Noah walked slowly back to his seat, his mind buzzing with everything he’d absorbed so far. He sank into the chair, taking a steadying sip of tea, savoring its warmth as he stared blankly into the distance. It was overwhelming—so much knowledge that seemed both foreign and oddly familiar, like pieces of a puzzle he’d always been meant to find. His gaze drifted, unfocused, as he let his thoughts settle.
After a while, he set the cup down, breathing deeply. He hadn’t expected this journey through the Library to feel so personal, like each book was a whisper meant just for him. But here he was, each story weaving into the one he was beginning to see for himself, while sitting there noah had a few random thoughts but didn’t want to act on them right now.
Finally, he reached into his inventory, pulling out The Shattered Roots: Chronicles of Fallen Trees. Its cover was rough, scarred, with jagged markings that seemed to claw their way across the surface. Touching it, he felt a faint pulse—a melancholy rhythm, like the echo of something lost yet not entirely gone. He took another deep breath and opened the book, ready to learn what it had to tell him.
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Diary Entry 5.
"We did it. After years of study and countless sacrifices, we found a way to bridge worlds using the remains of a fallen World Tree from our own realm. Through the power of its shattered roots, a unique force took shape—a pathway to places beyond. None of us could have foreseen the power held within these fragments; with the right magics, these broken roots became keys to open portals across different worlds.”
The entry continued, the writer’s excitement almost palpable in the inked words.
"We began constructing the portal network on foreign soil—‘the Gate Network,’ as I’ve named it. There was a thrill, a sense of awe, as we activated the first portal. The silence gave way to a whisper of strange winds, the air heavy with foreign scents and energies. We could hardly believe it worked. The first visitor arrived within seconds, a creature of shadows, almost spider-like. It darted through the portal, silent as mist, before slipping back into the void beyond. Then, the portal shimmered and closed, sealing itself as if obeying some silent command. Moments later, it reopened, tethering us to another World Tree on a distant world.”
The entry hinted at an awareness of risks yet undiscovered, the tone shifting subtly.
“Even now, I cannot help but wonder what lies in wait on the other side of each portal. Are they like us, these distant worlds? Or are they… altered? The Gate Network holds boundless potential for exploration, but the roots we use are themselves fractured, shattered, and I fear that with each world we touch, we may open doors we can never close."
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Diary Entry 12
“Today marked a leap forward,” the entry began, the script nearly vibrating with excitement. “Our Gate Network grows with each passing cycle, and each addition feels like unearthing a piece of forgotten history. Using the shattered roots, we stabilized three additional portals, leading to realms so striking and unearthly that our minds struggled to take it in fully. The network flourishes, creating not only paths but a web of possibilities—whole worlds awaiting discovery.”
The writer’s awe was palpable, flowing through the page. “The first world we reached was a desert of endless crystal dunes, each facet catching the light in dazzling colors. The winds there sing as they shift the sands, creating symphonies that are as eerie as they are beautiful. Another world—lush, untouched, wild—was home to flora that pulse with bioluminescent light under a lavender sky, as though the very plants there breathe in rhythms foreign to our own. The air itself is thick with an unknown magic, every shadow and glimmer enticing us to venture further.”
Noah felt drawn in, the images filling his mind as he turned the page. This wasn't simply the chronicle of a discovery but the awakening of something vast and untamed.
“Every realm holds wonders beyond description, but there is an unnerving awareness growing within our team. Each portal seems to pulse with its own heartbeat, a strange hum resonating deep below the visible. It is subtle, easy to overlook, yet impossible to forget. More than once, I’ve had the sense that these worlds... feel us. I wonder if we are not the only ones reaching out across the divide. Are we opening doors that others will one day cross?”
The ink grew darker, as if applied with increasing pressure. “Yesterday, as we expanded, something changed. I caught sight of fleeting shadows at the edges of the portal, and in that moment, I felt sure we were being watched. My colleagues dismissed it, chalking it up to exhaustion. But I know what I saw—eyes, unfathomable, fixed on us from beyond. There was a whisper, too faint to understand yet persistent, like something calling out from the other side of the divide.”
The entry ended abruptly, the words trailing off as though interrupted.
