Zamian put the book back in the hole and covered it, moving the dirt with his hands. As an Enlightened, his control over essence was minimal, restricted mostly to affecting his body or essence-imbued equipment—similar to what Bohlo had done with the bracelet. For now, he couldn’t move the dirt with only his will.
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the indoor garden, Zamian chanted under his breath, "Nature is the Cycle, so our path is never-ending. Nature is the Creation, so our path is ever strong. Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one." Essence cycled slowly within him, as green light covered his skin from the outside.
He took measured breaths, attuning to the flow of essence around his body. It was said that beyond the Sanctuary, the world was polluted with essences from different Paths, slowing down cultivation and increasing the risk of being tainted. ‘I wonder if this is true,’ he thought, before focusing on his cultivation.
His parents, Chosen themselves, had taught him the nuances of cultivation. They said essence accumulates when one's actions or thoughts align with one’s Path.
Closing his eyes amidst the rhythmic breathing and chanting, Zamian envisioned a newborn lying in a verdant grassland. Surrounding the infant were his exhausted and sweating mother and his supportive father by her side, under a canopy of swaying trees with green fruits tumbling to the ground. Neither had green texts above their heads.
Zamian pictured a half-eaten fruit next to the woman, who carefully cradled the baby in her arms. The couple’s face changed to look like his own family and the newborn looked more like what Zamian imagined as his younger self.
The newborn’s parents were smiling from ear to ear, bringing warmth to his heart. Green essence pulsed through the air, and the trees brightened, becoming more vivid. However, their bark’s color didn’t seem to match the environment.
Zamian then visualized the boy's growth: how the mother nursed him, the father who hunted and returned with fresh game, the young kid learning which fruits were safe to eat and which caused nausea or other ill effects, and even the methods of planting and harvesting the trio improved from time to time, even if the seed texture was always slightly different.
As the boy matured, Zamian envisioned a meeting with another family, this one with a daughter, their faces indistinct. The boy and the girl grew up together, learning about climbing trees; even the crooked ones; digging shelters, tracking animals, and hiding themselves.
Time progressed, and Zamian saw the youth starting his own family as his parents aged and prepared for another child. He saw this older version of himself teaching his own child, foraging for his family, overcoming illnesses, and having other children after the last one married and built their own family.
With difficulty, he pictured the end of his parents’ mortal cycles, burying them beneath the trees in the grassland. Zamian imagined himself finally lying aged and wrinkled beneath a tree, surrounded by generations of his lineage.
He drew his final breath and was buried beneath a tree, which absorbed nutrients from his decomposing body. The tree eventually bore vibrant green fruits, and one fell near a young couple—the woman, who appeared to be close to giving birth, took a bite out of it.
As he envisioned cycle after cycle, he observed flaws in each iteration. Sometimes, vegetables were misplaced, tree barks were mismatched, leaves disproportionate, soil too compact, or roots were too fragile.
Flaws were common in cultivation, and by correcting them, one could resonate more with nature’s knowledge and get stronger.
His mind grew heavy as he corrected those flaws every cycle. Soon, Zamian had to adjust dozens of flaws in each vision, when in the past he only corrected two or three, at most.
Realizing the burden of nature’s knowledge was too heavy, he ceased his chanting and visualizations. Opening his eyes, Zamian observed a vortex of green essence swirling around him, centering on his chest. "Wh-," surprised, the young man was captivated by the amount of essence flowing around.
The green wave of energy then dispersed like grains tossed to the wind, spreading to the trees and grass. Checking on himself, Zamian felt his essence invigorating his muscles and clearing his mind.
This amount of essence had already surpassed what he could have gathered in an entire morning just the day before. On a whim, he summoned the White Dot to check his cultivation progress and stat points.
PERSONAL INFORMATION
Name: Zamian Greenfield
Level: 2 [14%]
Tier: Mortal
Main Pathway: Creation
Title: None
STATS POINTS
Body: 16/25
Mind: 35/40
Soul: 52/100
"Are you some harbinger of bad news, White Dot? You didn't even alert me on my cultivation progress or bigger body cap. Maybe you only feel joy when delivering bad news," he joked.
Zamian’s gaze went to the soul points. "I usually don't check this after my cultivation sessions," he murmured, pondering the implications. "At least it wasn't the cap that lowered this time, but the points," he concluded, talking aloud to the white text inside his head.
Deciding to probe further, the young Enlightened closed his eyes once more.
