Chapter 49 - The Tree That Refused

“Mireth is looking for a Tree.”

Nobody answered immediately.

The final search query remained on the Authority display.

CAN A NON-HUMAN SOUL USE AN ANCIENT TREE?

Beside it, Etzel’s System message refused to become less disturbing.

Halven stared at the words. “You’re certain?”

Etzel looked at him. “No.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

Renn’s voice came through the secure channel. “I’m searching every Ancient Tree report in Authority records.”

“How many?”

“Too many.”

Etzel sighed. “That number keeps following me.”

Reports began filling the display. Dozens. Then hundreds.

Most were useless. False sightings. Trees already used. Old coordinates. Misidentified Rupture growths. Rumors from settlements that no longer existed.

Etzel watched Renn eliminate them one by one.

Finally, nineteen remained. Then nine. Then three.

Halven leaned closer. “Three?”

“Three that have some chance of still being active.”

Etzel scanned them. The first had been reported eleven months ago. Too old. The second was based on indirect evidence. Weak.

The third—Etzel stopped. “Open seventeen.”

The report expanded.

KARETH WILD BELT

SIGHTING: THREE DAYS AGO

ANCIENT TREE STATUS: UNCONFIRMED ACTIVE

CONTACT EVENT RECORDED

Etzel frowned. “Someone touched it?”

“Yes,” Renn said.

“And it’s still there?”

“Possibly.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Halven read further. Then his expression changed. “Here.”

Another field opened.

CANDIDATE AGE: 17

TREE RESPONSE: REJECTION

[Spiritual Maturity: Insufficient.]

Etzel stared. The Ancient Tree had rejected the candidate. Which meant the one-use disappearance condition had never triggered. The Tree might still be standing exactly where it had been three days ago.

Etzel looked at the location. “How long until we can reach it?”

“By Authority transport, approximately three hours to the edge of the Wild Belt. After that, ground movement.”

“Mireth?”

“We don’t know whether it accessed this report.”

Etzel stood. “Then assume it did.”

Halven looked at him. “That’s pessimistic.”

“No.” Etzel grabbed his spear. “It’s becoming efficient.”

Neris was waiting near the safehouse door when Etzel came out. She had apparently developed an instinct for detecting when he was about to leave.

“You’re going somewhere.”

“No.”

She looked at the spear. Then at DK. Then at Saeva. Then back at him.

Etzel nodded. “Yes.”

“Where?”

“To find a tree.”

Neris stared. “A tree.”

“Ancient Tree.”

“That somehow makes it worse.”

“Usually.”

Ismera appeared behind her. Etzel’s humor weakened slightly.

“I’ll be back.”

His mother looked at him for several seconds. Now she knew. That changed the sentence. Before, I’ll be back had meant nothing because she hadn’t known where he was going. Now she knew enough to understand what it might cost.

“Be careful,” she said.

Etzel nodded. “I will.”

Neris folded her arms. “Don’t let a tree kill you.”

Etzel stopped. “I thought my relationship with trees was fairly good.”

“One made you a Necromancer.”

Etzel considered that. “You’re right. Suspicious history.”

DK stood beside the door. “Are you finished?”

Etzel looked at him. “We’re bonding as a family.”

Neris pointed toward the exit. “Go.”

“See? Bonding.”

The Authority transport carried six people. Etzel. DK. Saeva. Halven. And two Authority scouts.

Renn remained behind to coordinate remotely.

For the first hour, the city followed them. Then settlements became smaller. Roads became worse. Buildings disappeared.

Eventually the world changed. Ruined concrete gave way to vegetation that had grown without permission. Trees pushed through abandoned roads. Old vehicles sat beneath moss and roots. Some were so deeply buried in plant growth that Etzel could barely tell what they had once been.

Three years after the Rupture, humanity still had roads on maps that nature no longer acknowledged.

The transport eventually stopped. The driver looked back. “This is as far as we go.”