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Diary Entry 16
"The Gate Network is expanding faster than we ever anticipated," the entry began, the ink slightly smudged as if hastily written. "Today, for the first time, we’ve made contact with those on the other side of a portal. They aren’t like us, yet there’s a strange familiarity in their curiosity, in the cautious glances they cast through the gate."
Noah’s interest piqued as he read on, picturing the excitement and trepidation the writer must have felt.
"They call themselves the Thalrin, dwellers of a world where shadows are as real as stone, and the air shimmers with energy that hums through their bones. They seem attuned to their world in ways we cannot imagine, speaking in a language that feels as old as the roots we’ve used to bridge these realms."
The writer’s tone shifted, becoming more introspective. "They are wary of us, though they share our fascination. They approached the gate carefully, sending one emissary—a tall figure, cloaked in woven fibers that moved like leaves in the wind. She introduced herself with a name that I cannot properly transcribe”
The entry continued, the excitement mingling with caution. "We exchanged only a few words, communicating through gestures and expressions. They are hesitant but open to learning about us. Tomorrow, we plan to offer them a token of trust—a small vial of spring water from our world, a symbol of life. And in return, they promised us a leaf from a tree that, they say, only grows in places touched by starlight.”
The entry ended on a note of wonder. "I feel we’re on the brink of something profound. Yet a part of me wonders—are we wise to reach into worlds that might change us in ways we cannot foresee?"
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Diary Entry 1 (Rewrite)
“A fire broke out in the archives last night, consuming nearly everything from my earlier records,” the new entry began, the handwriting more hurried, tinged with frustration and a tinge of resignation. "Months of work, lost to a blaze that no one can fully explain. They say it was an accident—an overturned lantern, careless handling of an open flame—but I’m not sure I believe it."
Noah felt the weight of the writer’s frustration and sense of loss as he continued reading.
“Thankfully, the Gate Network itself is unharmed, but many of the notes on its early days—the trial and error, the first encounters, the breakthroughs with the roots—are now ashes. I’ll have to begin again, reconstructing what I can from memory and bits of surviving scraps.”
The tone shifted as the entry went on, more determined. “Despite the loss, we press on. This new diary shall hold our renewed insights and perhaps help us avoid the missteps that may have led to this accident, if that’s truly what it was. The Thalrin returned today, and I must focus on our interactions with them; they are wary yet curious, and there’s much we could learn together.”
The entry concluded with a note of resolve: “No fire, no setback, will stop this work. I will protect these records however I must. If our world truly stands on the brink of something extraordinary, then I owe it to future generations to leave behind as much as I can."
The entry took on a tone of wonder as it continued, describing the exchange of magic between worlds.
“One of the locals taught me their star magic,” the entry read. “A sight unlike any I’ve ever witnessed—a tiny orb of starlight flickering in the palm of my hand, radiating a quiet, unearthly beauty. When she first showed me, she cautioned, 'Only my tribe can summon this light.' She seemed nearly as surprised as I was when I managed to cast it myself.”
Noah could imagine the scene: a silent awe shared between worlds as new magic flickered to life.
"To see her joy when I showed her my own water magic—seeing the thrill of forming water out of thin air—was something I’ll never forget. There was a kinship in that moment, a bridging of realms and a spark of understanding. It makes me believe that, despite our differences, this network may someday connect far more than we anticipated."
The entry ended with a faintly hopeful note, a musing on the future. “Perhaps, by sharing our knowledge and spells, we can strengthen the ties between worlds—not just with portals, but with the very essence of who we are and what we’ve created.”
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Diary Entry 2
"Today, we ventured further into unknown territory, opening a portal with our new allies—the Star Tribe, or Shadow Tribe, as we sometimes call them. They carry a quiet wisdom, a connection to things beyond our reach. The world we entered was desolate, barren rock stretching to the horizon, and in the distance stood a world tree… but it was not like any I’d seen. It looked withered, decayed, as if it had been drained of life yet clung to some faint ember deep within.”
A pause marked the entry, as if the writer struggled to put the next moments into words. “One of the women from the tribe, a guardian of sorts, knelt upon seeing the tree, her voice trembling as she mumbled phrases I couldn’t understand, words that might have been a prayer or lament. It was as if she felt the pain of the tree herself."