Immersing himself in the unknown darkness, Zamian soon saw the humanoid outline composed of multicolored motes of light—predominantly red, white, and green. Unlike before, the white and green motes shone, their brightness spreading throughout the place.
After trying again to manipulate these specks of light, he achieved no success and ended his trance, grumbling inwardly and exhaling deeply.
Reclining on the grass and gazing up at the leafy canopy, Zamian noticed a gentle breeze wafting through, rustling a solitary yellow flower nearby. Its simple beauty made him smile. "You sure are carefree, aren’t you?" he murmured. After a while, feeling more at ease, he checked his stats once again.
STATS POINTS
Body: 16/25
Mind: 35/40
Soul: 59/100
"That’s it," he said aloud, "I usually cultivate with brief pauses, and maybe only unhealthy souls don’t recover quickly."
He chuckled out of nowhere. "Am I talking with you White Dot?" Zamian shook his head, “I hope this doesn’t become a habit.”
Opting against wasting essence by practicing his techniques, he focused on rest and cultivation, feeling the essence flow through him every time he repeated this cycle.
When Dante called him to visit Bohlo, Zamian had been cultivating for more than a dozen hours. Following his instincts, he checked his stats once more before setting out.
PERSONAL INFORMATION
Name: Zamian Greenfield
Level: 2 [45%]
Tier: Mortal
Main Pathway: Creation
Title: None
STATS POINTS
Body: 45/54
Mind: 46/50
Soul: 40/100
Zamian stood, laughing cheerfully. Though his appearance remained unchanged, the newfound strength within was palpable.
‘It took me more than one year to accumulate 10% on Level 2, and now I am at 45%?!’ he whistled. ‘I shouldn’t ignore Soul Points—no, I shouldn’t ignore anything the White Dot shows me.’
After standing up and taking his first step, the ground cracked, and Zamian stumbled, only avoiding the fall by a vine snatching at his clothes.
Dante shook his head, his hand on his forehead. "Go wash up in the stream, boy. We are not using the tunnels, so stay clean. And don't worry, your soul will help you manage this new strength,” Dante paused. “Maybe after you've gotten more intimate with the ground," he added with a smirk.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Zamian headed to cleanse himself on a small pond in the middle of the garden. He and his father had decided to go to Bohlo’s house before the first meal, fearing the stupid oak would dare to go alone.
As the father-son duo exited their home, a pulse of green energy radiated from Dante’s feet, sealing the wooden structure in a ball of vines.
Their house nestled within a cavernous tunnel formed by one of the Colossal Tree’s roots that spanned the entire Sanctuary—they didn’t even know from which tree it came. While most segments of the roots burrowed underground, several arched above the surface. It was upon these exposed segments that the inhabitants of the Sanctuary established their residences.
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Once Dante relinquished his title as Lord Chosen, they had to vacate the prestigious Lord's Tree and relocate to a more secluded and modest site situated between the main town, in the middle of the Sanctuary, and the area of the Colossal Trees, on the periphery. At least they could take their home wherever they chose to move. Or were demanded to move to.
Approaching the massive entrance carved into the root, Zamian shielded his eyes against the intense light from above. After a moment, he took a deep breath, and spread his arms wide, gazing up at the sky—a dome of white leaves covering everything above, being the source of their light.
The Clerics used to teach that the Sanctuary is atop God’s Tree, where the Verdant God resides with his Children.
At the horizon, the Colossal Trees dotted the landscape with their verdant canopies. Turning around, the young cultivator's view was filled with an expanse of ordinary trees. Unlike the forests described in books, the Sanctuary radiated tranquility, with no unknown sounds or animals hunting and being hunted.
Zamian's expression was soft, his body easing as he let the quiet whisperings of his instincts flow through his mind once more.
"Snap out of it, kiddo," Dante chided, clapping Zamian on the back and jolting him forward.
Taking a moment to focus, Zamian took a deep breath, ‘This was dangerous, but the world around me seems so different.’
Closing his eyes to organize his thoughts, he asked, “What about the red mist, Dad?”
“It’s still red," Dante smirked.
“Did you discover anything? How it can help you?" The young man ignored his father’s remark.
“When I find something, you will know.”
Zamian opened his eyes and cast a slightly annoyed glance at his father.
They proceeded in silence—Zamian dressed in plain brown, Dante in his tattered purple silk robe. After a few moments, Dante paused and grinned, prompting Zamian to halt and scan their surroundings, his senses heightened—he wasn’t anxious, just curious.