Etzel looked through the windshield. The road ahead had ceased to exist. A wall of vegetation covered everything beyond it.

Halven opened the door. “Kareth Wild Belt.”

Etzel stepped outside.

The air smelled different. Wet soil. Leaves. Something decaying far away. And underneath it—the faint metallic scent he had learned to associate with monster territory.

Etzel inhaled. Then smiled.

Halven noticed. “Are you smiling?”

“No.”

“You are.”

Etzel adjusted the spear across his shoulder. “Things out here are refreshingly straightforward.”

Halven looked toward the forest. “Monsters?”

“Yes.”

DK walked past them. “For now.”

Etzel slowly turned. “Was that necessary?”

DK continued walking. “No.”

“That somehow makes it worse.”

Saeva made a small sound that Etzel was beginning to suspect was laughter. He pointed at her. “Don’t encourage him.”

They found the first tracks twenty minutes later.

Halven crouched. “Multiple.”

Etzel saw them too. Not one species. Different paw shapes. Claw depths. Body weights. The Wild Belt was active. Very active.

One scout looked toward the trees. “We should expect contact.”

Etzel lowered his spear. “Good.”

Halven looked at him. “Good?”

Etzel didn’t get to answer.

The forest moved. Not metaphorically. A patch of dense brush exploded outward. The first creature came low. Four-legged. Longer than a wolf. Its front limbs were too large for its body, ending in hooked claws that carved through the soil.

Etzel stepped aside. The claw passed his chest. His spear shaft struck the creature behind the jaw. It rolled.

Another came from the left. Then three more. Then—more movement behind them.

Halven drew his weapon. “Eight.”

DK reached for the Hellscript Greatblade.

Etzel raised one hand. “I’ve got them.”

DK stopped. “All of them?”

Etzel looked at the pack spreading around him. “Objection?”

“Observation.”

Saeva shot forward.

Etzel pointed at two creatures circling wide. “Those are yours.”

Saeva brightened immediately. “Two.”

“Yes.” She vanished into the canopy.

Etzel heard Halven behind him. “You’re dividing monsters with her?”

“Parenting.”

“That is not parenting.”

The first creature attacked. Etzel moved.

Months ago, he would have retreated. Weeks ago, he might have blocked. Now he stepped toward it. The difference was small. The result wasn’t.

The creature committed its weight. Etzel rotated. The spearhead didn’t stab. The shaft caught the front leg and redirected it. The creature crashed shoulder-first into the path of the second attacker.

Bodies collided. Etzel moved between them. One thrust. Not deep. Enough. He withdrew before the jaws could close.

A third creature came behind him. Etzel heard it. Dropped. Claws passed over his head. He drove the spear upward. Blood struck the leaves. The creature screamed. Etzel kicked it away.

Movement on his right. Too fast.

He turned—and Saeva slammed into the attacker from above. The creature staggered. Etzel finished it.

“Thank you.”

Saeva pointed into the forest. “Mine.”

One of her assigned creatures was trying to escape.

Etzel nodded. “Go.”

She disappeared after it.

Halven stared. “She listens to you?”

“Sometimes.”

DK spoke from behind him. “Rarely.”

Etzel ducked beneath another claw. “I’m fighting.”

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“You began the conversation.”

“That does sound like me.”

Two creatures attacked together. Etzel backed toward a thick root. One went left. The other right. Good.

He waited. One second.

The first lunged. Etzel shifted just enough. Its rear leg caught the root. Balance broke. The second creature’s claws struck its packmate instead of Etzel. A shriek tore through the forest.

Etzel’s spear entered beneath the second creature’s ribs. He twisted. Pulled free. The first tried to rise. Etzel ended it.

Silence returned in pieces. One creature fled. The scouts killed another. Saeva dropped from the trees moments later with something dark staining one hand. She looked extremely pleased with herself.

Etzel checked the forest. No more movement.

Then the System appeared.

