Nova broke the silence, her gaze steady yet inviting. “You mentioned you had questions about the tome,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. “I’ll answer as much as I can.”
Noah leaned back, his thoughts racing. The tome had opened doors to a world of mysteries, but he knew some answers might forever remain beyond his grasp. Nova had warned him that certain truths about the World Trees were meant only for them and their Guardians. Still, there was one question that lingered in his mind above all else.
“What is Essence?” he asked finally, his voice tinged with curiosity. “The tome mentioned it comes from the World Trees and that each tree has up to four unique essences. But there wasn’t much about how a young tree develops them. Does it happen in stages? Does the tree need to grow to a certain point before it gains its first essence? And… what are these four core Functions I read about?”
Nova’s lips curved into a faint smile, her eyes thoughtful as she considered his question. “Essence,” she began, “is the lifeblood of a World Tree. It’s the energy that defines its role in its world and the bond it shares with its Guardian. Every tree has four core Functions—these are universal to all World Trees, and they never waver.”
She raised her hand, ticking off each Function on her fingers. “The first is the Life Function. It’s the energy of growth, renewal, and healing. This essence sustains the tree itself and allows it to nurture the life around it.”
Noah nodded, already filing the information away. “Life—the foundation. Got it. What’s next?”
“The second is the Energy Function,” Nova continued. “This is raw, unrefined magic. It fuels the tree’s abilities and creates a flow of magical energy that spreads through its surroundings. Think of it as the source of the tree’s power—it amplifies and regulates the magic of the world it anchors.”
“Raw magic and fuel,” Noah murmured, his brow furrowing as he processed her words. “That makes sense. What’s the third?”
“The Balance Function,” Nova said, her tone shifting to something more serious. “This Function is crucial. It keeps the other three in harmony, ensuring they work together instead of against each other. Without Balance, the Energy Function could spiral out of control, or the Life Function could overextend itself. Balance also acts as a safeguard against corruption.”
Noah exhaled slowly, her words settling heavily on him. “I can see why that one’s so important. And the last?”
“The fourth,” Nova said softly, “is the Legacy Function. This one’s a bit harder to explain. It’s the tree’s connection to its purpose, its caretaker, and the history of its world. Legacy preserves the knowledge the tree gains, the bond it shares with its Guardian, and the alignment of its growth with its destiny.”
Noah’s gaze drifted to the sapling outside the window, its tiny leaves trembling in the warm breeze. “So, Life is its vitality, Energy is its power, Balance keeps it all stable, and Legacy ties it to its past and future.”
“Exactly,” Nova confirmed. “Those four Functions form the foundation of every World Tree. They’re what makes it possible for the tree to grow and adapt.”
“But what about the trait essences?” Noah pressed. “Are those tied to the tree’s stages of growth?”
Nova nodded. “Trait essences are different. They develop as the tree interacts with its environment. A tree in a fiery landscape might develop Flame Essence, while one in a snowy tundra could create Frost Essence. These are temporary powers, shaped by the tree’s surroundings and consumed as needed. They’re like tools the tree picks up to face specific challenges.”
“And the stages?” Noah asked.
“A young tree like yours might only have the beginnings of its core Functions,” Nova explained. “As it grows, the Functions strengthen, and the tree may begin to develop its first trait essence. But the stages of growth depend on the care it receives—and on the bond it shares with its Guardian.”
Noah leaned forward, his curiosity blazing. “So, it’s not just about the tree growing—it’s about me, too. My connection to it.”
Nova’s smile widened slightly. “Exactly. You’re its Guardian. Your role isn’t just to protect it but to guide it, nurture it, and grow with it. The stronger your bond, the more potential it can unlock.”
As Noah absorbed her words, the sapling’s leaves rustled again, their faint motion a quiet reminder of the journey ahead. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of essence his tree might develop—or what kind of Guardian he was destined to become.
‘Tick.’
‘Tonk.’
The sound of the clock ticking echoed through the quiet room, each deliberate movement digging into Noah’s mind as he wrote down the information Nova had shared with him. The rhythmic noise became a backdrop to his thoughts, amplifying the weight of the conversation.
“Is it possible,” he asked, glancing up from his notes, “for a World Tree to have more than four essences—or core functions?”