The young man felt a warm breeze on his skin and turned to look at the source, seeing a bush. He could hear and feel whispers from his instinct coming from there, but no matter how he looked, it was just a quiet and ordinary bush. But then, the bush rustled. Glancing at his father, who merely smiled, Zamian kept observing it, his brows furrowed.
A muscular arm emerged from the foliage, followed by a shirtless man adorned with a wooden bracelet and a leafy band, his short hair framing long ears. He smiled with a look of mild confusion.
"Uh, Z. Ah, and Lord Chosen. Nice to see you both here!" Bohlo beamed, opening his arms wide after recognizing the duo.
"What are you doing here? I told you to wait at your store," Zamian exclaimed, embracing his friend in greeting.
Bohlo wheezed in response, "The...Z...I..." Noticing he was holding his friend a little too tight, Zamian released Bohlo, observing his friend's wide-eyed, gasping expression.
"Sorry," Zamian muttered, scratching his neck.
"Z, what did you eat? I want some!" Bohlo chuckled, draping an arm around Zamian's neck.
Dante's laughter drew their attention. "I'm no longer Lord Chosen, Bohlo Boy," his eyes flashed a green light, and Bohlo shuddered. After a while, Dante nodded to Zamian and said out loud. “Let's keep moving."
Zamian understood, ‘Bohlo’s soul is fine. Good.’
As they continued their walk, the big-eared cultivator exclaimed, "Ah, Z, it was for a... Surprise!"
"What now?"
"I wanted to surprise you; that's why I came," Bohlo said, grinning.
Zamian returned a wry smile, thinking, 'Maybe your soul is as big as your heart, B.' But then he smiled genuinely, 'And I hope that never changes.'
Their path led them past more enormous roots, with homes, shops, and even more kinds of buildings found along the way. Ahead lay a massive confluence of roots, forming the main town.
The scent of soil and grass shifted to woody tones, mixed occasionally with acidic or sour notes. The residents were accustomed to these smells, none strong enough to overpower the pervasive aroma of the forest. Green energy shimmered sporadically in more populated areas, showing the overflow of Nature’s essence.
Hundreds of commoners bustled through the roots, with some Enlightened leaping from one structure to another. Zamian noted that nearly everyone was Level 1. Opting to remain on the ground, they navigated the crowd, which parted respectfully at the sight of Dante's distinctive purple robe.
Not a single person, however, approached his group in recognition of his father’s past role. Even some guards patrolling the streets gave a wide berth, pretending not to see them.
Zamian shrugged. He would be surprised if they dared to come closer. Yesterday, when he walked alone on these streets, people who recognized him also avoided coming closer.
Eventually, they arrived outside a two-story wooden building, the sign Survival Accessories hanging above the door.
"Why are we here, Z?" Bohlo asked, releasing Zamian with a hint of concern in his voice. The big guy was used to holding his friend’s shoulders as they walked.
"We need to eat, that’s why," Zamian grinned, pushing open the door. The whispers of information from his instincts were telling him to move.
"Did you even tell your parents about the trial, Bohlo?" Dante inquired, his tone serious.
"Uh, no, sir. I forgot. But there is no need to bother then," Bohlo admitted, his cheeks reddening, as he looked at Dante with big eyes, pouting.
"Bohlo Boy, you're not a kid anymore. Stop trying to be cute. And we need to talk to your parents," Dante insisted.
Inside, they were greeted by an elderly couple smiling warmly.
"Welcome, Lord Chosen. It’s an honor," Bohlo's father began, starting to bow, but Zamian quickly intervened.
"Please, Uncle Soho, no need for all that stuff. Right, Dad?" Zamian looked at Dante for confirmation.
Nodding, Dante gestured with one hand pressing down for everyone to relax. "Good to see you again, Shopkeeper Soho and Harvester Misandra," he said evenly. "I don't wish to impose for long. May we speak here?"
Misandra, dressed in a green floral garment with her white hair neatly tucked under a tunic, nodded still smiling softly.
Dante grunted, and a green wave pulsed through the ground, summoning a small round table with chairs. He sat down, leaning back in a relaxed posture, his arms resting on the armrests.
Bohlo hurried to assist his mother to take a sit, while Zamian helped Soho before they all settled into their seats.
As anxious glances were exchanged, Dante cleared his throat, addressing the older couple warmly. Only Zamian was puzzled by his father's tones, ‘Why aren’t we eating?’ the young man thought.
"We first met when Jasmine was shopping for unusual trinkets, right, Shopkeeper?"
"That's correct, Lord Chosen. Miss Jasmine sought a particular kind of imbued lockbox. I can't quite recall its name," Soho responded with his hand tenderly holding his wife's.