The tone shifted as the writer mentioned Eairdor, the tribe member he had grown closest to. "Later, Eairdor approached me, her words cautious but reverent. She said, 'We know of the withered tree,' her gaze distant as if recalling a memory. She spoke of their own Guardian, one who holds the gift to 'hear the spark within'—to commune with the trees themselves, sensing even the faintest traces of life. This Guardian is able to feel the suffering of a tree.”
The entry concluded on a thoughtful note: “Their knowledge of this world and its guardians is vast, as though the Star Tribe and their Guardian have walked these lands for lifetimes. The concept of a Guardian communing with the essence of a dying tree fills me with both awe and unease. If such a power exists, it could be both a blessing and a curse. Today, I feel more than ever the weight of our actions and the significance of each portal we open.”
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The entry continued
“I explained to her how we managed to create the portal network, and how our world tree had been lifeless for countless centuries. She was visibly shaken, understandably so, and I can’t blame her. Over time, her shock softened into curiosity, though her questions were no less piercing. She would ask, ‘Why would you desecrate your world’s tree like this?’ and ‘What happened to it, and to your world’s Guardian?’
Her questions confounded me as much as they did her. The whole concept of a Guardian wasn’t something I’d ever considered or heard of in our studies or traditions. When I expressed this, it was her turn to be bewildered. She patiently explained that a Guardian is more than a protector—they are chosen by the tree itself, bound to it, like a heart tethered to the veins of the earth. In her words, ‘A Guardian feels the pulse of the tree, carries its burdens and shares its strength. It is a bond that cannot be broken without loss on both sides.’
The weight of this knowledge settled heavily upon me. I began to understand why the idea of using a world tree in this way disturbed her and her tribe. It felt like we had disrupted something sacred without truly knowing what we’d lost in doing so.”
“She went on to describe the bond Guardians share with their trees. ‘When a tree suffers, the Guardian feels it too,’ she explained. ‘When the tree flourishes, so does its Guardian. They’re like two halves of the same soul.’ Her voice grew soft as she spoke, reverence and sorrow mingling in her tone. She described her world’s Guardian, someone who had dedicated their life to tending the world tree’s every need.
‘Our Guardian hears the whispers of the roots and the winds that pass through the branches,’ she said. ‘They hold our world’s history within them, just as the tree does, and they ensure our people live in harmony with the land.’
Hearing her speak stirred something in me—a deep ache, perhaps, for a connection we’d never understood or valued in our world. I asked her what might happen if a world tree lost its Guardian. Her face clouded, and she took a long pause before replying. ‘A tree without a Guardian is like a heart without a beat. It survives, maybe even lives, but it is alone… and vulnerable.’
I could feel the enormity of our actions weighing upon me, especially with the realization that our own tree, for countless centuries, had been cut off from this essential connection. It made me wonder how many other worlds we might have affected with our actions, unknowingly unraveling connections that stretched beyond our understanding.
And yet, as troubling as this was, I couldn’t ignore the curiosity that still pulled at me. There was so much more to learn about these Guardians, about the roles they played and the powers they held. I promised myself to listen more carefully, to tread lightly with each new discovery. It was no longer just about portals or exploring other realms; it was about respecting what we didn’t yet understand.”
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The Network of Roots
The text described the roots as an ancient, invisible web woven across realms, a network as alive as the trees it connected. Each root system, though rooted within its own world, stretched far beyond, creating bonds that defied the boundaries between realms. Together, they functioned like ley lines—a vast network through which the World Trees exchanged life essence, magic, and knowledge. It was this interconnectedness that gave the trees their strength and, perhaps, the resilience to withstand forces that would otherwise destroy them.
The Network was a silent guardian, enabling the World Trees to share their energy in times of scarcity or threat. When one tree suffered drought, another rich in Water Essence could send moisture through these roots. When the chill of Frost Essence endangered life, a neighboring tree with Fire Essence could lend warmth, saving the life beneath its branches. But these exchanges were more than physical—each transfer carried with it memories and echoes, a soft harmony that resonated across worlds.
The roots, the text explained, were akin to veins, carrying mana as blood. Each tree pulsed in harmony with others, and so long as the Network remained unbroken, World Trees could communicate, reaching beyond their own roots to sense, support, and learn from each other. To be part of this Network was to join a song as old as existence itself, one that transcended the limits of individual realms and created a unity across space and time.