Nova’s gaze drifted thoughtfully, her expression contemplative. “No,” she replied slowly, her tone laced with a hint of certainty. “I’ve never heard of any known World Tree possessing more than the basic four. The very idea seems…” She trailed off, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered the implications.
“For if such a tree did exist,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, “what would we even call it?”
Noah paused, watching her as she seemed to lose herself in thought, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table.
After a long silence, she continued, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “But if such a tree were real—or were ever to come into existence—the world it was seeded on would need to be massive. I’m talking about a realm so vast, so intrinsically tied to magic, that it could sustain not just the tree’s growth but its connection to every known essence. And…” She hesitated, a faint crease forming between her brows. “...to the unknown essences as well.”
“Unknown essences?” Noah repeated, his curiosity piqued.
Nova nodded slowly, her gaze steady but distant, as if reaching for knowledge just out of her grasp. “Yes. While we know of the primary essences tied to natural elements and forces—like Life, Water, Fire, and Shadow—there are whispers in ancient texts of others that defy categorization. Concepts like Time, Memory, or even Starfire. Essences that go beyond the physical or elemental, touching the very fabric of reality itself.”
She paused before continuing, her tone growing more deliberate. “But there are also rumors… of essence mutations and fusions. Traits that change over time, adapting or combining in ways no one fully understands.”
Noah’s pen froze over the page, his breath catching. “Mutations? Fusions?”
Nova nodded again, this time with a hint of unease. “Yes. These phenomena are believed to be exceptionally rare and unpredictable. A tree might fuse Life and Flame Essences, creating something like Rebirth Essence—a force of both renewal and destruction. Or it might combine Water and Frost, producing a chilling power that goes beyond either. But these changes come with risks.”
“What kind of risks?” Noah asked, leaning forward, his attention sharp.
“Balance,” she said simply, her tone heavy. “Every tree depends on its Balance Function to regulate its core and trait essences. When mutations or fusions occur, the Balance Function can struggle to keep up. If the balance is lost, it could lead to instability—or worse, corruption.”
Her words lingered in the air, thick with implication. Noah’s pen hovered over the page, his mind racing. The idea that his tree could evolve in ways he hadn’t considered was both thrilling and daunting.
“So… my tree might not just develop the standard trait essences?” he ventured. “It could create something entirely unique?”
“It’s possible,” Nova admitted. “Your tree is young and already tied to unusual circumstances. If it adapts to its environment in unexpected ways, it might produce an essence no one’s ever seen before.”
Noah let that sink in, the weight of her words pressing on him. Possibilities unfolded in his mind like the pages of the tome, but a darker thought lingered, casting a shadow over his excitement. “If mutations or fusions can happen… is there any record of a tree creating an essence it couldn’t control?”
Nova hesitated, her expression darkening slightly. “There are… stories. None verified, of course, but some claim that trees which lost their Balance gave rise to dangerous essences—powers that turned against the worlds they were meant to protect. It’s why the Balance Function is so vital, Noah. Without it, even the most beautiful creation can become a weapon of destruction.”
Noah’s grip tightened on his pen. The stakes felt even higher now. His connection to the sapling wasn’t just about nurturing its growth—it was about ensuring its harmony, its survival. If he failed, the consequences could ripple far beyond his backyard.
He looked out the window at the sapling, its delicate leaves trembling in the afternoon breeze. For the first time, he wondered not just about the tree’s future—but about his own. What kind of Guardian would he need to become to face challenges like this?
With a steady breath, he turned back to Nova. “If my tree starts developing something unusual, something beyond the norm… will you help me figure it out?”
Nova’s gaze softened, her lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “Of course,” she said. “We’ll face it together.”
Her promise settled something within him, the weight of uncertainty easing ever so slightly. But her next words reignited his unease, carrying the echo of something grander and more profound.
“But a tree like that…” she added, her voice growing softer, almost reverent. “If it could exist, it wouldn’t just connect realms or sustain life. It would be a pillar of creation itself—a tree that could shape reality, maintain balance across dimensions, and potentially hold the answers to mysteries we’ve barely begun to understand.”
Her words hung in the air like a challenge, a distant call to something greater. Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that his sapling—young and fragile as it was—held more potential than either of them yet realized.
Noah felt a chill run down his spine. The idea of such a tree—a being so powerful it transcended the boundaries of existence—was both exhilarating and terrifying.