He waited. Nothing else. Etzel frowned. “That’s it?”

DK looked at him. “You are disappointed.”

“A little.”

“Find something stronger.”

Etzel stared at him. Then slowly looked into the Wild Belt. “We’re going to regret that sentence.”

An hour later, Etzel found the boundary.

He didn’t know it was a boundary at first. He only knew the tracks stopped. He crouched. One set belonged to something heavy. Deep prints. It had approached from the east. Then turned around.

Another trail came from the north. Different creature. Same result.

Etzel moved farther. More tracks. Predators. Smaller animals. Mutated creatures. Different species. Different directions.

All had approached the same invisible line. All had refused to cross it.

Halven joined him. “Territory?”

Etzel shook his head. “If there was a dominant predator, some of these would still cross.” He pointed at a set of smaller tracks. “And prey would risk it if something worse chased them.”

DK examined the tree line. “They are avoiding something.”

One scout looked toward the Tree coordinates. “The Ancient Tree?”

Etzel stood. “Ancient Trees don’t normally do this.”

“At least not according to Authority records,” Halven said.

Etzel looked at him. “That sentence was annoyingly precise.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t praise.”

Halven almost smiled.

They crossed the invisible line. Nothing happened. But Saeva moved closer to Etzel. He felt unease through the Soul Link. Not fear. Something else.

“Feel something?”

Saeva looked ahead. “Wrong.”

Etzel’s grip tightened around his spear. Of course.

They found the boy before they found the Tree.

Etzel noticed the movement behind a fallen trunk. Human. He raised one hand. The group stopped.

“Come out.”

Nothing. Etzel waited.

“I can see you.” Still nothing. “That was a lie, but now the silence is suspicious.”

A head slowly appeared. Young. Dark hair. Dirt across one cheek. A crude hunting blade in one hand.

Halven swore quietly.

The boy stood. Etzel looked at him. “Name.”

“Edgar.”

Halven immediately opened the report. Etzel saw his expression. “The candidate?”

“Yes.”

Etzel looked back at Edgar. “You’re supposed to have been evacuated.”

“I came back.”

“I noticed.”

Edgar looked at DK. Then Saeva. Then Etzel. “You’re Hunters.”

“Technically.”

Halven stepped forward. “You cannot remain here.”

Edgar ignored him. “I need to see it again.”

Etzel frowned. “The Tree?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Edgar’s jaw tightened. “I want to know why.”

Etzel understood before the boy finished. “Why it rejected you.”

Edgar looked at him. “Yes.”

Halven shook his head. “You already received the answer. Spiritual maturity.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“It tells you that you aren’t ready.”

“For what?” Halven stopped. Edgar continued. “What am I supposed to change?”

Etzel studied him. There was anger there. Embarrassment too. Probably worse than either—the feeling that something had looked inside him and found him insufficient.

Etzel knew a version of that feeling. Level 0. A designation that had looked like a joke until he had decided it wouldn’t be.

He walked toward Edgar. “Maybe nothing.”

Edgar frowned. “The Tree rejected me.”

“Maybe you’re not missing something.”

“Then why?”

Etzel shrugged. “Maybe you need time.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Etzel smiled faintly. “My first Level was zero.”

Edgar stared.

Halven looked at Etzel. “You tell strangers that now?”

“Apparently.”

Edgar’s disbelief remained. “Level zero?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“Neither had I. Very exclusive club.”

Edgar looked at him differently. Not trust. But enough to listen.

Etzel pointed back toward the Authority scouts. “You stay between them.”

“I can fight.”

“I believe you.” Edgar looked surprised. Etzel continued. “I also believe most things here can kill you.”

“That includes you.”

“Yes.”

Edgar blinked. Etzel pointed. “Between the scouts.”

This time Edgar obeyed.

The forest became quieter as they moved. Then completely silent. No birds. No insects. No distant monster calls. Even the wind seemed to weaken.

