Chukwuemeka woke up inside the forest.
Not beneath it.
Not above it.
Inside it.
Trees stood too close together, their trunks bent inward like they were listening. The air smelled old, like rain that never dried. The ground felt soft, warm, and wrong, as if it were breathing under his feet.
He looked down at himself.
His skin was no longer fully skin. Dark lines ran across his arms and chest, thick like veins, hard like bark. When he clenched his fist, his fingers made a faint cracking sound, the sound of wood bending.
He tried to scream.
Only a low sound came out.
The tree was quiet.
That silence frightened him more than the voice ever did.
He walked.
Each step felt heavy, like the earth was pulling him back. As he moved, memories hit him in pieces—faces of the dead, screams swallowed by soil, the sound of roots tearing through flesh. His stomach twisted.
"This is not me," he whispered.
Something answered.
Footsteps.
He turned sharply.
Three people stood among the trees.
Alive.
Real.
Human.
An old woman with white hair tied back with rope. A tall man with tribal marks on his face. And a girl—no older than fifteen—holding a clay pot tight against her chest.
They stared at Chukwuemeka without fear.
"You can still hear yourself," the old woman said.
Her voice shook the forest.
"Who are you?" Chukwuemeka asked.
"We are what is left," the man replied. "From villages before yours. Villages it ate."
The girl stepped forward.
"This is the last chance," she said softly.
Chukwuemeka's chest burned.
"The tree… it's inside me," he said. "I can't stop it."
The old woman nodded.
"We know. That is why you are dangerous. And why you matter."
They led him deeper into the forest, past places where the ground was black and thick with bones. Past trees that had faces growing from their trunks. Past roots that twitched when he passed.
At the center was a clearing.
In it stood a stone.
Old. Cracked. Covered in dried blood and symbols scratched by shaking hands.
"This is where it was bound," the man said. "Before your village. Before the lies."
The tree stirred.
Not angry.
Curious.
Do not listen, it whispered. They are echoes. They are hunger.
Chukwuemeka fell to his knees.
"What do I do?" he cried. "Tell me how to end this."
The old woman placed her hand on his head.
"You end it the way it began," she said. "With a willing offering."
The words sank slowly.
"No," Chukwuemeka whispered.
The girl stepped forward, her hands shaking.
"It must be you," she said. "Not your body. Your choice."
The tree screamed inside him.
Roots burst from the ground, wrapping around the clearing, tightening, threatening to crush everything.
They want to kill you, it roared. I will keep you alive.
Chukwuemeka felt its fear.
And that changed everything.
"You're scared," he said.
The tree went silent.
"You need me," he continued. "You can't rise without me."
The roots froze.
The forest held its breath.
The man shouted, "Now!"
The girl smashed the clay pot on the stone.
Blood poured out.
Fresh. Human.
The smell hit Chukwuemeka hard.
The tree lunged.
Pain ripped through his body as roots tore out of his back, trying to drag him underground. His vision blurred. His mouth filled with the taste of soil.
"No!" he screamed. "I choose!"
He crawled to the stone.
Every movement felt like tearing himself apart.
He placed his hand on the blood-soaked surface.
"I give you back," he said, voice breaking. "Everything you took from me."
The tree howled.
The forest shook.
Roots withdrew violently, ripping free. Chukwuemeka screamed as pieces of himself—dark, wooden, wrong—were pulled out and dragged into the earth.
He felt himself shrinking.
Weakening.
Becoming human again.
The old woman began to chant.
The man joined.
The girl screamed until her voice broke.
The ground split.
The heart beneath the roots was exposed—black, pulsing, wounded.
Chukwuemeka crawled forward.
"I'm not yours," he whispered.
He plunged his hand into it.
The pain was unbearable.
But the scream that followed was not his.
The forest collapsed inward.
Trees fell. Roots snapped. Faces in the soil faded.
When it was over, Chukwuemeka lay still.
The clearing was empty.
Silent.
The old woman was gone.
The man was gone.
The girl was gone.
Only ash remained.
And a boy, breathing weakly, covered in blood that was finally his own.
Far away, deep underground, something ancient shrank back into darkness.
Not dead.
But sealed.
For now.