“And if such a tree fell into the wrong hands?” he asked cautiously, his voice low.
Nova’s eyes darkened, her expression tightening like a storm cloud. “Then it wouldn’t just be a world or a realm at risk. It would be everything.”
The words lingered between them, heavy with the weight of possibility and danger. Outside, the sapling rustled softly in the wind, its fragile form a stark contrast to the enormity of the conversation.
Noah glanced back at his notes, his pen finally moving again. This time, his writing was slower, more deliberate. He hesitated for a moment, then looked up at Nova, his brow furrowed with curiosity and concern.
“You say the connection between a Guardian and their World Tree is vital,” he began carefully. “What would happen if a bond like that never formed? Or if… something happened to the person responsible for caring for the tree?”
Nova’s expression grew serious, her posture straightening as the weight of the question settled over her. “It’s rare for a bond to not form at all,” she explained, her voice quieter now, tinged with the gravity of the subject. “The World Tree chooses its Guardian, Noah. That choice isn’t random—it’s rooted in the tree’s essence, in its purpose. A tree without a Guardian is like a ship without a captain. It drifts, vulnerable to the forces around it, unable to protect itself or grow to its full potential.”
Noah’s pen hovered over the page. “And if the Guardian… fails?”
Nova hesitated, her gaze drifting toward the window, where the young sapling swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. “If a Guardian falls, the tree can survive for a time, but it becomes... fragile. Without the bond to ground it, the tree’s essence begins to weaken. Its core functions—Life, Energy, Balance, and Legacy—become unstable. That instability makes the tree vulnerable to corruption or decay, especially if its environment is already hostile or lacking in resources.”
Her voice softened, her eyes distant. “There are stories of trees that survived without a Guardian. They didn’t flourish—they endured. Their growth stunted, their magic flickering like a dying ember. Over time, they became shadows of what they were meant to be. Some were consumed by corruption; others simply… faded.”
Noah frowned, the thought sending a pang of unease through him. “What about the reverse?” he asked after a moment. “If the tree dies but the Guardian survives?”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Nova’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked directly at him, her expression heavy with sorrow. “The bond works both ways, Noah. A Guardian without a tree is… incomplete. They lose a part of themselves—physically, emotionally, magically. Some Guardians can survive the loss, but they’re never the same. It’s as though they’re missing a piece of their soul.”
Her voice wavered slightly, carrying the weight of untold stories. “And for some… the loss is too much. They fade, just as their tree does, unable to bear the severed connection.”
The room fell silent, the ticking clock filling the void as Noah absorbed her words. The enormity of the bond between Guardian and tree settled over him like a heavy cloak. It wasn’t just a partnership—it was a shared existence, a symbiosis that bound them together at the deepest level.
Outside, the sapling’s leaves trembled again, as if responding to the unspoken tension in the air. Noah stared at it, his thoughts swirling with the weight of responsibility. He wasn’t just caring for a tree—he was tethered to it, his future entwined with its survival.
“What does that mean for me?” he murmured, more to himself than to Nova.
“It means,” she said gently, “that you and your tree are connected in ways you’re only beginning to understand. Its strength is yours, and your strength is its lifeline. Protect that bond, Noah. Nurture it. Because without it, neither of you will thrive.”
Her words settled deep in his heart, carving a truth he couldn’t ignore. He wasn’t just a Guardian. He was a partner in something far greater than himself. And the thought of failure—not just for the sapling but for the world it anchored—was a weight he vowed to never let fall.
She paused, letting her words sink in before adding, “And for some… the loss is too much. They fade, just as their tree does, unable to bear the severed connection.”
Noah exhaled slowly, his thoughts swirling with the weight of her explanation. “So, it’s more than just a partnership,” he murmured. “It’s a dependency. A symbiosis.”
Nova nodded. “Exactly. The Guardian and the tree are two halves of the same whole. One strengthens the other. One protects the other. Without that bond, the balance—both for the tree and for the Guardian—is lost.”
The room fell silent again, save for the soft scratching of Noah’s pen as he continued to write. His notes became a blend of information and questions for himself, each word underscoring the importance of his role in protecting the young sapling outside. Nova watched him for a moment longer, then stood. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, Noah. But remember—you're not alone in this,” she said gently before stepping out of the room.
