Chapter 7: The Whisper Tree
The tree started talkin at dawn.
Not out loud—not like "Hey good mornin!"—but in little murmurs.
Alex was weedin near the memory tree when he felt it, like a breeze blowin straight into his brain.
"You... you were not born here..."
He dropped the hoe. "System, did the tree just sass me?"
"Clarification: the memory tree is attempting low-grade spiritual communication. Possible resonance with user's reincarnated soul."
Alex blinked. "...So now I got a tree that knows my past life?"
"Possibly. The tree may have connected to memory echoes stored in your spiritual core."
"Greeeat. Just what I needed. Psychic bark."
Meilin came over with a basket of spirit carrots.
"You talkin to yourself again?" she asked.
Alex pointed at the tree. "It started it."
She raised an eyebrow. "Right."
He put a hand on the bark. It pulsed, gentle-like, almost warm.
More words floated through his mind, fuzzy like dreams.
"Deep sleeps the old one. Bound in rot and regret. But roots are patient."
Alex sighed. "Why's everything that talks in this world got to sound so... creepy and wise?"
Jun walked up right then, eating a rice cake. "Hey, the cabbage tried to give me life advice. Is that normal?"
Alex didn't look away from the tree. "What'd it say?"
Jun chewed. "'Don't grow bitter or you'll be stir-fried by fate.'"
"…I hate how that's kinda good advice."
That night, the system beeped.
"Warning: spiritual resonance spike detected. Memory tree broadcasting unknown signal."
Alex sat up from his bedroll.
The tree glowed softly in the moonlight—its branches stretchin out like arms pointin west.
Then, it whispered again.
"It comes..."
Alex grabbed his staff.
Meilin was already outside, sword drawn.
"What now?" she asked.
Jun stumbled out shirtless, still chewing. "I just made soup…"
The wind shifted.
From the western woods, a cold breath rolled in—low and damp, like someone breathin through a cave mouth.
Something shimmered between the trees.
Then stepped out.
A figure in robes. But… hollow. Empty.
No face. Just a mask made of black bark.
Its body was made of tangled vines and cracked stone, but it walked like it remembered bein human.
Alex narrowed his eyes. "System?"
"Entity class: Forgotten Rootbound. A former cultivator overtaken by underground corruption. Power level: medium-tier elder. Status: unstable."
"Great," Alex muttered. "A zombie tree wizard."
The Rootbound stopped at the edge of the farm.
It raised one hand.
And the memory tree shuddered.
"Meilin," Alex said, "cut it off."
She vanished, then reappeared in front of the creature, blade flashin.
But her strike bounced off.
Not because of defense—because it wasn't really there.
"An echo!" Jun shouted. "It's a spiritual projection!"
The Rootbound's voice rumbled like thunder underwater.
"The soil remembers... and so do I…"
Alex stepped forward, planting his staff in the dirt.
"Well then, lemme remind you."
He slammed the staff down.
Roots shot from the ground, not to attack—but to wrap around the echo, pulling it back into the soil.
The ghost struggled, screamin in that horrible not-voice.
But the memory tree pulsed—once, hard—and the image vanished like mist.
Silence returned.
Back at the porch, Jun slumped down, still holdin his soup.
"That... wasn't fun."
Alex sat next to him. "It was interestin."
"Why do all the things that come here either wanna kill us or give ominous life advice?"
Meilin leaned on the wall. "We live on a farm powered by a sentient system, next to a psychic tree, on top of a buried ancient evil."
Jun blinked. "...That's fair."
The memory tree whispered one last time before dawn.
"It watches... beneath bark and bone."
Alex sighed.
Then smiled.
"Yeah, well. I watch back."