"A chest. She always found our ways of safeguarding treasures underground and under bed rather archaic," Dante sighed deeply. "I regret being so blunt after such a long absence, but there's a matter concerning our sons that might affect you both."
Acknowledging with nods, Misandra gently patted her husband's hand, while Soho moistened his lips and shifted uncomfortably.
"They face a trial today," Dante disclosed, noting Soho's pallor, "It's not a Sacred Trial, just a regular one, presided over by a Zealot and an Enlightened," he explained, spreading his hands reassuringly.
"I understand, Lord Chosen," Soho said, turning to his son, a glint hidden in his eyes. "Their mortal cycle is safe. Even the worst sentence would only send them to the Deep Ground for repentance."
"Typically, yes," Dante tapped the armchair thoughtfully. "But this time, the situation isn’t so simple."
Observing his father throughout the conversation, Zamian interjected, puzzled. "Dad, why all the drama? Uncle, Aunt, don't worry," he reassured the elderly couple, "My father just wanted you informed about the trial, but everything will be fine. We're just here to eat before heading out."
Bohlo remained silent, a sorrowful look in his eyes.
"Son," Dante's voice softened, "What are your instincts telling you right now?"
Zamian felt a chill. As his father posed the question, he already knew the answer, as the whispers subsided, "To protect and make them feel safe," he murmured.
"And what does your mind tell you?" Dante pressed.
Surveying his father, then his quiet friend, and finally the elderly couple, Zamian read the text hovering over their heads:
[LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
[LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
[LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
[LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
Taking a deep breath, Zamian pieced it together. "They're our weakness," he jumped out of his seat, "Yokki will strike at them after she fails with us. Not out of spite, but to ensure we have no allies," he shot a worried glance at Bohlo, "And to ensure even our friends abandon us," finally he looked at Misandra, noting only a motherly concern in her eyes, not a trace of fear.
The whispers rushed back.
"No,” his face dawned with realization. "Something already happened."
Misandra nodded, and Bohlo sighed, hanging his head.
"They came while we were washing dinner’s dishes—those from the Lord's Tree," Soho explained, standing with his wife, still clasping her hand tightly. "They said our store hadn’t paid the proper taxes. They’ve ordered us to leave by today."
"Uncle, this store..." Zamian's gaze swept over the shelves stocked with wooden bowls, vases, sticks, and baskets—everything except armor or weapons. "It was your mother's, wasn't it?" A pang of sorrow tightened his chest.
Soho nodded solemnly. "Yes. As an outsider, her skill in crafting imbued trinkets brought something unique to the Sanctuary. This store, her legacy, has been one of the three best things of my life," he glanced at his son and his wife. "But I'm content to retire under the grace of Verdant God," he said, spreading his arms alongside his wife.
"They can take your store, but not your craft, Shopkeeper," Dante interjected, his voice resonating throughout the room.
"Uh, Lord Chosen, there's more," Bohlo interjected, his voice breaking as his eyes welled up. "They've forbidden my father from ever crafting or selling items again. "
Dante's eyebrow arched sharply. "Audacious," he muttered, his smile twisting into a scowl. "Those old farts think that because I’m following their rules, I won’t act at all?"
“No need to do anything rash, Lord Chosen!” Soho said in a panic.
"Bohlo, did you know about this?" Zamian interrupted, his gaze heavy.
Already behind his parents, standing at least two heads taller than the older couple, Bohlo smiled weakly and wrapped his arms around the duo, either to calm them down or to calm himself. "Yeah, I didn't want to worry you, Z. But, uh, I’m the first Enlightened in my family, no way I would keep this store after my parents retired, right?" he shrugged.
As Zamian’s gaze reflected the serene yet saddened expressions of his family's friends, a surge of anger overwhelmed him. Yet, he controlled his instincts, which were sending information about revenge and destruction, focusing his mind. 'I won't accept this,' he thought.
Lines of white text appeared, blocking his vision:
New Side Quest: Get revenge on your friend's behalf
Reward: 01 Book from White Tower's First Floor
Status: Ongoing (1 day)
'No need for a reward, White Dot,' Zamian thought after dismissing the text while walking to the family of three, and gently embracing them, with newfound control over his strength, ‘This one I’ll do for them.’
Invisible to Zamian’s eyes, red essence came from the trio surrounding him, slowly swirling over his skin and gathering inside his chest.
Dante’s eyes followed the stream of essence, his dark eyes shining a deep red color for an instant as a look of recognition flashed across his face.