For a while, the only sounds were the faint rustling of leaves outside and the steady ticking of the clock.
Noah stared out the window, his gaze fixed on the small yet defiant World Seedling swaying gently in the wind. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his chest, like a storm cloud refusing to break. He felt lost, untethered, like a ship adrift without a map or compass.
“I wish I could talk to you, Mum,” the thought whispered through his mind, raw and unguarded. His mother had always been his anchor, her steady presence grounding him even in the face of life’s fiercest challenges. But now, he stood alone, his hands holding the fragile promise of his world’s survival.
His stomach churned with uncertainty. What if he failed? What if the sapling withered under his care? Would his world crumble, dragged into the silence described in the tome? The possibility gnawed at him, sharp and relentless.
He turned back to the tome, its aged pages whispering softly as he flipped through them. His eyes darted over passages, rereading fragments of text as if searching for an answer he might have missed. Then, a single question echoed in his mind, something he had overlooked before—dismissed as unimportant in the moment.
Why had the World Tree chosen him?
The thought lingered, pulling at the edges of his consciousness. He turned another page, his fingers brushing over the words as his eyes scanned their surface. It was a section he’d skimmed earlier, deeming it too abstract at the time, but now it called to him like a voice in the distance.
“The Guardian is not chosen for their perfection,” the text read, “but for their potential. It is not their knowledge, strength, or readiness that binds them to the World Tree. It is their ability to grow, to adapt, and to find balance within themselves.”
Noah’s breath hitched, the words resonating deeply. His fingers tightened on the edge of the book as he read on:
“A World Tree seeks not certainty but a partner willing to walk the unknown path. The Guardian’s strength lies not in knowing all the answers, but in asking the questions that lead to them. Together, they forge the future—one step, one root, one seed at a time.”
He closed the tome softly, letting the words settle like seeds in fertile soil. The doubt still lingered, heavy and unyielding, but now it was tempered by a flicker of something else—a quiet determination.
Outside, the sapling’s leaves shivered, catching a stray beam of sunlight that made them glow faintly for an instant, almost like a response to his thoughts. Noah couldn’t help but feel the faintest tug of reassurance from it, as if the tree itself believed in him.
If the World Tree had chosen him, then it believed in his potential. And if it believed in him, maybe—just maybe—he could start believing in himself.
But deep inside, an unease stirred. A shadow of doubt crawled at the edges of his thoughts, pulling him back to something Nova had mentioned before—something she had skirted around, her words careful but heavy. It was a piece of the puzzle he couldn’t ignore any longer, not with the stakes laid bare before him.
“Nova,” he began, his voice breaking the fragile silence that had settled between them. She turned to him, her gaze steady yet cautious. “I noticed your look earlier when we talked about the World Trees… and their balance. You’ve mentioned it before, but we’ve never really gone into depth. I need to know—what is this corruption you’ve been talking about?”
Nova’s expression shifted, her usually calm demeanor giving way to something more guarded. She exhaled softly, her hands folding in front of her as if she were bracing herself. “Corruption,” she said, her voice low and measured, “isn’t something I like to dwell on. But you’re right—it’s something you need to understand.”
She paused, her gaze drifting toward the window. The sapling swayed gently in the breeze, a stark reminder of the fragile balance they were discussing. “Corruption,” she continued, “is what happens when the Balance Function of a World Tree fails. It starts small, a fracture in the harmony between Life, Energy, and Legacy. At first, it’s subtle—an imbalance in the tree’s essence, a disruption in its connection to its Guardian.”
Her tone grew heavier, each word carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. “But if it’s left unchecked, that imbalance begins to fester. The tree’s essence warps, twisting its core functions into something unrecognizable. Life becomes decay. Energy becomes chaos. Legacy… well, Legacy turns into something darker. It no longer preserves history—it erases it.”
Noah felt a chill creep down his spine. “And what happens to the tree?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nova hesitated, her eyes meeting his with a gravity that made his chest tighten. “The tree doesn’t just die, Noah. It changes. Corrupted trees don’t wither away—they transform into something else entirely. They become conduits for destruction, spreading the corruption like a disease. Their roots poison the land, their branches twist into jagged, lifeless forms. And any world tied to that tree…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s not just the tree that falls. It’s the world itself.”
