The jungle air was thick with the scent of moss and sap, the sounds of distant rustling and chirps echoing softly through the undergrowth. Hours had passed in uneasy peace. The trio had rested as much as they could, hidden beneath the curved roots of the massive jungle trees. Naruto had tended to Piximon's injuries with careful hands and a silence that said more than words ever could. Raikomaru had kept watch, his lone arm resting against the hilt of a weapon he could barely lift with one hand, but determination in his gaze nonetheless.
And then—at last—Piximon stirred.
With a faint groan and a wince of pain, the small warrior fluttered upright. His wings, though scorched and tattered, still responded to his will. Naruto moved to steady him, but Piximon shook his head.
"I'm all right," he said, voice hoarse but steady. "I've survived worse."
Without another word, Piximon hovered out of the tree hollow. He ascended above the canopy, wings straining but still beating against the corrupted air. From this vantage point, the world opened before him like a withered garden stretching towards eternity.
And in the distance—towering, eternal, impossible—the World Tree rose.
Yggdrasil.
It wasn't merely seen—it was perceived. Its shape bent light, bent reality. The way it shimmered in the mind's eye, no matter where you stood, as though it were both in front of you and far beyond the horizon, was something no natural being could truly understand. It called to all of them—not with words, but with gravity. A spiritual pull. A beacon.
Piximon narrowed his eyes. The jungle below was familiar. He recognized the twisted remnants of the Plant Lords' domain. Once, this region had bloomed with beauty and ancient wisdom. But now the roots were gnarled with corruption. Their rulers long since perished, the vines had turned wild, and what was left behind were forgotten guardians, mindless ferals, or worse—those that had turned against life itself.
He returned to the others with urgency.
"We need to move," he said briskly. "We're in the Jungle of the Plant Lords. It used to be a sanctuary, but now... it's chaos. I can sense it." He turned to Naruto. "But there's one thing that can guide us through. The World Tree."
Naruto looked up. Even through the thick foliage, he could feel its presence—see the faint shimmer in the corner of his eye, always in the same direction no matter how he turned.
"That thing…" Naruto murmured. "It's been calling to me ever since I arrived."
"Yggdrasil manipulates perception," Piximon explained. "So it can be seen from anywhere in the Digital World. That's why your friends will likely be heading toward it too. It's the only constant. The only hope of reunion."
Naruto nodded slowly. "Then we go to it."
But something in his voice made Piximon pause.
Naruto wasn't just agreeing with the plan. His eyes had that distant gleam again—like someone staring at a dream wrapped in fire.
"You wish to meet Yggdrasil," Piximon said quietly. "Don't you?"
Naruto looked at him, calm but resolute.
"Yes," he answered. "It's the one who brought me here. I need to know why. I need to understand if I'm… if I'm even real. Or just some memory… trapped in someone else's game."
Raikomaru tilted his head, confused.
Piximon, however, understood.
"You won't like the answers it gives," he said, his voice suddenly heavy, old beyond the centuries he had lived. "Yggdrasil doesn't speak with kindness. It doesn't comfort. It calculates. And it uses."
Naruto gave a weary smile. "Good. Then I'll understand what I am to it."
There was a silence then, broken only by the faint chirps in the canopy above.
"…Very well," Piximon said at last. "We head toward the World Tree. Toward answers. And maybe, toward your friends."
Naruto nodded, shouldering his pack and helping Raikomaru to his feet. The trio turned toward the distant shimmer in the sky, each step carrying them deeper into wildness—and destiny.
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While Naruto and his companions began their trek from the overgrown and corrupted dominion of the Plant Lords, far across the shattered lands of the Digital World, a soft splash echoed through the air like a forgotten lullaby.
Takeru—known to his friends as TK—burst through the surface of a shadowy lake, gasping for breath as water poured from his golden hair. He flailed momentarily, eyes wide with panic until his feet brushed the silty floor and he scrambled toward the grassy edge of what once must have been a vibrant and joyful place.
His Digivice pulsed faintly at his wrist, its soft glow a small comfort in the darkening gloom.
Michael, his loyal Patamon, had floated beside him throughout the fall. The little winged Digimon was soaked and trembling, but alive—and TK clutched him close with both relief and desperation.
They had landed in the heart of an abandoned park, long forsaken by joy. The skeletal remains of what might once have been brightly coloured rides loomed like ghostly guardians. A carousel stood still in the distance, its horses long faded to grey. Vines slithered up rusted poles, and the air carried a chill that felt more spiritual than physical. Even the trees seemed twisted by loneliness.
Takeru rose to his feet, dripping and shaking. The wind whispered through the cracked swings, and the creak of an unseen seesaw rocked gently in the distance—too gently, as though something invisible was still playing there.
He shivered.