Noah felt a sense of awe as he read. This wasn’t just a network of roots but a living, breathing entity, as though the Network itself had its own consciousness, flowing life from one world to the next in a quiet dance of survival and support.
As Noah closed The Shattered Roots: Chronicles of Fallen Trees, he let out a slow, reflective breath. The book had revealed a side of the World Trees he hadn’t anticipated—one where sacrifice and loss seemed to intertwine with purpose. each entry a reminder of the strength and frailty of the worlds bound by the portal network.
Setting the book aside, he took a moment to clear his mind, steeling himself for the final piece of his journey through these records. Reaching into his inventory, he drew out The Eldergrove Histories. This was the last step, the final account he needed to complete his quest.
The book itself felt different in his hands. It was heavier, its cover a mix of ancient green and bronze, with embossed branches and roots that seemed to extend across the spine and along the edges. As he brushed his fingers over it, he felt a quiet power, as though the book itself held a piece of the tree it was dedicated to.
Taking a steadying breath, Noah opened The Eldergrove Histories, ready to uncover the last secrets of the World Trees and perhaps, a deeper understanding of the role he had to play.
Noah opened The Eldergrove Histories to the first page, where elegant, swirling script unfolded the story like a whispered memory:
"Long ago, before realms were bound by time and distance, there stood the Primordial Tree—the Tree of Beginnings, from which all life and magic flowed. This Tree was the source of harmony, each of its branches an essence unto itself, from Frost to Fire, Life to Shadow. When the Tree sensed the need for balance across realms, it cast forth seeds, each becoming a World Tree to serve as an anchor, a guardian of its realm’s life force and magic."
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The words felt ancient and sacred, and as he continued, Noah sensed that this was not merely a tale; it was the truth of the realms, recorded for all who dared to read.
"Each World Tree grew in a place destined for its unique essence, its roots binding it to the land, its branches weaving connections to the skies and beyond. Realms that lacked balance found it through the Tree’s presence, drawing life from its core, protection from its essence, and magic from the heart of creation itself."
The book described how each essence was a lifeline, contributing uniquely to the realms. Noah read about Life Essence, thriving in lush, ancient groves; Fire Essence, burning in lands of molten rock and eternal warmth; Frost Essence, preserving life even in the harshest climates. Each World Tree became a guardian of its realm, extending a part of itself to maintain harmony.
Noah paused, thinking of his own World Tree, wondering if it, too, carried an essence, a role, a voice within the song of existence.
"And thus, the World Trees became beacons of life, casting their energy across realms, holding the boundaries of existence firm. They were not alone—Guardians, chosen by the Tree’s spirit, shared its essence, inheriting its strength and dedicating their lives to its protection."
Noah's pulse quickened. Each World Tree had its own Guardian, bound to it as Noah was bound to his own, carrying within them the Tree’s purpose.
"It is prophesied," the text read in the curling script, "that before the final breath of the Primordial Tree, it pour its remaining essence and energy into a single, sacred seed. This seed would begin as a World King Tree, holds the memory and life of its predecessor, bound by the ancient song of creation."
Noah traced the words with his fingers, feeling the weight of their meaning. The book continued, describing the seed with reverence, as though it were both a promise and a legacy.
"Legends speak of this seed—the World King Tree Seed, a rare and nearly mythical gift—returning only to the place of its origin, awaiting the moment when the realms have need of it once more."
The final passages felt alive, carrying with them the weight of prophecy and loss. As Noah read, he could almost feel the song, faint and elusive, as though it lay just beyond his reach.
"Even now," the text seemed to whisper, "Guardians and their Trees hear echoes of that ancient harmony, the call that binds them to protect the life and light of their realms. But beware, for should the song fall silent, it would signal the fading of hope itself."
He took a breath, feeling the words resonate within him as he turned the page. There, etched into the parchment, were the last remnants of the Primordial Tree’s song—a melody that had woven life into existence. His heart raced, feeling as though he could almost hear it, faint and haunting, a song both mournful and beautiful. It was as if the book were inviting him to experience it, to let it settle within his soul.
