Chapter 48
Written by Bayzo Albion
I ventured deeper into the forest, each step like turning the pages of a living tome etched into bark and foliage. At first glance, the trees blended into a monotonous backdrop, but if you paused and truly looked, their uniqueness unveiled itself: the jagged patterns twisting across their rough exteriors, subtle gradients of emerald in the canopy, leaves varying in shape from broad fans to delicate needles. Even the rustle they made in the breeze had its own timbre—a soft whisper here, a deeper sigh there—as if the wind composed a symphony tailored to each one.
"They're all the same, aren't they?" my doppelgänger drawled lazily, his voice dripping with mockery. "What are you staring at? Expecting one to wink at you with a branch?"
"True power lies in the details," I replied, my eyes fixed on a sturdy oak that felt like an old companion. "See these acorns? They're not just fruits—they're potential sustenance. Food means survival. Survival breeds resources. Resources build empires."
"Ooh, listen to the king in his castle!" he snorted, his amusement laced with sarcasm.
I didn't bother arguing. Instead, I methodically gathered edible fruits, mushrooms, and roots, jotting notes in my journal with careful precision. Each entry was a step toward mastery in this strange world.
"Food is the foundation of any thriving civilization," I mused aloud, as if inscribing the words not just on paper, but into the annals of history itself.
"And what's so grand about that?" he countered, his skepticism exaggerated for effect.
"Proper nutrition builds a strong nation," I explained calmly. "Healthy warriors to defend it, diligent farmers to sustain it, wise leaders to guide it... It all starts with a simple bowl of stew."
"God, you're Captain Obvious incarnate!" he chuckled. "But... damn, there's a ring of truth in it."
"That's because these are fundamentals," I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips without looking up. "Everyone knows them, but few act on them. The chasm between knowledge and action? That's what separates the ordinary from the legendary."
"Easy to preach when there's no real work involved," he grumbled.
"But here, words gain real power," I countered, my smile widening just a touch. "In this world, the impossible bends to will. You just need to grasp the right threads."
I paused, tracing the intricate patterns on the bark with my gaze. They intertwined like ancient runes, hinting at secrets left by beings far wiser than us.
"I've been pondering the essence of this place," I said slowly, savoring the weight of each word. "I think I've cracked the core of our trial."
"Oh yeah? Spill it," he replied, genuine curiosity creeping into his tone for once.
"We mustn't turn this paradise into hell," I said. "As the saying goes: There's a path from hell to heaven, but none leading back."
"You really believe this spot could become a nightmare?" He frowned, a flicker of unease in his eyes.
"Most likely," I admitted. "But..." I plucked a ripe berry, squeezing it until a drop of juice stained the earth like a crimson tear. "A lot rides on us."
"So you're saying it's all in our hands?"
"You're catching on quick," I nodded slightly. "Well done. But remember, I could be wrong. These might just be my delusions. Letting your guard down, though—that's a death sentence."
"Agreed," he said after a brief silence, his voice tinged with rare concern. "We know too little about this realm to relax. What if we're already trapped? Like addicts chasing higher highs until we lose ourselves completely..."
What if paradise was an illusion, a narcotic haze? How many souls could resist its temptations and cling to their humanity? And for those who did—what fate awaited them? Imagine heaven as a drug: How many would turn away from its bliss to remain true to themselves? What trials would they endure?
The forest fell unnaturally still. The wind ceased its playful dance through the leaves. Birds hushed their songs. In that thick, oppressive silence, our words hung heavy, as if the woods themselves were eavesdropping... judging whether we deserved their trust.
To my surprise, I found I could juggle two streams of existence effortlessly: bantering with myself while scouring the undergrowth. My hands instinctively plucked valuables—berries, herbs, nuts—while my other scribbled observations in the notebook. It was as if two independent minds coexisted in my skull, one analytical and the other irreverent.
"Boring as hell," my inner self whined, heaving a dramatic sigh. "Same trees, same bushes, same damn mushrooms..."
"Most epic quests are built on tedious treks from point A to B," I shot back. "Think of *The Lord of the Rings*—endless walking, yet that's where the magic brews."