And then Etzel saw it. The Ancient Tree.

He stopped. For several seconds, he was eighteen again and thirteen at the same time. Running through a forest. Tired. Resting one hand against bark.

Then—everything changing.

This Tree was not identical to the one he remembered. But it carried the same impossible presence. At first glance, it was simply enormous. Old bark. Wide roots. Branches stretching above the canopy.

Then Etzel looked longer. There was depth inside the bark. Not light. Something farther away than light. Tiny points moved beneath the surface like stars seen through black water.

Saeva became completely silent. DK slowed. Even Halven didn’t speak.

Etzel stepped forward.

The System appeared.

Etzel stared at it. “Well.”

Halven looked at him. “What?”

“I’m officially not allowed another turn.”

“That was already the rule.”

“Yes, but it’s rude when the Tree says it.”

Edgar stared at him. “You’ve touched one?”

Etzel glanced back. “Yes.”

“And it accepted you?”

Etzel looked at DK. Then Saeva. “Depends how generous your definition of accepted is.”

He approached another step. Then stopped.

There. On the bark. A black line. Almost invisible.

Etzel’s humor disappeared. “DK.”

The Greatblade was out instantly. Halven reached for his weapon. “What?”

Etzel pointed. Black filament. Burned into the bark. Or—no. Not into it. Against it. The end had curled inward. Charred. Dead.

Etzel moved closer without touching. Saeva recoiled.

“Mireth.”

Halven looked around. “Here?”

“Was.”

DK studied the filament. “It attempted contact.”

Etzel looked at the burned edge. The Tree had not absorbed it. The filament had tried to enter. And something had stopped it.

Etzel’s pulse quickened. “It rejected him.”

Renn received the scan remotely. Authority equipment found a residual System event. Very weak. Almost erased.

“Give me a minute,” Renn said.

Etzel hated those words. He waited. Edgar stood several meters away. Staring at the same Tree that had rejected him.

Then Renn spoke. “I recovered something.”

A broken message appeared.

DK lowered the Greatblade slightly. “The Tree rejected it.”

“Yes.”

“Then Mireth cannot become a Hunter.”

Etzel looked at him. “No.”

DK’s red eyes shifted toward him. “Explain.”

Etzel pointed at the message. “Before this, Mireth didn’t know why.” He looked at the burned filament. “Now it does.”

Soul Structure: INCOMPLETE.

That wasn’t an ending. It was instructions.

Etzel walked slowly around the Tree. Why him? That question had followed the entire Mireth problem.

Why his family? Understandable. Leverage. Why DK? At first, Etzel had assumed strength. An A-Rank summon was worth studying.

But Mireth had searched for: MULTIPLE ABILITY SOUL SURVIVAL. Then: CAN A NON-HUMAN SOUL USE AN ANCIENT TREE?

Now the Tree had answered. Incomplete Soul Structure.

Etzel stopped. He looked at DK. Physical body. Real pain. Real fatigue. A soul from somewhere else, bound into this world. Then Saeva. Another summon. Another Soul Link. Another impossible bridge.

Etzel felt cold. DK noticed. “What?”

Etzel didn’t answer immediately. Mireth didn’t need DK’s sword. Maybe it didn’t even need DK. It needed to understand the mechanism. How something that did not belong here—could become real here.

Etzel looked at DK. “It might not want you.”

“That is an optimistic interpretation.”

“No.” Etzel looked at Saeva. Then touched his own chest. “It may want to know how you exist.”

Silence.

Halven frowned. “Explain.”

“My Ability doesn’t create illusions.” He looked at DK. “DK has a soul.” Then Saeva. “So does she.” He looked toward the Ancient Tree. “And somehow Limited Necromancer gives those souls stable existence here.”

Halven’s expression changed. “You think Mireth wants to copy that.”

“I think Mireth wants a complete soul structure.” The words felt worse aloud.

The ground moved. Etzel turned. Not fast enough.

