Noah walked slowly back to his seat, his mind buzzing with everything he’d absorbed so far. He sank into the chair, taking a steadying sip of tea, savoring its warmth as he stared blankly into the distance. It was overwhelming—so much knowledge that seemed both foreign and oddly familiar, like pieces of a puzzle he’d always been meant to find. His gaze drifted, unfocused, as he let his thoughts settle.

  After a while, he set the cup down, breathing deeply. He hadn’t expected this journey through the Library to feel so personal, like each book was a whisper meant just for him. But here he was, each story weaving into the one he was beginning to see for himself, while sitting there noah had a few random thoughts but didn’t want to act on them right now.

  Finally, he reached into his inventory, pulling out The Shattered Roots: Chronicles of Fallen Trees. Its cover was rough, scarred, with jagged markings that seemed to claw their way across the surface. Touching it, he felt a faint pulse—a melancholy rhythm, like the echo of something lost yet not entirely gone. He took another deep breath and opened the book, ready to learn what it had to tell him.

  The Network of Roots

  The text described the roots as an ancient, invisible web woven across realms, a network as alive as the trees it connected. Each root system, though rooted within its own world, stretched far beyond, creating bonds that defied the boundaries between realms. Together, they functioned like ley lines—a vast network through which the World Trees exchanged life essence, magic, and knowledge. It was this interconnectedness that gave the trees their strength and, perhaps, the resilience to withstand forces that would otherwise destroy them.

  The Network was a silent guardian, enabling the World Trees to share their energy in times of scarcity or threat. When one tree suffered drought, another rich in Water Essence could send moisture through these roots. When the chill of Frost Essence endangered life, a neighboring tree with Fire Essence could lend warmth, saving the life beneath its branches. But these exchanges were more than physical—each transfer carried with it memories and echoes, a soft harmony that resonated across worlds.

  The roots, the text explained, were akin to veins, carrying mana as blood. Each tree pulsed in harmony with others, and so long as the Network remained unbroken, World Trees could communicate, reaching beyond their own roots to sense, support, and learn from each other. To be part of this Network was to join a song as old as existence itself, one that transcended the limits of individual realms and created a unity across space and time.

  Noah felt a sense of awe as he read. This wasn’t just a network of roots but a living, breathing entity, as though the Network itself had its own consciousness, flowing life from one world to the next in a quiet dance of survival and support.

  As Noah closed The Shattered Roots: Chronicles of Fallen Trees, he let out a slow, reflective breath. The book had revealed a side of the World Trees he hadn’t anticipated—one where sacrifice and loss seemed to intertwine with purpose. each entry a reminder of the strength and frailty of the worlds bound by the portal network.

  Setting the book aside, he took a moment to clear his mind, steeling himself for the final piece of his journey through these records. Reaching into his inventory, he drew out The Eldergrove Histories. This was the last step, the final account he needed to complete his quest.

  The book itself felt different in his hands. It was heavier, its cover a mix of ancient green and bronze, with embossed branches and roots that seemed to extend across the spine and along the edges. As he brushed his fingers over it, he felt a quiet power, as though the book itself held a piece of the tree it was dedicated to.

  Taking a steadying breath, Noah opened The Eldergrove Histories, ready to uncover the last secrets of the World Trees and perhaps, a deeper understanding of the role he had to play.

  Noah opened The Eldergrove Histories to the first page, where elegant, swirling script unfolded the story like a whispered memory:

  "Long ago, before realms were bound by time and distance, there stood the Primordial Tree—the Tree of Beginnings, from which all life and magic flowed. This Tree was the source of harmony, each of its branches an essence unto itself, from Frost to Fire, Life to Shadow. When the Tree sensed the need for balance across realms, it cast forth seeds, each becoming a World Tree to serve as an anchor, a guardian of its realm’s life force and magic."

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The words felt ancient and sacred, and as he continued, Noah sensed that this was not merely a tale; it was the truth of the realms, recorded for all who dared to read.

  "Each World Tree grew in a place destined for its unique essence, its roots binding it to the land, its branches weaving connections to the skies and beyond. Realms that lacked balance found it through the Tree’s presence, drawing life from its core, protection from its essence, and magic from the heart of creation itself."

