradition is everything.”

This sounds like civilization.

I have so many questions, but I don’t want to stand out with my excessive ignorance.

“So, three veins of color. That’s a big find, right?”

“Of course it is! What are you stup—? S-strange, I mean. Sorry, I’ve been thinking you might be—”

“I’m developmentally challenged in my own way,” I said cheerfully, but my heart wasn’t really in it. “And I know nothing about logging, to be honest. I’ve never been out here — not by choice,” I added.

The sparkie with a booming voice scrunched his face together. “You got a lot of coin in you pocket for someone ignorant of this business. And especially for someone recently kidnapped,” he said, almost under his breath. “What’s your secret? Rich parents? Dumb luck?”

I ignored Rend's dig for personal information. “I hit my head in the commotion last night, so I apologize if I come off confused. Obviously we all escaped.”

“Right. Thank the System for your lucky stars. Be sure to report that to the constable when you get to the fort.” He gave my shirtless figure a slow once over. “You need to be careful, waddling around like you’ve got cannon balls in your pockets.”

“Careful huh? You want to share the burden with me?”

“Ha, not a chance. I’m no caiman, I’m an employed man with a bright future.” He slapped his corded chainsaw. “And we got all the coins we need in that spine. A verifiable monster.”

It finally clicked for me. The core of the tree, the colors — they were petrified.

Crystalized.

The other sparkie had already started sheering the tree bark away for further assessment.

Now I could see the mystery develop within.

This is no plant.

And they weren’t loggers, not by my definition. They were miners.

But not of silver and gold. The crystal veins of crimson and auburn matched the medallions that filled my pockets.

“And how many coins can you mine out of a spine like that?” I asked, taking a shot in the dark.

To me, the tree was certainly shy of a redwood. It grew in my darkened mind, but shrunk In the daylight. Night has that effect on things.

The core was massive, regardless.

“Depends on the denomination, but we’ll get several hundred armarks out of it." His eye's lit up and he raised his giant mechanical saw in a goofy cheer as the find seemed to sink in. "Current average yield is 19, mostly from a elevated dud rate, so this’ll be our biggest catch all season.”

'Armark' must be the big bill for this world.

“And backup is gonna help with this?” I’d be shocked all over again if they could dice this up with chainsaws alone.

“For transportation. The core doesn’t taper until about 20 feet high, we need heavy lift to get it back home for processing.” Dauz explained as he ditched us to take measurements for what I assumed would be a laborious cut. Rend stood by me like I was his intern.

“The yarder drags the prize to the mill at our fort. A wild ride,” he said, continuing where Dauz left off. “Also, we got new medallionized machinery last week, second-hand Agricola equipment, but still an upgrade." His excitability almost rubbed off on me, even if I had no idea what he was on about.

"Now we have the means to cut everspark twice as fast.” He made snipping gestures with his free hand. “Calhoun is working miracles these days. Source bless us all.” He winced as the more mature Dauz called his name again, this time loud enough to make it over scalping racket.

“You can ask them for the specifics when they arrive. Good luck.”

With that, the sparkies left me be to collect their profitable old-world verticality. The bombastic one proceeded to make an error in positioning, and got comically chewed out. He remained energetic, taking it all in stride.

Their chainsaws threw sparks all over the forest, but curiously, none of the leaves caught fire, not for long. Mine burned like a California forest fire last night, but these…?

Could it be magic at work?

Mesmerized for a few minutes, eventually my priorities got through to me.

If several hundred is their celebratory seasonal payday… then I could guesstimate my networth.

I had no idea how much time I had until team 2 and their ride showed up, so I hid behind a tree and started counting my blessings.

With 31 medallions in my front and back pockets, and 53 in my cargo pockets, the dream of being day-one rich faded. Well-off, sure, but not Nebunarrik’s equivalent of a millionaire or a fuedal lord or whatever the hell they had here.

Survival wealth or tycoon wealth, it doesn’t matter. I only need enough to figure out how to get back home.

Simple logic made a roundtrip possible.

If I got here, then I can get back.

Simple.