ht would come with strings attached; we were inhabiting the bodies of puppets, after all. If anything, it was more of a trade than an offer.

Actually, no, scratch that: it was extortion, pure and simple.

Night had chores that needed doing, and, wouldn't you know, the krummholz weren't the most reliable little helpers.

As the Treefathers had explained, back in their homeworld, they'd lived alongside the forest-folk we'd seen in their memories. The gray-skinned humanoids had lived within the Treefathers' bodies, caring for them and the balance of the forest. Obviously, they were long gone, now, but, even so, we could still see the echoes of their presence in the Treefathers themselves.

Treefather Night was a literal treehouse, or, should I say tree-apartment. That on its own was amazing enough, but, to hear that Treefather Day had his entire interior hollowed out to make room for the forest folk, the krummholz, and passing travelers?

It was like something out of a fairy tale.

Stairs built on the base of Night's trunk and on his erumpent roots led up to a network of hollows carved into his body, converging onto a central chamber. Side tunnels led out from the central chamber, ending various rooms, with windows whose shutters and hinges were made from Night's own wood.

Mine had an especially cozy feel, and a hammock, too!

Unfortunately, it took several hours before I could enjoy said hammock. (This is the extortion bit.) Ileene, Suisei, Mr. Himichi, and myself had been put on cleaning duty. After dusting off the old buckets lying around, we gathered from the stream at the edge of Night's Glade and then used our leafy bodies to dust and mop and sweep and scrub.

"Night, remind me again why you can't just have the krummholz do this?" Ileene had asked; she'd been wringing the wastewater out of her flower petal queues at the time.

"I can," the Treefather replied, "but they're not very thorough."

Good grief.

But I endured it. The Treefathers were being very kind to us, and they deserved our thanks, just not as ridiculously as this. It was like cleaning multiple houses, all in one go!

I managed to get through by keeping myself focused on all the delicious information I'd be getting out of the Treefathers come the morrow.

It was pitch black out by the time we finished, save for the twinkling of the stars. There was no need for dinner. Unsurprisingly, our totally non-functional mouths were just for decoration. I didn't feel the least bit hungry or tired; you could chalk those up to the advantages of having the body of a magical puppet.

Honestly, I was really looking forward to my hammock, and, to my delight, the hype was completely justified. It was exquisitely comfortable. Despite that, I had a feeling getting to sleep would be a challenge—and I was absolutely right.

I sagged in my hammock, staring out through the window up at the stars, as I had been for what felt like at least an hour.

The problem was simple: I was miserable. I was lost, broken, listless, morose, and a thousand other unpleasant things.

This was the first bit of genuine repose I'd felt since &alon had come out to me as the fungus and turned my world upside-down. Even now, my head was still spinning from all the revelations. Not only was everything I'd thought I'd known about &alon and the fungus a lie, it turned out that the edges of my reality stretched farther than I could have ever thought possible.

I felt so small, and it terrified me. I was doubly resentful of &alon; triply, even. It would have been bad enough if she'd just destroyed our world, but she hadn't stopped there. Not only had she also left me truthless and betrayed, she'd unwittingly torn down the walls of my world, revealing a cosmos far more complex and grand than anything I could have ever imagined. Even Mr. Himichi's greatest flights of fancy seemed quaint by comparison.

My life, my personal tragedies, my struggles with being responsible, my endless battle of wills with my mother-in-law; all those difficulties seemed so petty now, so insignificant. "Oh woe is me, my mother killed herself in postpartum depression"; how could pain like that even hold a candle to the fates of worlds and the orbits of the stars? And belief! Fudge belief! Belief was a crumb whose only purpose was to be crushed under the foot of an indifferent universe.

Shout into the void all you like; no one can hear you. The void is too darn big, and you're too darn small.

But these were existential woes, and I knew from experience that it was hard for anyone to dwell upon them for too long. Eventually, you got distracted by something more immediate and palpable. Case in point, at the moment, my greatest tormentor was the fact that I couldn't see any light at the end of the tunnel. I wasn't fighting for what I believed in; I no longer had anything to believe in, nor was there anything left worth believing in. The Godhead was dead, and even if They weren't, what did it matter? They couldn't stop &alon—or, worse, They could have, but chose not to, though considering what I'd seen, I was inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt, especially given that Kléothag and Azon were dead.

Godhood, like any other profession, was difficult to excel in if you were dead.

And don't even get me started on the Vyxit. That…

I went through the motions of a sigh, even though my body lacked that functionality.

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It was overwhelming. There was just so much going on. Chaos was everywhere and certainty was nowhere. My shelf hadn't just been broken. The entire house had been reduced to rubble.

"Is something the matter, Genneth?"

It was Treefather Night.

I was so startled, I nearly fell out of my hammock. Granted, I was literally inside the being that was talking to me, so it wasn't really proper to say that the Treefather had snuck up on me, but… no, he'd totally snuck up on me.

"Have you been watching us this whole time?" I asked.

"Not actively, no. Some things are just difficult to ignore. For instance, Ileene is having trouble sleeping right. I sent one of the krummholz to help her get situated, when I noticed you weren't faring much better. Is it something about the hammock?" Night asked. "In adjusting to a non-corporeal existence, I discovered that some of our visitors complained about the hammocks. I've tried to fix them, though I've yet to get feedback for the latest changes."

"Actually, the hammocks are very nice," I said. "You did a wonderful job."

The hammock was just the right amount of bouncy. It was perfect.