Swiping at his face, TK glanced at his Digivice, hoping—praying—for any signal. His thumb scrolled with frantic urgency, but every attempt brought the same answer: no signal detected.
"Matt…" he whispered, his voice breaking on the syllable.
His brother was out there somewhere, and so were the others. But here, in this haunted cradle of childhood dreams, TK was alone.
No. Not alone.
Michael wriggled out of his arms just enough to float in front of him. The little Digimon's face, normally cheerful and calm, was now etched with resolve. A soft, radiant light blossomed from his body, bathing TK in a gentle glow that seemed to push back the shadows pressing in from all sides.
"Takeru," he said gently. "Please don't be scared. We're together. Together, we can find the way."
The light touched TK's heart. It didn't erase the fear—but it gave it something else to sit beside. Hope.
TK sniffled and wiped the tears from his cheek. "I'm sorry, Michael. I just… I was so scared."
"It's okay," Michael replied, smiling now. "I was scared too."
They stood like that for a long moment, two small figures in the middle of a ruined wonderland, bathed in light that defied the darkness.
Then Takeru straightened, squaring his shoulders like he'd seen his brother do so many times before.
"Let's find the others."
Michael nodded, wings beating softly. "Yes. Let's go."
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Takeru wasn't truly fine—not yet. The weight of solitude pressed heavily on his small shoulders, and fear curled at the edges of his mind like smoke from an unseen fire. But the soft, unwavering glow from Michael's holy light kept that darkness at bay. It was like walking beside a lantern in the deepest cave—just enough to see, to breathe, to think.
He scanned the park once more. The once-cheerful colors were now muted and bruised by time and corruption. A toppled ferris wheel loomed in the distance like the skeleton of some giant beast. Moss and creeping vines clung to everything, as if the forest itself had tried to claim this place back from memory.
Then his eyes lifted.
Above the twisting canopy of rotting trees and over the rolling hills that swallowed the landscape, there stood a tree unlike any other. Towering, ethereal, impossible. The World Tree—Yggdrasil—shimmered faintly against the stormy sky. No matter where you stood, you could always see it. Like the North Star, or hope itself.
Takeru remembered the others talking about it. Yggdrasil—the guardian, the creator, the answer. Maybe it was just instinct or maybe it was something deeper, but in that moment, he knew: That's where they'll go. That's where we'll find them.
Michael fluttered beside him, the tips of his wings brushing against Takeru's cheek. "The Tree is calling, Takeru," he said, voice soft but certain. "If we head toward it, we might find the others… and safety."
Takeru nodded, clutching his Digivice with both hands. "Then that's where we'll go."
A gust of wind rushed through the skeletal remains of the park, carrying with it the rustle of leaves and something more—like voices echoing from faraway memories.
They turned toward the tree.
As they began to walk, a single thought nagged at Takeru: If only we could fly. Angemon would've lifted them high above this broken world, soaring through the sky like a guardian angel. But that was just a dream—for now.
Michael, in his Patamon form, was still too young. Too low in level. The Digivice allowed him to evolve temporarily in moments of great need, but it drained energy fast, and any prolonged flight risked leaving Michael weak and vulnerable.
Takeru sighed, glancing at his partner. "I guess we're walking, huh?"
Michael gave a little chuckle and tried to puff out his chest. "Hey, I like walking. Gives me time to think of cool names for my attacks!"
Takeru smiled despite himself. "Well, maybe think of a few that rhyme this time."
Michael gave an indignant huff and flapped ahead, his light bobbing like a firefly. But he stayed close, always close. Neither of them wanted to be out of reach of the other. Not here. Not now.
And so, the two small figures made their way through the remains of the park, stepping cautiously over twisted metal and broken dreams. Every so often, Takeru glanced up toward the tree that ruled the horizon—his beacon, his hope, his brother.
------------------------
Several hours had passed since Takeru and Michael had left the hushed ruins of the abandoned park. The path they followed had narrowed and twisted until it deposited them into what looked eerily like a city—a place not unlike the ones back home. Only… wrong.
The air here was heavy with silence, the kind that blanketed ruins and burial grounds. Buildings, tall and crumbling, loomed on either side of the cracked pavement like decaying sentinels. Their forms resembled human skyscrapers, but their windows were shaped for beings far larger—or stranger—than humans. Some doors were round, others towered above Takeru like the entrances to cathedrals. Faint signs in a Digicode he couldn't read flickered and died with ghostly pulses.
The city felt abandoned, yet something told Takeru it wasn't.
His stomach growled.
Michael flapped beside him, but more sluggishly now. The little Patamon's usual cheer was dulled by fatigue and gnawing hunger. Neither of them had eaten since they'd been pulled into this corrupted world—and the twisted remnants of this digital metropolis had offered nothing. No vending machines. No fruit. Not even clean water from a fountain.
