The soft glow of the white leaves on the ceiling bathed the room in a pale, whitish light, the same eerie luminescence that filled every home in the Sanctuary.

  A wooden cup rolled across the floor, tracing a slow arc before coming to a halt near the orange-haired woman.

  With practiced grace, she picked it up, setting it back onto the wooden tray. A strained smile flickered across her lips as she pressed two fingers to her temple, inhaling deeply, eyes closing for a fleeting moment.

  Meanwhile, Bohlo sat frozen. He didn’t even glance at the Cleric Chosen. His mouth hung open, eyes locked onto Zamian as if his friend had just sprouted an extra head.

  Zamian, on the other hand, remained perfectly still, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.

  'Put your rot together, Zamian!'

  He forced himself to think, to understand why he had blurted that out like a fool. And the answer came in three distinct waves:

  First, the suffocating presence of a Chosen. The way her mere gaze made his soul feel scraped raw, like roots coiling around his very being.

  Second, he was in terrible shape. His body screamed in exhaustion, his mind no better. He had pushed himself too far, for too long.

  And lastly, the cursed text that had popped up moments before.

  Side Quest (!): Get home before dinner time

  Reward: Abyssal Leaf

  Status: Ongoing (4/6 hours left)

  (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 calamity

  Zamian exhaled slowly, pushing away the lingering nausea as he read the words again.

  A sigh—low, tired, edged with something unreadable—pulled him from his thoughts. He barely had time to adjust before he met the Cleric Chosen’s cold stare.

  "Do you take me for a fool, Enlightened Zamian?" Her voice was sharp, controlled, like a Zealot’s spear slicing clean through the air. Her eyes, however, told a different story. There was something curved about them, something almost… amused.

  But it was the kind of amusement that Zamian didn’t want to see.

  Zamian bowed his head deeper, his voice even. "A lowly one like me could never entertain such thoughts, Cleric Chosen."

  Her fingers drummed once against the wooden tray. "For trespassing on a Nurture Ritual, I could have you lashed with a hundred thorned vines. Or I could bury you in this soil, with only your head above ground. If I wished, I could even use your skull as a vase while you still breathe." She tilted her head slightly. "Are you aware of that?"

  "It is your right to punish me as you see fit, Cleric Chosen," Zamian replied, keeping his posture firm, his head lowered.

  "Then why," she continued, voice suddenly sharper, "are you making this more complicated than it has to be?"

  Zamian remained silent.

  "You are intelligent," she pressed. "You’ve spent years borrowing sacred texts, refining your cultivation. You understand the laws of this Sanctuary. You’re an Enlightened, standing on the threshold of becoming a Zealot. Why throw it all away?"

  Her voice rose toward the end, quick, cutting. But then, as if catching herself, she exhaled, regaining that eerie, measured calm.

  Zamian lifted his head and met her gaze. His fingers curled into fists.

  And then—he slammed them against the ground.

  "I am an only child, Aunt Yokki," he said, his voice steady, but thrumming with something deeper. "My mother almost died giving birth to me. No technique, no sacred herb could give her another child. My father was loyal. Even when the other Chosen insisted, even when they pushed him to take another wife—to take concubines—he refused."

  The room fell into heavy silence.

  Zamian’s voice lowered.

  "Now, my mother is gone. And my father… he would end his mortal cycle himself before touching another woman."

  Neither Bohlo nor the Chosen spoke.

  Of course, Bohlo wouldn’t dare to.

  The only sound was the faint whistle of the wind through the hollowed root.

  While Bohlo looked utterly lost, still trying to make sense of his friend’s sudden outburst, the Cleric Chosen's smile only deepened. Her eyes gleamed with something far too amused for Zamian’s liking.

  "I'm about to reach adulthood. I need to continue my family tree. I need a respectable woman to marry, to bear my children, to honor my ancestors," Zamian said, holding Chosen Yokki’s gaze. "When I heard Lakea was a Cleric, I knew I had to act. Most Clerics are engaged by sixteen. Her birthday is after the next Nurture Ritual—if I waited, she’d be promised to another man." He clenched his fists, exhaling sharply. "I couldn't—no, I can't—let that happen. I won’t be the reason my bloodline ends."

  He took a steadying breath, hoping his carefully chosen words had been enough.

  Chosen Yokki arched a brow. "Child, I just told you about my daughter’s initiation, and yet, you looked rather shocked, didn’t you?"

  Zamian stiffened. "Of course, I was surprised! I went there to find her, but I failed. I even told Bohlo!" He gestured toward his friend. "I thought I’d made a mistake, that I’d failed again, but then you confirmed she was there all along." He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "What a cruel joke! I commit a crime—a heinous crime—and my punisher turns out to be my beloved’s mother. Isn't this a bit poetic? Tragic, even?"