"As is usual for me," I said, "the problem is me." I sighed again. "Do you mind if I ask you a possibly silly question, Treefather Night?"

I was speaking on a whim.

There were worse people to share my troubles with than the disembodied soul of an ancient magical tree currently being supported on some kind of digital server thing.

"Certainly," Night said. "In my experience, silly questions often lead to joyful answers."

"How do you deal with it?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

I would have said, "everything", but that felt too ambitious, so I decided to pick a smaller topic.

Baby steps.

"Like the world you came from, for example."

"What about it?" Night asked.

"You have to understand, to my eyes, what you showed us is like something from a fairy tale or an old legend."

"That does not surprise me," Night replied. "Legends ran deep in our old world."

"The lives you led before the Blight… would you say they were fast-paced, or…?"

The Treefather's branches juddered with what could only be laughter, rustling his leaves in the evening chill.

"I'm a tree, what do you think? Of course our lives were slow! Even now, we still measure time in seasons of centuries. The peoples of the lands beyond the forest lived more quickly than we ever did, but even they were slow and plod compared to the lightning streaks of Vyxit time."

"I know the feeling," I said. "Until recently, my life followed its own measures and rhythms. But then everything changed."

"It happened to all of us," Night said. "In that way, you are as much one of the Vyxit as I am. Don't go telling that to Stone, though; it will get his branches in a twist."

"I can imagine," I said. I sighed. "In an instant, everything I thought I knew got turned on its head." I stared at my krummholz hands, and at the tree living around me. "Even now, I'm still learning just how small my old life was, and how much larger, mysterious, and wondrous the world is compared to what I thought it was."

"The way you speak…" Night said. "Something weighs on you heavily, isn't it?"

I nodded. "You're right."

But how could I even begin to voice my troubles?

Well, beating around the bush certainly wasn't the way to do it. So, I just started to talk, letting my worries bubble up organically.

"How do you deal with it?" I asked. "How do you make sense of things after the walls of your familiarity get torn down to their foundations? You're a dream in a ship that travels through the stars. How do you go on living when everything you thought you knew is in doubt? I can't even imagine myself knowing how to handle it, let alone a tree—no offense."

"None taken," Night replied. "It's a good question, one I've pondered often." The wood creaked softly, like a breath. "I will not lie: it's difficult. I miss the old days, dearly. I miss the play of forest's children among my branches and in my shade; the birdsong, the burrowing moles, the tender deer. The forest-folk used to hold processions in celebration of changing seasons. They honored us with libations and reverent songs. It was beautiful. But… that was then, and this is now. Things have changed, as they always do. We cannot go back to how we were, nor do we need to."

That genuinely puzzled me. "Why not?"

"Tell me," Night said, "how did we come to be? Did the forest and its guardians spring into being, fully formed? No! They came into shape gradually. What is old to us now was once new and strange, and so it will be with what the future brings; that is what it means to grow. All things are made new with the passage of time. What once was will come again, though changed, as all things must be. Your arrival here, for instance, has been a great pleasure."

"You're welcome for the cleaning, by the way."

The tree laughed. "Yes, I am. Thank you for that." A breeze rustled Night's leaves. "But… I wasn't talking about the cleaning. Before the Blight, travelers would come to the forest for refuge, or in search of our blessings. And what did we ask of them in return? The sweat off their brow and the tales on their tongues. In coming here and telling your tale, you brought that past back to life for us, and that nostalgia is worth its weight in gold. There is joy in that moment of recognition, when a new discovery makes one's heart ring as it did in days long past. Those moments will keep you anchored against the tides of many a strange, new world. That's what roots are for: to anchor us in what is precious while we reach for the stars."

The Treefather's words were beautiful, and I felt unworthy of them, just like I felt unworthy of my family and everyone else who looked up to me, &alon notwithstanding. That was the thing: Treefather Night had roots; he had truth and meaning and connection.

Meanwhile, all I had was… me. And I was small. So, so small.

What could I ever hope to accomplish?

"Your silence speaks volumes, Genneth," Night said.

"Does it?"

"Are you not happy with my answer?" he asked.

"No, it was lovely!" I said. "It was beautiful! It's… it's just…" I sighed. "I've screwed up. I don't trust myself." I looked toward the window. "Who am I to reach for the stars?"

I almost extended my arm to reach for it, but I didn't.

"I believe you already have," Night said. "Indeed, I believe your arrival here is the portent of a great change."

"What do you mean?"

"Even after we joined the Synespera, the forest-folk would still come to visit us and honor us, like they did in the days of old. Before, they did it out of tradition and obligation; after, they did it out of love, not because they needed to, but because they wanted to."

"And now?"

"Now, they don't come at all. It troubles me greatly."

"Because they might not ever come back?" I asked.

"Yes, but that's hardly the heart of it," Night said. "They never said goodbye, and that worries me more than anything. I'm afraid something terrible has happened to them, and to the Vyxit at large."

Well… shucks, that made me feel bad.

"If there was anything I could do," I said, "I'd try to help, but…—"

"—You don't need to trouble yourself, Genneth."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but… troubling myself is sort of my specialty." I chuckled. "I do it without even intending to."

"And I believe you will help us," Night said, "even without intending to. As long as you rectify your mistakes, that will be progress. Now, please, rest. You should prepare yourself for the trials to come."

I sat up in my hammock, startled by the Treefather's words. "W-Wait… you can see the future?"

"No, but… having heard your tale so far, it seemed like a safe bet."

And I laughed. "Ain't that the truth."

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