Takeru's hand brushed against his Digivice, his thumb hesitating over the evolution trigger.
I could evolve him… just for a moment. Angemon could fly. He could scout. Find food, maybe water...
But then he saw it—movement.
Far above them, weaving through the web-choked windows and twisted scaffolding, were spiders. Not ordinary ones, not the skittering house spiders his mum used to gently cup in a glass and set outside. No, these were giants.
Long legs—like crooked blades—clutched the steel bones of the buildings. Hulking, twitching forms with red-glowing eyes, crawling across walls like shadows given flesh. Dokugamon.
Takeru froze mid-step. One… two… no, at least seven of them. Maybe more.
Michael shivered, and his ears drooped. "Champion level," he whispered.
"I know…" Takeru replied, almost breathless.
He bit his lip, torn between desperation and dread. Evolving Michael now would create a burst of holy energy that all of them would sense instantly. Angemon might be strong, but not strong enough. Not against them. Not outnumbered. Not while low on energy.
And worst of all… Takeru knew that if Angemon fell, Michael would de-digivolve into a low-energy state. Defenseless. Unconscious. Easy prey.
His stomach twisted, and not just from hunger.
"We can't," he muttered, pulling Michael close and slipping into the cover of a collapsed building. Broken glass crunched softly beneath their feet, and the air inside was colder—filled with mildew and old circuits. But it was hidden.
Michael blinked up at him. "What'll we do?"
Takeru tried to summon courage, as if his voice could convince reality to change. "We wait. Just a little. Until they move. Then we sneak out."
Michael didn't answer immediately. Then he nodded, curling into Takeru's lap like a tired child. "Okay… but I still think I could take one of them if I had a banana first."
Takeru laughed quietly. It was barely a sound, really, but it helped. It was the first one in hours.
And so they sat in the shadowed belly of the ruined city, a boy and his Digimon pressed close against the dark. Hunger gnawed at them. Fear stalked them. But they had each other.
And sometimes, that was enough to get through the night.
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The spiders had moved on.
Or at least, that was what Takeru hoped as he sat curled up in the corner of the broken building, his arms wrapped protectively around Michael, who lay curled on his chest like a softly breathing cushion. Outside, the shadows had shifted, and the sickly moonlight filtered in through cracked windows and dangling wires. No skittering. No glowing red eyes. Just silence, broken only by the occasional groan of strained metal and distant wind.
Sleep had come quietly, creeping over the two like ivy. They were just children, after all—frightened, hungry, and utterly spent.
Until—
Click. Click. Click.
The sharp, deliberate tap of heels on marble tiles echoed through the building like a spell breaking.
Takeru's eyes snapped open. He sat up so suddenly that Michael let out a surprised squeak and rolled off his lap with a soft flop. Both of them froze, eyes wide, hearts thudding wildly like trapped birds.
There—at the entrance to the ruined atrium, haloed by flickering light from a shattered chandelier above—stood a woman.
She was unlike anything Takeru had seen in the Digital World. In fact, she looked like she'd stepped out of a high fashion magazine that had accidentally wandered into a horror story.
Tall and elegant, the woman wore a crimson sleeveless dress that clung to her form like silk ink. A short red cape draped over her shoulders, its hood resting neatly against her back. Her long gloves were violet, patterned at the elbows with dark, intricate webbing, as if spun from shadow itself. Her boots were strange too—tall, purple things with grey soles, oddly mismatched with her otherwise refined appearance.
But what caught Takeru's attention most was her hat.
A towering, striped sunhat in red and violet crowned her head, its wide brim etched with spiderweb patterns. A golden spider brooch glittered at its center, clutching a pink gem like a heart. Below the hat, her face was partly hidden behind large, dark shades rimmed in gold—but even without seeing her eyes, there was something… unsettlingly calm about her.
She stepped forward, her white hair flowing like moonlight down her back, and came to a stop only a few meters from them.
Takeru tensed, unsure whether to run or speak.
Then, she smiled.
"What," she asked, her voice smooth and lilting like a lullaby sung in an unfamiliar key, "is a young boy like you doing here alone?" She tilted her head, and the pink gem on her brooch shimmered faintly. "Where is your family, little one?"
Her voice wasn't threatening—not directly. In fact, it was warm, perhaps too warm, like a mother offering hot cocoa with a whisper too smooth to be comforting. Concern played on her lips, but it didn't quite reach her voice.
Takeru's lips parted, but no words came.
Michael, still half-drowsy and unsure whether to fly or speak, tucked himself closer to Takeru's side, his eyes never leaving the woman.
"I—I don't have one here," Takeru finally whispered, his voice no louder than the rustling of old paper. "We're looking for our friends."
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A.N I hope you guys can leave a review of what you think of the story till now.