Tearing off another branch from the trunk of the tree, Savin wasted no time getting to work. He crouched by the edge of the concrete pool, gripping the branch firmly as he began scraping its tip against the rough surface. The task was more grueling than he had anticipated. The branch, though lighter than expected, was surprisingly tough, resisting his efforts with every stroke.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours and the repetitive grind of wood against stone filled the silence, the rhythmic sound keeping him focused. His breathing grew heavy, sweat beading at his temples despite the cool air.
By the time he was done, his shoulders throbbed with exhaustion, his muscles stiff from the strain. He exhaled sharply, rolling his aching shoulders as he inspected his work. The tip of the branch was now honed to a sharp point—not perfect, but good enough.
Then he repeated the process several times, breaking off more branches and sharpening each one with the same painstaking effort. His movements grew more efficient with each attempt, but the strain on his muscles only worsened. His arms burned, his fingers stiffened, and his back ached from crouching for so long.
As he worked, something caught his attention. Each time the bark from the branches flaked off and fell into the water, the reaction was immediate—the pool rejected it. The moment the tiny fragments made contact, the water swirled unnaturally, as though alive, and expelled them from its surface. The bark would either sink for a brief second before being forcefully ejected or hover momentarily before getting pushed to the edges of the pool.
Savin narrowed his eyes, watching the strange phenomenon unfold again and again. The tree's water clearly had properties beyond what he had assumed. It wasn't just pure—it actively repelled foreign substances.
But why?
His lips pressed into a thin line. There was something more to this tree, something beyond just its ability to ward off the Enigma. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized: he needed to understand it. Because whatever power lay within this tree… it might just be his key to survival.
ut that could wait for later. It wasn't like he had the means to study it properly, and chances were he'd never return to this place. Better to focus on the task at hand. He continued sharpening the branches, each scrape against the concrete pool's edge sending tiny splinters flying. His fingers throbbed, and his arms felt like lead, but eventually, after what felt like hours, he had six sharpened branches lined up beside him.
He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his damp hair.
'Phew! I feel like I've been mining all day. Do miners even work this hard for such little results?'
A wry chuckle escaped him, though there was little amusement in it. He looked down at his crude weapons, rolling one between his fingers. The tips were sharp enough to pierce flesh, but how well they'd hold up against the Enigma was still uncertain. He'd only know when he tested them, if he could.
Savin leaned back against the tree, his body aching with exhaustion. Despite the pains in his muscles, he allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction.
'Doing nothing but sleep and drinking water had been really boring. I need to get out of here fast.'
That was his thought, but the reality was far less promising. He still had no idea how to escape, and with no Monuments in sight, his options were nonexistent. The only thing he could cling to was the hope that this place was part of the already mapped sections of the Nether World. If that were the case, then maybe some Seekers would pass through and find him.
Of course, that was assuming he could last long enough.
Another reason he chose to move at night was his water situation. He had no way to carry any with him—unless he wanted to rip apart his leather jacket.
'I'd rather die.'
And he really would. After all, Robin bought it for him with her hard earned money.
Moving during the day wasn't even an option. The sun's heat would drain him before he got anywhere, leaving him dehydrated and vulnerable. At least at night, the air was cooler, and the Enigma, while dangerous, were now a known threat. He could deal with that. The relentless, unforgiving sun? That was something else entirely.
Feeling sore and exhausted, Savin decided to rest for the night, knowing that as long as he stayed within the tree's shadow, the Enigma couldn't reach him. He lay back against the trunk, letting out a slow breath as the tension in his muscles eased.
It was a strange sort of comfort—being surrounded by horrors but knowing they wouldn't touch him. The Enigma still prowled at the edges of the tree's reach, watching, waiting. Their grotesque forms shifted in the moonlight, restless and seething with hunger. Yet, no matter how much they wanted him, they couldn't step into the shadow.
Savin smirked tiredly. 'You bastards don't scare me.'
His eyelids grew heavier. The rough bark at his back, the cool night air, and the quiet dripping of water from the Fountain Tree's roots made for an eerie, almost peaceful atmosphere. He closed his eyes. Tomorrow evening, he'd make his move when the sun had gone down and before his nocturnal hunters came looking for him. But for now, he could afford a little rest.
***
It was time.
Time for Savin to leave.
'Jeez, this is scary.'
He stared into the land beyond the shadow of the Fountain Tree, exhaling slowly. Three nights under its golden canopy had been uneventful, if not downright boring. But now, as he prepared to step away, he felt an odd reluctance gnawing at him. Maybe it was the safety the tree provided. Maybe it was the strange comfort of knowing something in this world—no matter how silent and unresponsive—had sheltered him. But he couldn't stay here forever.
