He didn't remember standing.
He didn't remember walking.
But somehow, without realizing, Lin Feng found himself right in front of the tree.
The square bark now towered over him like a silent monolith. It wasn't just a shape anymore—it had texture, weight, presence. The closer he stood, the more he felt it—not just in the air, but in his chest, like something resonating inside his bones.
He looked at it.
And something in him changed.
He felt.
He understood.
He saw.
But nothing happened. No voice. No movement.
Just silence.
The torches around the chamber flickered gently. Lin Feng stared at the strange, squared roots, at the unnatural symmetry of the trunk. There was something... aware about it. Not alive in the way trees breathe and grow—but in the way something watches you without blinking.
Still, it said nothing.
He stepped back. Slowly.
Turned around.
Tried to retrace his steps to the wall where he'd been. His hands trembled slightly, not from exhaustion, but from a tight pressure wrapping around his spine like cold rope.
Then—he heard it again.
"You are closer than you think."
Not a whisper this time. Not a faint breath behind his ear.
A voice.
Solid. Near.
So close it felt like it vibrated against his skin.
Lin Feng didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
And in that moment, he knew.
Absolutely.
With complete certainty.
The voice had come from the tree.
His pulse spiked. His legs locked in place.
He was afraid to turn around.
Why?
Why am I scared?
It's just a tree… It's just a dream… right?
He could feel his shirt sticking to his back, damp with cold sweat. His neck tensed. He thought about the sound again—how it didn't echo like his voice had earlier, how it had bypassed the air entirely. It hadn't been spoken into the room. It had been spoken into him.
He gritted his teeth.
This is nothing. I'm just tired. Just dreaming. If I turn around, it'll still just be a weird square tree and nothing else.
He wanted to believe it.
But he couldn't.
He waited.
Five seconds. Ten. A full minute.
The longer he stood there, the more it felt like the air thickened behind him—like the space itself knew he was hesitating.
He was terrified to see what the tree might be doing if he looked.
Doing?
It's a tree. Trees don't "do" things.
But something primal inside him knew: if he turned around, and it had moved, he might not survive the realization.
So he didn't.
He stood perfectly still, staring at the opposite wall, sweat running down his forehead, teeth clenched.
Nothing moved.
Nothing spoke.
The silence wasn't just empty anymore. It felt intentional.
Like something was waiting for him to act.
Then, a voice again—clearer, yet calm, like the response to a question no one had asked aloud.
"Why don't you look? Are you afraid?"
He blinked.
He didn't answer.
But something inside him responded, unspoken.
Of course I'm afraid.
He didn't want to be. He wanted to believe he was in control.
But everything about this place—this tree, this voice, this silence—was bigger than him.
"Why don't you ask?" the voice continued, conversational now. Almost… curious.
"Ask what?" Lin Feng finally managed, voice dry.
"What you want to know."
He turned slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder—but not toward the tree. Just… sideways. Carefully.
Still no movement. Just the flickering torches and the same dark stone.
He didn't turn the rest of the way.
Instead, he sat down again. Right where he stood.
He let the silence stretch. Let the voice press against it.
Then, carefully, he said:
"What… are you?"
There was a pause.
Not long. Not awkward.
Just long enough to be measured.
Then came the reply:
"I am the one who watches you."
Lin Feng's skin prickled.
The voice wasn't threatening. It wasn't even cold.
It was matter-of-fact. As if stating something that had always been true.
"And you," it asked in return, "who are you?"
He didn't respond right away.
He wasn't sure what to say. His name felt too small.
His memories too distant.
Finally, softly, he said:
"I'm… one of them."
The voice didn't question it. Didn't ask what that meant.
He took a breath, then another. The tension in his chest didn't ease, but something else filled him now—a strange calm, like standing on the edge of something ancient and unknowable.
So he told his story.
"I was running in the park… It was night. I remember the sky was clear. The ground shook. And then I fell into something—a hole, or a shadow, I don't know.
I woke up here. In this place. With no time. No sound. Just walls. And the tree."
There was no answer.
So he continued.
"I thought I was dreaming. Maybe I still am. But it doesn't feel like one. I… I don't know how I got here. Or what this is."
Still nothing.
He looked down at his hands, shaking faintly in his lap.
"I keep expecting to wake up. But I don't."
After a long pause, the voice spoke again—softly, yet with a finality that echoed beyond the words:
"You are awake."
Lin Feng's heart skipped.
No poetic riddles. No metaphor. Just truth.
That simple phrase carried more weight than anything he'd heard so far.
This isn't a dream.
This is real.
His breath caught in his throat. The words hit like a stone in the stomach.
And then, like a puzzle snapping into place, he felt it: the absolute certainty that whatever had brought him here… was not done with him yet.