Black filament erupted from beneath the roots.

“MOVE!”

Everyone scattered. The soil exploded.

Something enormous came out of the earth. A mutated predator. Six limbs. Heavy torso. A skull protected by layered bone.

But none of that mattered. Black filament had been threaded through its body. Eyes. Mouth. Joints. Chest. Like someone had taken a living creature apart and stitched it back together without opening the skin.

The creature screamed. Every filament tightened.

Etzel understood one thing immediately. “Mireth left it.”

DK moved forward. Etzel raised his spear. “Edgar back!”

The scouts pulled Edgar away.

The creature charged. DK intercepted. Greatblade met bone.

BOOM.

The ground cracked beneath them. Etzel moved right. Saeva went high. Halven fired from the flank. The creature barely reacted.

DK’s blade carved through one front limb. Black filament held the damaged structure together.

Etzel saw it. “Don’t target the limbs!”

DK shifted immediately. The creature slammed into him. Painbound Guard activated. Armor hardened. DK slid backward through the dirt.

Etzel ran. The creature turned toward him. Good. He wanted the head. Bone plates protected the front. So Etzel gave it a target. Himself.

He waited. Closer. Closer. The jaw opened.

Etzel moved sideways. The creature passed. His spear entered behind the skull. Not deep enough. But enough to force the head down.

“DK!”

The Greatblade rose. Etzel saw the line. Neck. Exposed. Perfect.

“Now!”

DK struck. Infernal runes ignited. The blade cut through bone. Then flesh. Then spine.

The creature collapsed. Its body struck the ground hard enough to shake Etzel’s knees.

Silence. Etzel exhaled. “Done.”

Then Saeva screamed.

Etzel turned. Black filament exploded from the corpse. Not toward him. Not toward DK. Toward Saeva.

It wrapped around her.

Her scream hit Etzel twice. Once through the air. Once through the Soul Link. Pain detonated behind his eyes.

“Saeva!”

She fell. The filament didn’t let her touch the ground. It held her suspended. Black strands crawled around her arms. Her chest.

Toward—Etzel felt it. The Soul Link.

“DK!”

The Greatblade ignited. DK moved.

“STOP!” Etzel shouted.

The blade froze inches from the filament. DK looked at him.

Etzel grabbed the side of his head. The Soul Link was screaming. If Infernal Severance cut the foreign structure—what else would it cut? He didn’t know. And that was the problem.

“Don’t cut it.”

“Saeva is in pain.”

“I know!” The words came out sharper than Etzel intended.

Saeva cried out again. Etzel forced himself to look. Not react. Look.

What was the filament doing? Pulling? No. Saeva wasn’t moving toward the corpse. Draining? Maybe. No.

The sensation was wrong. The pressure moved through the Soul Link—then stopped. Repeated. Again. Again.

Like—

Etzel froze. Not feeding. Measuring. Tracing.

The filament shifted whenever the Soul Link did.

Etzel understood. “It isn’t eating her.”

DK looked at him. “What?”

“It’s learning.”

The System appeared.

Etzel stared. It couldn’t create the connection. Only copy one. While contact remained. Then remove the reference. His reference.

Etzel’s stomach tightened. He knew what he had to do. He hated it.

“Saeva.”

Her eyes found him. “Trust me.”

Then Etzel severed the Soul Link.

Not permanently. Not cleanly. He forced it closed.

The world went silent. Saeva disappeared from inside him. Etzel gasped. Pain drove through his skull.

The black filament convulsed. Lost. Directionless.

“NOW!”

DK moved.

The Hellscript Greatblade fell. Black filament split. Red-black flame consumed it from the cut outward. The structure screamed.

Saeva dropped.

Etzel caught her. The moment she touched him, he forced the Soul Link open again.

Pain. Then—Saeva. There. Terrified. Alive. She grabbed him. Etzel held her. No joke came. He didn’t want one.

The System appeared.