"We hope that, if the stories are indeed true," the book continued, "the realms will one day welcome back the World King Tree, and the heavens themselves will sing in joy for the birth of a new Tree. Only those with open hearts may hear the echo of the song that remains, waiting to awaken those who listen."
Noah closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in. It felt like a call that reached far beyond the pages, like the song was still living somewhere, waiting to be rekindled.
But as he opened his eyes, the final passage left him with an unsettling note.
"There exists another legend," the text read cautiously, almost as if reluctant to reveal it. "It is whispered that the death of the Primordial Tree was not merely an end, but the beginning of something more—a consequence of a new essence. Yet in its infancy, something went wrong. In an attempt to save this essence, the Primordial Tree cast its final seed into the farthest reaches, beyond the grasp of any who would harm it."
Noah felt a chill. This wasn’t just the story of an ancient song—it was the tale of a new beginning wrapped in tragedy, a birth that demanded the sacrifice of the original Tree. And somewhere in his heart, he wondered if that lost essence, that final seed, was connected to him in ways he hadn’t yet realized.
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The Forgotten Melody
Noah took a deep breath and turned the page, revealing a new section titled The Forgotten Melody. The words beckoned him, describing a song that was nearly impossible to hum or remember—a haunting piece that resonated beyond sound, touching the soul in ways words could not capture.
As he read on, he saw the lyrics, or rather, fragments of sounds meant to evoke something ancient and lost. Each note was written in a unique script, curling in elegant loops, as though they were breaths of wind frozen on the page. Tentatively, he began to try to hum it. The melody started slow and low, like the whisper of a breeze through leaves:
The sound was beautiful but mournful, as if a distant chorus had woven their longing and grief into each note. The melody did not rise and fall in the usual way; instead, it spiraled, repeating itself with subtle variations, a song that seemed to wind inwards rather than build or resolve. He found it impossible to fully follow, yet he was irresistibly drawn to try.
"For those who seek to know it, this song lingers on the edges of the soul, like a memory beyond reach, waiting for the Guardian's heart to revive its forgotten harmony."
Dohhh… dohh… tiii... laahhhh… rehh… mi... dohh… sohh... faah...
As he hummed again, Noah felt a chill sweep over him, the melody leaving a faint echo in his mind even as he fell silent, its last note fading into an unspoken promise of something lost, waiting to be found.
Rehh… mi... laaah… soooh… faah... dohh... tiii... rehh… laaah…
This refrain flows into another line, the tempo quickening briefly before settling back to its original pace, evoking a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the sorrow:
Dohhh… rehh… laaah… dohh... tiii...
The effect is almost like an incantation—a song not meant to be remembered in its entirety but to invoke a feeling, a connection to something greater. Each line of the song seems to invite the singer to journey a little further into the mystery of the World Trees and their legacy. As Noah hums, he can sense the melody winding through him, as if the very roots of the realms were reaching out, vibrating with the memory of this lost harmony.
The final verses return to that mournful refrain, almost inaudible, a soft whisper, fading into the silence:
Tii... rehh… dohh… laaah... soooh…
The song finishes like a breath held too long, releasing into silence, leaving Noah with a sense that the melody had once filled all worlds with life and that it might, just possibly, one day do so again.
As Noah closed The Eldergrove Histories, letting the last echoes of the melody fade into silence, a faint, otherworldly tune drifted to him from afar. The gentle hum was unmistakable, its resonance woven with the essence of the song he’d just read. The Tree of Knowledge was singing back.
The sound was delicate at first, like leaves rustling in a gentle breeze, but as it grew, so did its power—a chorus of countless whispered notes rising and falling in harmony. The melody swelled, threading through the roots and stone, filling the library with an ethereal echo that seemed to bypass sound altogether, settling into his very bones.
Noah’s heart beat in sync with the rhythm, each pulse reverberating with a feeling of connection deeper than he’d ever felt. It was as if the ancient tree acknowledged his journey, recognizing him as a part of the legacy it guarded. The song wove through him like a memory unearthed, carrying with it fragments of wisdom, sorrow, and hope.
As Noah hummed in perfect sync with the Tree of Knowledge, his heart beating in time with the melody, the sound traveled through realms and dimensions, weaving its way into places where even light had struggled to reach.