  The Chosen let out a low hum, clearly unimpressed.

  Her gaze flicked to Bohlo. "And you? Why were you there?"

  Bohlo visibly tensed, eyes darting to Zamian for help.

  Zamian moved to speak, but a single glance from the Chosen shut him up before he could even start.

  Bohlo straightened, nodding weakly before answering. "Uhh… Err… The—uh, sorry. Lord Chosen Dante just told me to find Z. He said Zamian needed to get his tea, called him a fool, said he’s just an airhead boy daydreaming all day, staring at random people and shaking his head…" Bohlo trailed off, shooting Zamian a guilty look. "Uh… Sorry, Z."

  Zamian’s head throbbed.

  So that’s what his father had seen—him reacting to those damned floating texts.

  ‘Father would never have told anyone about this… unless things are worse than I thought.’

  His fingers twitched against his knee. Bohlo, why didn't you tell me sooner?

  A slow nod from the Cleric Chosen broke his spiraling thoughts.

  Her expression had changed. The subtle amusement was gone, replaced by something colder.

  "Child," she said, her voice even but sharp. "Being lovestruck isn't a crime. But you should reflect on the way you express and pursue that love."

  Zamian braced himself.

  "Too much of anything is a poison," she continued, raising a single finger. "And if it taints your cultivation, it taints our Sanctuary."

  She lowered her hand, her voice like the snap of a branch.

  "Today, you committed your first crime in the name of love. Who can say there won’t be a second? Who can say where you’ll draw the line?"

  Zamian kept his expression neutral, but her words struck something deeper than she realized.

  With a slow movement, she waved her hand, her petal-like robes shifting.

  "Both of you shall return here tomorrow after the first meal," she declared, her tone final. "You will face an audience with representatives of the Nurture Ritual you disrupted. They will decide your fate, and I will personally carry out your punishment."

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Zamian exhaled through his nose, giving a slow, firm nod—not in agreement, but because he had no other choice.

  For him, facing judgment with Zealot Tamara was the best possible outcome. Any other Guardian? That would be a disaster.

  Sometimes, imagination is far worse than reality.

  If word spread that two boys had been lurking near the Nurture Ritual, the Guardians might simply laugh at the ridiculousness of such a claim. But if they discovered those boys were real, actual cultivators who trespassed onto sacred ground?

  There would be no time for Zamian’s flowery speech, as the only discussion would be when to execute them.

  "And as the representative of the Clerics who conducted the ritual, I shall invite Enlightened Lakea Duskpeach to join the trial," Yokki continued, her smile taking on a mischievous edge. "I trust her impartiality as well."

  Zamian barely reacted. Bohlo, on the other hand, stiffened.

  "And both of you," Yokki added, her voice slow and deliberate, "shall share the whole truth with the judges. Do you understand me?"

  Bohlo nodded hastily. Zamian followed suit, though his movements were sluggish. His eyelids grew heavy—he barely noticed himself closing his eyes mid-nod.

  Then, his body tilted forward.

  With a sharp inhale, he jerked himself upright before he could fall flat on his face.

  Yokki didn’t comment. Instead, she placed her hands neatly on her lap, her ever-present smile returning to its calm, unreadable state.

  "Good. Now, you both must leave. I have other matters to attend to and cannot entertain you any longer. Tamara will escort you out."

  As she spoke, her eyes glowed green, and the vines covering the door shifted aside.

  Zealot Tamara entered just as the opening formed, her face as impassive as ever.

  "Zealot, please accompany these two to the town's entrance. Ensure they arrive safely," Yokki instructed. "We can't have these prodigies losing their way."

  Zamian and Bohlo bowed deeply.

  When Zamian straightened, his vision wavered, and he barely managed to check if Bohlo’s forehead was still bleeding. With effort, he bowed again, to disguise his faltering movements—prompting Bohlo to hurriedly do the same—before turning to follow the Zealot out.

  They stepped through the vine-covered doorway.

  Zamian managed a few steps.

  Then, his vision blurred.

  A wave of vertigo hit, tilting the world around him. The ground lurched beneath his feet. His body swayed.

  ‘No…’

  The next thing he knew, his legs buckled. The ground rushed up to meet him.

  But before he collapsed, strong arms caught him from either side.

  One grip was firm and practiced, keeping his right arm steady over a solid shoulder.

  The other grip? Not so much.

  Turning his head slightly, he caught a glimpse of dark brown hair and wooden armor—Zealot Tamara. She held him effortlessly, her expression unreadable.