Noah’s mind raced, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a physical force. He could almost see it—the vibrant sapling outside, its leaves blackening, its roots spreading rot instead of life. The image was enough to make his stomach churn.
“But what causes it?” he asked, forcing his voice to steady. “How does a tree fall into corruption?”
“It varies,” Nova admitted, her tone softer now. “Sometimes it’s neglect—when a Guardian fails to maintain the bond or when the tree is left to fend for itself in a hostile environment. Other times, it’s external. Forces from outside the tree—dark magic, malicious entities, even the influence of a corrupted world—can push it over the edge.”
Her gaze darkened, her next words spoken with a quiet intensity. “And then there’s the worst kind—the kind that comes from within. When a tree develops an essence it can’t control, when its Balance Function falters under the strain… that’s when the corruption starts from the core.”
Noah swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Is there any way to stop it? To fix it?”
Nova’s expression softened, but there was a sadness in her eyes that made his heart sink. “There are ways to delay it,” she said. “To slow its spread, to buy time. But once a tree’s core is corrupted…” She shook her head. “There’s no coming back.”
The silence that followed was heavy, each passing second amplifying the weight of her words. Noah glanced toward the sapling, its leaves trembling in the breeze, and felt a surge of determination rise within him.
“I won’t let that happen,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “Not to my tree. Not to my world.”
Nova offered him a small, reassuring smile, though her eyes remained shadowed with unspoken fears. “Then you’ve taken the first step, Noah. The path of a Guardian is never easy, but it’s one worth walking.”
Her words hung in the air, a fragile thread of hope in the face of the daunting challenges ahead. Noah nodded, his resolve hardening as he turned back to his notes. There was still so much he didn’t know, so much he had to learn. But if the tree believed in him—if Nova believed in him—then he would find a way to rise to the challenge.
No matter what it took.
“There’s something else,” Nova suddenly said, her voice breaking the momentary stillness.
Noah blinked, looking up from his notes to meet her steady gaze. “What’s wrong?” he asked, a flicker of concern creeping into his tone.
Without answering immediately, Nova reached into her pouch, her expression guarded. Her fingers brushed against the contents inside before she pulled out a small, weathered book. The cover was faded and cracked, but the bold, ominous title stood out clearly: The Collapse of the World Tree: Sylvanus Aeternus (The Eternal Crown).
Noah felt a shiver of unease crawl up his spine as he read the title. “That… doesn’t sound promising,” he muttered.
“It’s not,” Nova admitted, her tone somber as she slid the book across the table toward him. “This was written centuries ago by a Guardian who witnessed the fall of their tree firsthand. It’s one of the few surviving accounts we have of what happens when a World Tree succumbs to corruption—or is destroyed entirely.”
Noah’s hand hovered over the book for a moment, hesitation flickering in his eyes. He finally picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his hands, the rough texture of the cover against his fingertips. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
Nova hesitated, her eyes darting to the sapling outside before returning to him. “Because I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” she admitted. “You’ve already taken on so much, and this… this is heavy.” She gestured to the book. “But after everything we’ve discussed, you need to understand what’s truly at stake. Not just for your tree, but for your world—and every world connected to it.”
Noah opened the book carefully, the aged pages emitting a faint, musty scent. The first few lines sent a chill down his spine:
Noah opened the book carefully, the aged pages emitting a faint, musty scent. The first few lines sent a chill down his spine, written in stark, almost desperate script:
"I write this as the last light of Sylvanus Aeternus fades. The Eternal Crown, once the heartbeat of our realm, is falling—its roots decayed, its essence tainted beyond recognition. This is not a tale of triumph, nor one of hope. It is a warning, etched in the fragments of a dying world, so that others might learn from our failure."
The words painted a grim picture, each sentence heavy with the weight of finality. Noah turned the page, his grip tightening as he read on:
"It began subtly—a shadow in the leaves, a strange discoloration in the roots. At first, we thought it was merely the cycle of nature, the ebb and flow of life. But the shadow spread, creeping deeper into the bark, seeping into the soil. Animals that once thrived near the tree began to flee, their instincts sharper than our understanding. The skies dimmed, the winds carried a chill that gnawed at the soul, and the tree’s song grew faint, its once vibrant harmony breaking into discordant echoes."