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- Meanwhile Earth-
Outside, Nova and Claire continued their vigilant watch by the sealed dungeon door. Nova had exhausted every trick she knew—cutting, burning, even attempting to flood it with her magic. But just as Claire was about to speak, a soft glow radiated from the World Tree nearby, and they paused in wonder as the tree began to hum. The melody seemed to seep into the air, filling it with a quiet power and warmth that made them feel as if they were hearing something sacred, a memory that transcended time.
They exchanged a look, captivated by the tree's song, as it carried a harmony that resonated with the same mystery Noah now shared within the Library.
- Elsewhere, Across The Realms -
In a realm torn by war, where warriors clashed in battles near their own World Tree, the Forgotten Song reached across the battlefield. For a brief, transcendent moment, both sides paused, their weapons held mid-swing as they looked towards the glowing tree at the heart of their conflict. The melody softened the air, its harmony carrying the strength of roots that bound all life together, making enemies feel, even briefly, like kin. The soldiers on both sides lowered their weapons, drawn in by the song that whispered of a time before strife, when trees connected worlds and united realms in peace.
- In a Forgotten Wilderness -
Deep within a forest, ancient creatures stirred as the song spread. Old guardians, creatures of bark and stone long thought extinct, raised their heads to listen. Even nature itself seemed to recognize the melody, as rivers shimmered with light, animals grew still, and winds shifted to carry the tune. The beasts felt it, an instinct beyond words, an echo from ages past, binding them to their purpose as protectors of the life the World Trees bestowed upon them.
- In Enchanted Groves Across Realms -
In enchanted groves where magic flowed freely, hidden tribes and mages paused in their rituals, gazing upon the radiant trees with awe. Magic-users closed their eyes, feeling the ancient hum in their bones, reverberating with a power they had only read about in legends. For a moment, they understood—they were connected not just to their own tree, but to all realms. Each note felt like a reminder of the bonds between life, magic, and the essence each World Tree represented. Young apprentices wept, sensing the legacy they had inherited, while elders murmured ancient prayers, honoring the trees’ resilience.
- In Realms Sinking Into Darkness -
In lands overtaken by corruption, where trees had withered and hope had faded, the Forgotten Song drifted softly, like a candle in the dark. A faint, ghostly glow pulsed within the last standing trees, their dim light joining in harmony. Creatures lurking in shadows hesitated, while those who had forgotten the light felt a faint spark stir within them. In these realms, the song was a promise, an unspoken reminder that even in darkness, the light of the World Trees endured.
And as each tree in every realm hummed with the melody, its roots stretched deeper, binding all the worlds into one singular, profound moment of unity. The trees glowed, filling their realms with a light that had not been seen in centuries. Every realm, from verdant forests to barren wastelands, felt the connection—the worlds, separated by time and distance, were for this one brief moment intertwined.
- The Disconnected World -
The song spread across realms, touching every tree, every guardian, and even those who had been separated from the system’s network. It reached The Disconnected World, a realm long lost to isolation, where the ancient golden-leafed World Tree—cut off from its kin and hidden away—suddenly blazed to life. Its golden leaves shimmered as it joined the harmony, singing with all its spirit as if remembering a distant time before its disconnection, a time when it, too, had been part of the grand chorus of realms.
In this world, a dragon woven from the essence of life itself paused mid-flight, its vast wings casting shadows over a landscape below. Mia and Kate, secured on the dragon’s back, felt its sudden stillness.
“What’s wrong?” Kate asked, glancing around, trying to understand the change.
The dragon turned its immense, gentle gaze on her, a look of awe in its emerald eyes. “The song has returned,” it said softly, voice filled with reverence. “Our World Tree… it sings in joy, as it did when all worlds were connected.”
- The world of Gods –
The song stretched its reach to The World of Gods, where beings both mortal and divine felt a resonance in the air, an echo that threaded through existence. In the heart of a forest clearing, Dorian halted his work on the fourth cabin, a chill creeping down his spine. He glanced toward his companions, noticing the stillness that had settled over them.
Thirssla, the ancient serpent god, gazed up at the sky, his vast, opalescent eyes filled with unfallen tears that glistened in the fading light. The divine creature seemed transfixed, as though he could hear a call from realms far beyond their own.