"So what? Can't we fast-forward like in video games? Skip the cutscene?"
"Learn to savor the journey. It's in these quiet moments that brilliance strikes," I said, sketching an unusual bark pattern in the margins of my journal, the pencil scratching softly against the paper.
"Screw that to the devil," he muttered, and suddenly—poof—a vacuum echoed in my mind. My doppelgänger had logged out, "killing" himself in a fit of boredom.
"I've always wondered," I continued aloud, pressing onward, "why immortals in movies die so often. Don't they have guardian angels?"
"The answer's staring back at you," his voice returned, now tinged with a somber edge, as if he'd respawned just for this quip.
My musings shattered at the sight of a colossal brown mushroom sprouting right on the path, resembling a giant's forgotten umbrella. Its cap, as wide as a wagon wheel, gleamed with a soft bronze sheen, while the stalk—thick as a young tree trunk—was etched with elaborate designs, like deliberate carvings of forgotten runes.
"Jackpot!" I whistled, flipping open my notebook. "Edible? And more importantly, what happens if I try it?"
"Maybe find a guinea pig first?" my inner voice suggested warily. But my hand was already reaching for the knife, anticipation buzzing through me like electricity.
"Food or forbidden fruit?" I pondered aloud.
"Probably just damn tasty food," I answered myself.
"Given mushrooms' track record, I'm skeptical," he grumbled. "But hey, we're in paradise. Dying here's probably a pleasant nap."
Without further hesitation, I sliced off a small piece and placed it on my tongue. The flavor exploded— a tantalizing blend of tangy-sweet gum, juicy ripe peach, and a subtle honeyed bitterness that lingered like fine wine. I tucked the rest into my spatial pocket for later.
"This... it's like edible booze," I concluded, a warmth spreading through my veins. "And what's wrong with that?"
"Isn't alcohol a drug?" he teased. "Next up: oxygen cocktails with a kick? Breathable brandy? Drunken carrots? Lazy dumplings? Ethanol air?"
We pressed on through the towering trunks, the air thick with a hushed tranquility—only the gentle crunch of leaves underfoot and distant bird calls breaking the spell. It felt like nature itself was holding its breath, watching our every move, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal its hand.
"Listen," my inner voice piped up, "remember, the dullest walks often lead to the wildest adventures."
"Where's this wisdom coming from?" I asked, genuinely intrigued.
"Just hoping we're not munching mushrooms in the woods for nothing."
I chuckled softly. In this realm, wonders lurked behind every tree... or perhaps in every bite.
About five minutes post-taste test, a light dizziness washed over me. The forest seemed to... grin. Seriously—the trees bowed their branches slightly, and faint smirks emerged on their bark, like contented cats stretching in the sun.
"I think that mushroom's messing with us," I whispered, my heart quickening.
"No kidding? I figured you always saw the world this poetically," he snarked.
The sensation intensified, and soon the trunks morphed: bark smoothed out, lines sharpened, transforming into elegant feminine silhouettes carved from warm amber wood. They stood like living statues—frozen yet pulsing with latent energy, their forms curvaceous and inviting under the dappled light.
"Whoa, hold up! This is starting to echo that old tale—the guy who found a magic tree and... well, became legend. You're not planning to reenact it, right?"
"I'm just... gonna touch. Yeah, just to check."
I approached one, extending a tentative hand. It wasn't quite wood—warm, yielding slightly, like a masterfully crafted doll on the verge of awakening. A little more pressure, and I swore it might stir.
"Stop! What the hell?!" my inner voice yelled. "You think you can trust your senses after that shroom?"
I yanked my hand back just as the "woman" shifted her shoulder subtly. Her head turned toward me, and on the polished nut-like surface, delicate lips formed.
"That tickles," she said in a deep, husky timbre that resonated through the air like wind through hollow branches.
"Oh..." I exhaled, torn between bolting and playing it cool.
"Well, congrats," my inner voice announced grimly. "You've just started a fling with furniture."
The wooden beauty lifted her arm and placed a palm on my shoulder—slow, fluid, evoking memories of puppet shows without strings.
"Want to see my acorn collection?" she asked, her tone laced with seduction, as if offering a peek into forbidden chambers.