  His gaze shifted left, and he saw—

  An ugly monkey staring back at him.

  ‘What the blight?’

  Blinking rapidly, the blurry image sharpened. It wasn’t a monkey.

  It was Bohlo.

  Short hair. Big ears. Stupid expression.

  Still, Zamian’s mind struggled to process it. The world around him felt muted, the sounds distant and muffled.

  Somewhere, a male voice, that Zamian wasn’t recognizing, asked, "What’s happening to him, Zealot Tamara?"

  Tamara’s voice, which he seemed to be forgetting, answered, "Your friend seems exhausted. What exactly did you two do in there?"

  "Uh..." The male hesitated. "He did the talking. I couldn’t say much. It’s… you know… heavy? Like, hard to even sit in there. Uh… You understand me, right?"

  A pause.

  "You both have great potential. I hope your mortal cycles continue."

  "...Ah. Thanks," Bohlo muttered, Zamian recognizing his friend’s embarrassed tone briefly.

  Zamian barely caught the rest of the exchange.

  His head throbbed, a dull ache pressing into his skull. His thoughts felt muddy, like they were slipping away from him.

  The last thing he registered was the creeping darkness swallowing his vision.

  But the throbbing in his skull made sure he never truly fell asleep.

  When he finally regained clarity, the first thing he noticed was the noise—the hum of voices, the shuffle of footsteps, the rhythmic clatter of daily life.

  Then, the familiar glow of white and green leaves illuminated the interwoven roots beneath him. The town stretched out before him, its streets carved from hollowed-out Colossal Tree roots, where buildings nestled inside the ancient wood.

  But none of that mattered.

  Because floating in front of him was a familiar, unwelcome sight.

  Side Quest (!): Get home before dinner time

  Reward: Abyssal Leaf

  Status: Ongoing (2/6 hours left)

  (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 calamity

  Zamian’s breath hitched.

  ‘Two hours left?!’

  The last bits of exhaustion vanished as panic took hold.

  His gaze darted around.

  ‘Where in the blight was Bohlo?!’

  Then, he caught sight of a wooden sign swaying above a shop entrance:

  Survival Accessories.

  Frowning, he took a deep breath and yelled into the busy street.

  “Bohlo! In which blighted hole did you hide?!”

  No answer.

  Grinding his teeth, he willed the White Dot to display his status. Maybe his body felt like a trampled root, but at least he’d have a clearer idea of what was wrong.

  STATS POINTS

  Body: 10/20

  Mind: 25/40

  Soul (!): 17/20

  (!): Your soul is injured.

  Zamian clenched his fists.

  That confirmed it—the headache, the exhaustion, the unnatural weakness. Whatever happened back at the Cleric Chosen’s house had done something to him.

  But the White Dot, as always, refused to explain when, how, or why he had recovered some of his stats.

  ‘Useless piece of blight.’

  Licking his dry lips, he forced himself to stay upright. The constant hum of voices and movement around him only made his pounding skull worse.

  ‘Come on, Bohlo, don’t make me look for you. I need to rest.’

  Then—hurried footsteps.

  A moment later, Bohlo came running out of the shop, still bare-chested, now sporting a ridiculous bandana made of leaves tied around his forehead.

  “Hey, sleeping flower!” Bohlo called, grinning. “Uh… so, uh… sorry about leaving you. But I had to grab something for my wound.”

  Zamian narrowed his eyes.

  The big guy leaned in, whispering, “Mom would spank me with a carrot if she saw you like this, so I, uh, left you outside real quick. But I swear, I was just about to take you home! Promise!”

  He flashed a thumbs-up, his grin wide and foolish.

  Zamian stared.

  There were so many things wrong with what Bohlo just said.

  So many.

  But instead of arguing, he hugged the idiot instead.

  Bohlo stiffened for half a second before grinning even wider, wrapping his thick arms around him.

  When they pulled back, Zamian grabbed both of Bohlo’s shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes.

  “Thank you, B,” he said, voice rougher than intended. “I don’t know how you got me here, but you did. And what you did back there at that blighted house…” He swallowed, blinking hard. “I won’t forget it.”

  Bohlo’s grin wobbled.

  Then, suddenly, tears welled in his eyes.

  “We’re in this for the whole cycle,” Bohlo hiccupped, rubbing his nose. “United by the roots.”

  Then, he choked on his words. “And… Aunt Jas, she—”

  That was as far as he got before his tears spilled over completely.

  Zamian exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before patting the big guy’s back.

  “I couldn’t have told you,” he muttered. “The rules and all.”