If he didn't find a way out of the Nether World, he'd either die of boredom and loneliness or be torn apart by an Enigma. The first option seemed more merciful, but only someone with no attachments, no ambition, would simply sit and wait for death. And he had both.
"Well..." He hesitated, glancing up at the golden leaves swaying gently above him. "It's been nice staying here with you, but I've gotta run. Stay healthy and alive, and… I hope we meet again." His voice was soft, almost wistful, as if he half expected the tree to respond.
But of course, it remained as silent as ever.
He sighed, dropping his gaze to the ground. If he could ever find this tree again, he swore he'd find a way to bring it back to Earth.
If...
A foolish thought. Absurd, even. But he couldn't shake it. The Fountain Tree was special, far more than some oversized anomaly in the middle of this forsaken land. It had protected him when nothing else had. It had given him shelter, strength, and—for a fleeting moment—companionship.
And now, he was leaving it behind.
His grip tightened around the sharpened branch in his hand. He took a deep breath. The thought of stepping beyond the tree's shadow sent a cold shiver down his spine. For three days, he had been safe here. Out there, in the endless stretch of the unknown, safety was a fleeting illusion.
But he had no choice.
It was time to go.
Just as he was about to leave, Savin felt something unusual. A faint shift in the air, a whisper of movement that made him pause. Raising his head, he saw the golden leaves sway—just slightly, but all at once. There was no breeze, no sign of any wind. And yet, they moved.
His breath hitched.
He wanted to ignore it, to brush it off as a coincidence, but a strange thought crept into his mind. 'Did the tree just… respond?'
No. That was ridiculous. It was just a tree.
Right?
Shaking his head, he forced himself to move past the absurd notion. It was just his nerves messing with him. Nothing more.
He took one last look to the east, watching the sun sink below the horizon, its golden hues bleeding into deep purple. Night was coming. He couldn't waste any more time.
With a steadying breath, Savin stepped out of the shade for the first time in four days.
The air outside the tree's protection felt different—hotter, heavier, like the land itself was watching him, waiting. Ignoring the discomfort, he adjusted the sharpened branches tied securely to his back with his jacket.
He moved swiftly, keeping his pace steady. The Enigma would be stirring soon, slithering from their hiding places, searching. If they had any sense at all, they'd be surprised when they arrived at the tree and found him gone.
Thinking back, he realized just how many of them had come to watch him each night. Waiting.
'Bastards.'
The thought made him chuckle.
***
That night was the worst. For a fleeting moment, Savin almost felt grateful that he had left the safety of the Fountain Tree.
Finding shelter had been a desperate scramble. The storm had come out of nowhere, an overwhelming force that turned the open plains into a death trap. Wind howled like a wounded beast, kicking up dust and debris, and the sky itself seemed to crack apart as lightning split the darkness again and again. Rain lashed down in torrents, drenching everything, turning the earth into thick, unyielding mud.
Savin had stumbled across a shallow hole carved into the side of one of the few hills dotting the landscape. It wasn't much, barely deep enough to shield him from the worst of the storm, but it was the only option he had. After making sure it wasn't already occupied—by what, he didn't want to think about—he crawled inside, curling up against the freezing cold.
Crash! Crackle! Rumble!
Thunder exploded overhead, each deafening roar shaking the ground. The flashes of lightning were relentless, sudden bursts of white-hot light that made his heart hammer in his chest. Each time the sky lit up, for a brief second, he could see the plains outside—twisting shadows, eerie silhouettes, and the heavy sheets of rain obscuring the land.
Savin shivered violently. He was soaked to the bone, and his jacket did little to keep him warm. The cold gnawed at his body, seeping into his muscles, making his fingers numb. But worse than the storm was the gnawing anxiety in the back of his mind. This hole… it wasn't made by the wind or rain. Something had dug it. Something that lived here.
And that something might come back.
He clenched his teeth, hugging himself tightly to conserve heat.
'Damn it. This world really wants me dead huh?'
And just like that, Savin toughed out the rest of the night, constantly battling against the relentless cold. His body ached from shivering, and his soaked clothes clung to him like a second layer of ice. He couldn't tell how many hours had passed—only that each second felt like an eternity.
'I'm so going to be sick.'
At some point, exhaustion numbed the worst of the discomfort, and he drifted in and out of a restless daze. Then, after what felt like forever, he noticed a change. The deafening roar of rain hammering against the earth softened. The wind lost its furious edge. Slowly, the storm relented.
Savin lifted his head from the shelter of his arms and jacket, blinking blearily. The moment he did, his face was bathed in a soft, golden glow. Sunlight. Morning had come at last.
A deep breath filled his lungs with crisp, rain-washed air as he crawled out of the hole and into the open field once more. Water dripped from every blade of grass, and the scent of damp earth filled the air. The world felt strangely quiet in the storm's aftermath, as if it, too, had been holding its breath.
'It's a new day.'
Yes, it was.