Warm blood ran from Etzel’s nose.

DK stood over him. “Do not do that again.”

Etzel wiped the blood away. “Next time I’ll have a better plan.”

“That was not a plan.”

Etzel looked at Saeva clinging to him. “No.” His voice was quieter. “It wasn’t.”

The dead predator began dissolving normally. No more filament moved.

The System appeared again.

Etzel looked up. Another message formed.

Etzel stared. Finally. For a moment he expected satisfaction. Instead he looked down at Saeva. She was still holding his clothes.

“Fourteen.”

DK looked at him. “You earned it.”

Etzel touched the back of Saeva’s head. “Expensive.”

DK didn’t disagree.

Behind them, the Ancient Tree changed. Edgar saw it first. “The Tree.”

Etzel turned. Something moved beneath the bark. Those distant points of impossible light brightened. The burned Mireth filament trembled. Then crumbled.

A System message appeared. Not only for Etzel. Edgar reacted too. Halven’s eyes moved. They could see it.

Etzel stared at the final two words. Not incomplete soul. Not invalid candidate. Incomplete Self.

Edgar stepped closer. “The Tree rejected me.”

Etzel looked at him. “Yes.”

“And it rejected that thing.”

“Yes.”

Edgar looked at the black remains. “What’s the difference?”

Etzel considered the question. Then looked at Edgar. “You need to wait.” His eyes moved toward Mireth’s remains. “It needs to steal something.”

Edgar was quiet. Then: “Can I try again?”

Etzel immediately answered. “Not today.”

Edgar frowned. “But—”

“Being rejected is better than being dead.”

The boy stopped.

Etzel looked at the Ancient Tree. He knew what it felt like to want the System to change its answer. But forcing the question didn’t mean you were ready for the answer.

Authority containment personnel arrived nearly an hour later. The area was secured. Samples were taken. Nobody touched the Tree. Etzel made sure of that.

DK found the message behind the trunk. “Etzel.”

He walked over. Black filament had been pressed into the bark. Not randomly. Letters. Four words.

YOU MAKE THEM REAL.

Etzel stared. Saeva remained close to him. DK stood on his other side.

Halven approached. “What does that mean?”

Etzel didn’t answer. Summons? Souls? Bodies? Did Mireth think Etzel created them? Or—made them real?

“I don’t know.”

Halven looked surprised.

Etzel frowned. “What?”

“You admitted it.”

“I do that.”

“Rarely.”

“Today has been difficult.”

His communicator activated. Renn. Etzel answered.

“Please tell me nothing learned how to become human while I was gone.”

“Mireth’s integration is still at eleven percent.”

Etzel relaxed slightly. “That almost sounded like good news.”

“It isn’t.”

“Of course.”

Renn sent new data. “Quarantined identity activity.”

Etzel opened it. One search.

SEARCH QUERY: SOUL-BEARING SUMMON

Etzel stopped. DK read over his shoulder. Second query.

SEARCH QUERY: SUMMON PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION

Saeva moved closer. Third.

SEARCH QUERY: SUMMON DEATH — SOUL RETURN

Etzel’s expression emptied. Then the final query appeared.

SEARCH QUERY: HOW TO SEVER A SUMMON FROM ITS MASTER WITHOUT DESTROYING THE SOUL

DK’s hand closed around the Hellscript Greatblade. Saeva grabbed Etzel’s sleeve. Etzel stared at the screen.

The Ancient Tree had rejected Mireth. Incomplete Self.

Mireth had tried Authority recognition. It wasn’t enough. It had tried the Tree. It wasn’t enough. Then it had watched a real Soul Link. Touched it. Measured it. Tried to copy it.

Etzel finally understood where the search had moved.

“It’s not looking for the Tree anymore.”

DK looked at him. “What is it looking for?”

Etzel looked at DK. Then Saeva. The two souls his Ability had brought into this world. His grip tightened around the spear.

“Us.”