Dorian approached, searching the air around him, feeling a song’s ethereal presence, though faint and elusive, as though it drifted from a world just out of reach.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, sensing something powerful yet incomplete in the air.
Thirssla lowered his gaze, the song’s echo resonating in his voice. “The trees are singing, though their voices are distant here… it sounds like…” He hesitated, his words thick with reverence and wonder.
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Back in the Library -
Noah’s voice trembled with the weight of the song as he hummed along with the Tree of Knowledge, and he sensed that he was no longer alone. His heart swelled with the knowledge that all of creation sang with him. The Library itself resonated, each page and shelf alive with the pulse of the melody, a bridge across worlds, carrying the legacy of the trees and their Guardians.
The song faded slowly, its echoes lingering in every realm as the World Trees returned to silence, yet the bond remained—a promise, a reminder, and a shared memory of hope. And as the last note dissolved into stillness, Noah felt a deep peace, knowing that, even if only for a moment, every world had remembered the song and felt its unity.
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Noah sat down, panting slightly as he caught his breath, the weight of the song still pressing softly against his chest. It was as though he’d glimpsed something eternal and unchanging, a harmony woven through every world and every life. The melody lingered, leaving a faint hum in the silence around him, echoing in his mind. It was soul-moving, the kind of song that made him feel whole and connected to something vast, something that went beyond himself.
But he wished it hadn’t ended.
With a quiet sigh, he closed his eyes, allowing the memory of the song to settle into the edges of his thoughts. He could feel its lingering warmth, like a fire’s last glow, soothing him in a way he hadn’t thought he needed. For just a moment, he felt utterly at peace
Noah stretched, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling the stiffness from resting in the Library’s seating.
Across from him, the old man sipped thoughtfully from a glass of golden liquid, raising an eyebrow as Noah stirred. “Sleep well?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement.
Noah straightened, still trying to shake off his grogginess. “I guess I must’ve needed it. Time... slipped away a bit.”
The old man chuckled, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “Time does tend to play tricks in places like these. Seven hours left, if I’m not mistaken.” He glanced knowingly at Noah. "Enough, but just barely, if you’re focused."
Noah nodded, feeling both a jolt of urgency and a flicker of gratitude for the unexpected rest. “Thanks for… watching over me, I guess.”
“Oh, think nothing of it,” the old man replied with a wave of his hand. “I simply thought you might need a moment to let everything sink in. Now,”
“would you like a cold glass of sun melon juice” he smiled taking a sip of his juice.
“what is sun Melon” Noah asked
The old man chuckled, clearly pleased with Noah's curiosity. “Ah, Sun Melon—a rare fruit found in the warmest realms, where the sunlight seems to soak right into the soil. They say the fruit tastes like a mix of citrus and honey, with a touch of warmth, as if it held onto a piece of the sun itself.”
He took another sip, savoring it. “The Library keeps a few choice fruits around for those who know where to look. This juice, in particular, has a rather energizing effect. Perfect for those with a deadline, wouldn’t you say?” He winked, holding out a second glass filled with the same golden juice.
Noah took the glass, curiosity overtaking his hesitation. He brought it to his lips and took a tentative sip. The flavor burst onto his tongue—a refreshing, slightly tart sweetness with a warming aftertaste, just as the old man described. It was both calming and invigorating, as if it carried the essence of a bright summer day.
“That is… really good,” Noah admitted, feeling a renewed alertness already stirring in him.
“Glad you approve!” the old man replied.
“so young man what is your plans now?” as he hums slightly
Noah leaned back, considering the question. “I still have to finish my quest. There’s so much to process already, but I want to learn everything I can before time runs out.” He took another sip of the Sun Melon juice, the warm aftertaste lingering as he gathered his thoughts. “I’ve learned about the World Trees, the essence they hold… and even this song that connects realms. But something tells me there’s more.”
The old man nodded, his eyes twinkling with a knowing glint. “Indeed, the Library seldom leaves one wanting, and it’s keen on rewarding the curious. If you’re looking for more, there’s a certain… depth you might explore. Unfinished pages, perhaps?” He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Or… testing what you know. After all, knowledge is as much about practice as it is about reading, wouldn’t you say?”