Noah’s breath caught as he read further, the descriptions vivid and haunting:
"I was there when the corruption broke free. It came like a storm, silent at first, then roaring with unrelenting force. The roots, once a web of strength and unity, turned brittle and cracked under the strain. The tree, our Eternal Crown, trembled—its essence warping, twisting into something unrecognizable. Where its light had once brought life, it now spread decay. Plants withered, rivers ran dry, and the very air grew thick with a suffocating darkness."
He turned another page, the words etched with raw emotion:
"I stood beneath its canopy on the final day, watching as the last remnants of its life drained away. The Guardian fought valiantly, her bond with the tree blazing like a beacon against the encroaching shadow. But even she could not hold it back. The corruption consumed her as it consumed the tree, their connection severed in a violent flash that shook the ground. I will never forget her scream—a sound of unimaginable pain, of a bond shattered, of a world dying with her."
The account grew more fragmented, as though the author had struggled to continue:
"When the tree fell, it was as if the realm itself wept. The skies turned black, the earth quaked, and everything we knew began to crumble. Time unravelled, and magic twisted into chaos. The creatures that once lived in harmony with the tree became grotesque mockeries, corrupted by the very essence that had sustained them. I fled, but the screams of those left behind still echo in my mind. The Eternal Crown was not just a tree—it was our lifeline, our anchor. Without it, we are lost."
Noah swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he reached the final passage:
"I write this not as a plea, but as a testament. If you are reading these words, know this: the fall of a World Tree is not a singular event. It is a fracture that ripples through all realms, a scar that never truly heals. Guard your tree with everything you have. For if it falls, so too will your world—and perhaps others yet unseen."
The weight of the words in the book, combined with Nova’s unwavering gaze, pressed heavily on Noah’s chest. He exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of the table as he tried to collect his thoughts.
“How did you get this book?” he finally asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and unease. The vividness of the account lingered in his mind, the desperation and grief of its writer seeming to seep from the pages themselves.
Nova’s expression darkened slightly, her gaze drifting toward the sapling swaying outside the window. “It was given to me by someone who… understood what’s at stake,” she said carefully. “A Guardian from another world—a survivor of their tree’s collapse. They entrusted it to my world when they sought refuge there. The survivors integrated into our land, carrying their pain and knowledge with them. This book was passed down, shared among those who believed in its message. It was meant to serve as both a warning and a guide—a testament to what must never happen again.”
Noah frowned, the words sparking a storm of questions in his mind. “How did they—how did anyone—survive something like that?”
Nova hesitated, her gaze steady yet distant, as though recalling a painful memory. “Survive isn’t the right word,” she said softly. “They endured. They carried the scars of their world’s collapse in every sense—physically, emotionally, magically. The pain of losing a World Tree isn’t something you can imagine until you’ve felt it. It leaves a void that never fully heals.”
Noah’s stomach churned as he considered her words. He looked at the sapling outside, its fragile form trembling in the breeze. It wasn’t just a plant—it was a beacon, a cornerstone, the fragile thread holding an entire world together. And he was the one tasked with protecting it.
He turned back to Nova, his voice quieter now. “How do you even begin to stop something like that from happening?”
Nova leaned forward slightly, her expression softening with determination. “You don’t do it alone, Noah. That’s the first thing you need to understand. A Guardian might be bound to their tree, but they’re not meant to carry the burden in isolation. You’ll need allies, knowledge, and strength—not just physical strength, but emotional and magical resilience.” She paused, her gaze holding his. “That sapling chose you for a reason. It sees your potential, even if you don’t see it in yourself yet.”
Her words settled over him like a grounding weight, rooting him in the moment. Noah nodded slowly, letting her reassurance sink in. He didn’t have all the answers, and the path ahead seemed impossibly uncertain, but he had the determination to try. He had Nova’s support, and perhaps, in time, he’d find others who could help him carry this burden.
He glanced back at the book in his hands, its worn cover now more than just an object—it was a testament to the consequences of failure and a reminder of what was at stake. The words within its pages echoed in his mind: Guard your tree with everything you have. For if it falls, so too will your world—and perhaps others yet unseen.
Noah took a deep breath, his resolve solidifying. This wasn’t just about him or the sapling. It was about his world and the delicate balance tying countless realms together. And he would do everything in his power to protect it.