  Bohlo sniffed, wiping at his face.

  “Z,” he said, voice thick. “She’ll be in a better place soon. Trust me.”

  Zamian just nodded.

  It was painful to hear—but Bohlo meant well.

  Then, suddenly, the big guy’s expression shifted from sorrow to determination.

  His tears vanished. His thumbs-up returned.

  “And don’t worry, my friend! I will make sure Lakea can only marry you!” he declared. “Even if I have to bury the competition!”

  Zamian’s jaw dropped.

  “What.”

  “I’ll save your family tree, Z!”

  “No. No, you will not.”

  “But—”

  “Forget everything you heard today. I am not marrying her.”

  Bohlo’s brows furrowed. “Uh… What? Why?”

  Zamian rubbed his temples.

  “Political games, Bohlo. Political games.”

  “…What?”

  “Do you really think I can outsmart a Chosen?” Zamian gestured wildly. “And not just any Chosen. The Cleric Chosen?!”

  Bohlo scratched his head. “Uh… No? I mean…” He blinked. “Outsmart at what?”

  Zamian stared.

  Then, he laughed.

  Bohlo, utterly lost, laughed with him.

  "I don’t have time to explain everything. I need to get home. I’m exhausted," Zamian muttered, his vision blurring before stabilizing again. He swayed slightly, blinking away the haze creeping into his mind. "What about you? Are you okay?"

  "Yep, I’m fine." Bohlo grinned, patting Zamian’s shoulder—too hard, as usual—almost sending the paler cultivator stumbling. "Oh! Zealot Tamara said you need to, uh, rest your soul or something. She said you'd feel better before feeling a lot worse. No clue what that means, but knowing you… You’ll figure it out!"

  Zamian narrowed his eyes at him. "I’ll be fine. Just don’t slap me."

  Bohlo laughed sheepishly but didn’t argue.

  Zamian exhaled and rolled his sore shoulder, still trying to decipher the Zealot’s warning. "Wait for me here tomorrow, okay, B? We'll go together."

  After the usual drawn-out goodbyes—and reconfirming, twice, that Bohlo would meet him the next morning—Zamian finally turned toward home.

  A numbing haze settled over his thoughts, muffling the world. He barely registered the familiar wooden streets beneath his feet, the root-shaped tunnels guiding him forward. The glow of bioluminescent leaves flickered above, their soft green and white hues lighting his path.

  All around him, homes carved into the roots stretched along the tunnels, hollowed-out dwellings seamlessly blending with the massive plant. Not built on the ground, but within it.

  People avoided him. And he avoided them.

  The passage of time warped.

  His vision blurred.

  Side Quest (!): Get home before dinner time

  Reward: Abyssal Leaf

  Status: Ongoing (1/6 hours left)

  (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 calamity

  Zamian glanced at an alleyway, his steps faltering.

  ‘Just a short rest. Just a minute…’

  Then, the text flashed again, and reality slammed back into him.

  His pulse spiked.

  His feet moved before his mind caught up, carrying him forward, wobbling toward home.

  The headache clawed deeper. The wooden streets twisted beneath his feet. Each step dragged longer than the last.

  Then—finally—his house.

  The old door was gone, replaced by a giant leaf acting as a curtain over the entrance.

  Zamian shoved past it.

  The moment he stepped inside, another text appeared.

  Side Quest Completed: Get home before dinner time

  Reward: Abyssal Leaf

  Status: Completed

  Something rough and waxy materialized in his palm.

  But he barely had time to process the strange veined texture before his body collapsed.

  The warm wooden floor rose up to meet him.

  The last thing he felt was the impact against his cheek—then darkness.

  New Side Quest: Fully heal your soul

  Reward: Ancient Astral Seal

  Status: Ongoing

  A trance pulled him under.

  Zamian drifted, weightless.

  Somewhere, unseen vines curled around him, lifting him, carrying him away.

  A reddish fog thick with the scent of fresh apples seeped into his mind, wrapping around his home like a living presence.

  Through the haze, a sound echoed.

  Laughter.

  His father’s laughter.

  A deep, bestial sound—so unique, so distinct, that no one else in the world had one like it.

  Followed immediately by—

  His mother’s sharp, berating voice.

  It pierced through the mist, a sound so painfully familiar that it twisted something deep inside him.

  Even in this half-conscious dream, his heart ached.

  Stars swirled.

  The green sky collapsed above him.

  And just as pressure threatened to crush him, a sweet, numbing relief washed over him—

  Zamian’s mind seemed to flicker.

  Amidst this dreamy state, he had one thought, before even the blackness dissipated.

  ‘Something is wrong!’