Noah considered his words, a flicker of excitement stirring. “You mean… a trial of knowledge?”
The old man leaned back with a satisfied smile. “Precisely, young man. A chance to see just how much has taken root. It won’t be easy, but I suspect you’ve gathered more than you realise. The Library has a way of rewarding those who truly seek.”
A new window blinked to life at the bottom for Noah's sight, opening it the quest updated
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Quest Update: Dungeon Trial – Knowledge and Historical History of the World Trees Objective: Complete Trial of knowledge for bonus rewards
Progress:
Books Collected 5/5: Completed
Complete Trial of knowledge: 0/1
Time Left: 7 Hours
Rewards: Dungeon Trials Level 2, Dungeon Trials Section 3 Unlock, Four Upgrade Tokens, Knowledge of the Forgotten World Tree, ???(Bonus if Complaied)
Warning: Failure to complete the trial will result in the dungeon core being locked for 365 days.
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The old man chuckled, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “Ah, trials of knowledge… always seem mysterious until they’re right in front of you.” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “In truth, young man, the trial begins with a single question.”
He raised a finger, as though about to share a secret. “You must simply declare that you are ready to begin, and the Library will do the rest. It’s woven into the magic of this place. So, whenever you’re ready, just say the word, and the trial will unfold before you.”
“the question is are you ready for it?” the old man ask
Noah looked at the old man, feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. The weight of all he’d read, the stories of Guardians, the melody of the trees—it all seemed to culminate in this moment. He took a deep breath, glancing around at the countless shelves, the wisdom housed in this ancient Library.
With a firm nod, he met the old man’s gaze. “Yes,” he said, voice steady despite the flutter in his chest. “I’m ready for the trial.”
The old man smiled, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Very well, young man. Let the Library hear your conviction.”
As Noah’s words settled in the air, the space around him seemed to shift. The quiet hum of the Library grew, vibrating softly as if responding to his resolve.
As Noah's words hung in the air, the Library seemed to come alive, the very walls humming as if acknowledging his decision. A subtle vibration ran through the floor, building into a gentle rumbling. The shelves around them shifted, slowly rotating and reconfiguring, their movements measured and deliberate. It was as though the Library itself was preparing for what was to come.
Before he could fully process the changes, two tables materialized before them, the chairs rising and moving back to make room as if guided by invisible hands. The tables settled in place, their surfaces polished and gleaming in the dim light.
“What… what’s happening?” Noah asked, glancing around, his curiosity and awe mingling with a hint of nervousness.
The old man gave a relaxed smile, sipping his juice as though entirely unbothered by the Library’s sudden transformations. “Oh, the Library’s merely arranging things,” he said with a calm nod, casting a glance around. “Nothing to worry about. It always takes a bit of time to prepare for a trial.”
Just then, five doors began to rise from the floor in an arc before them, each one unique, with intricate designs etched into their frames. The old man’s gaze lingered on the doors, his smile widening as if savoring a familiar sight.
“It seems,” he murmured, “your trial is ready.”
Noah watched, wide-eyed, as the Library seemed to come alive around him. Shelves swirled in a graceful dance, a silent orchestration of wood and ancient texts. The tables settled before him, each one lined with thick tomes, blank parchments, and inkwells that shimmered with a faint, silvery light. The doors, each unique in design, rose from the floor, standing tall as though they had always belonged in this space.
He glanced at the old man, who simply observed the unfolding scene with a serene, amused smile, as if this were all perfectly ordinary.
“What… what are these doors for?” Noah asked, looking back at the old man, whose eyes sparkled with a mixture of encouragement and mystery.
“The Library’s trial has many paths,” the old man replied, gesturing at the five doors. “Each door represents a different aspect of knowledge. They test your understanding, your patience, your creativity, your memory, and your wisdom. Behind each one, a unique challenge awaits—only when you pass them all will your trial be complete.”
Noah’s heart pounded as he took in the five doors. Each bore a unique symbol: a quill and scroll, a maze, an ancient tree, a glowing crystal, and a mirrored surface that reflected back his image, though slightly distorted, as though urging him to look deeper within.
“Which door will you choose first?” the old man asked, watching Noah intently, his gaze sharp yet warm.
Noah hesitated, feeling the weight of each choice pressing upon him.