  The book described how each essence was a lifeline, contributing uniquely to the realms. Noah read about Life Essence, thriving in lush, ancient groves; Fire Essence, burning in lands of molten rock and eternal warmth; Frost Essence, preserving life even in the harshest climates. Each World Tree became a guardian of its realm, extending a part of itself to maintain harmony.

  Noah paused, thinking of his own World Tree, wondering if it, too, carried an essence, a role, a voice within the song of existence.

  "And thus, the World Trees became beacons of life, casting their energy across realms, holding the boundaries of existence firm. They were not alone—Guardians, chosen by the Tree’s spirit, shared its essence, inheriting its strength and dedicating their lives to its protection."

  Noah's pulse quickened. Each World Tree had its own Guardian, bound to it as Noah was bound to his own, carrying within them the Tree’s purpose.

  "It is prophesied," the text read in the curling script, "that before the final breath of the Primordial Tree, it pour its remaining essence and energy into a single, sacred seed. This seed would begin as a World King Tree, holds the memory and life of its predecessor, bound by the ancient song of creation."

  Noah traced the words with his fingers, feeling the weight of their meaning. The book continued, describing the seed with reverence, as though it were both a promise and a legacy.

  "Legends speak of this seed—the World King Tree Seed, a rare and nearly mythical gift—returning only to the place of its origin, awaiting the moment when the realms have need of it once more."

  The final passages felt alive, carrying with them the weight of prophecy and loss. As Noah read, he could almost feel the song, faint and elusive, as though it lay just beyond his reach.

  "Even now," the text seemed to whisper, "Guardians and their Trees hear echoes of that ancient harmony, the call that binds them to protect the life and light of their realms. But beware, for should the song fall silent, it would signal the fading of hope itself."

  He took a breath, feeling the words resonate within him as he turned the page. There, etched into the parchment, were the last remnants of the Primordial Tree’s song—a melody that had woven life into existence. His heart raced, feeling as though he could almost hear it, faint and haunting, a song both mournful and beautiful. It was as if the book were inviting him to experience it, to let it settle within his soul.

  "We hope that, if the stories are indeed true," the book continued, "the realms will one day welcome back the World King Tree, and the heavens themselves will sing in joy for the birth of a new Tree. Only those with open hearts may hear the echo of the song that remains, waiting to awaken those who listen."

  Noah closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in. It felt like a call that reached far beyond the pages, like the song was still living somewhere, waiting to be rekindled.

  But as he opened his eyes, the final passage left him with an unsettling note.

  "There exists another legend," the text read cautiously, almost as if reluctant to reveal it. "It is whispered that the death of the Primordial Tree was not merely an end, but the beginning of something more—a consequence of a new essence. Yet in its infancy, something went wrong. In an attempt to save this essence, the Primordial Tree cast its final seed into the farthest reaches, beyond the grasp of any who would harm it."

  Noah felt a chill. This wasn’t just the story of an ancient song—it was the tale of a new beginning wrapped in tragedy, a birth that demanded the sacrifice of the original Tree. And somewhere in his heart, he wondered if that lost essence, that final seed, was connected to him in ways he hadn’t yet realized.

  The Forgotten Melody

  Noah took a deep breath and turned the page, revealing a new section titled The Forgotten Melody. The words beckoned him, describing a song that was nearly impossible to hum or remember—a haunting piece that resonated beyond sound, touching the soul in ways words could not capture.

  As he read on, he saw the lyrics, or rather, fragments of sounds meant to evoke something ancient and lost. Each note was written in a unique script, curling in elegant loops, as though they were breaths of wind frozen on the page. Tentatively, he began to try to hum it. The melody started slow and low, like the whisper of a breeze through leaves:

  The sound was beautiful but mournful, as if a distant chorus had woven their longing and grief into each note. The melody did not rise and fall in the usual way; instead, it spiraled, repeating itself with subtle variations, a song that seemed to wind inwards rather than build or resolve. He found it impossible to fully follow, yet he was irresistibly drawn to try.

  "For those who seek to know it, this song lingers on the edges of the soul, like a memory beyond reach, waiting for the Guardian's heart to revive its forgotten harmony."

  Dohhh… dohh… tiii... laahhhh… rehh… mi... dohh… sohh... faah...

  As he hummed again, Noah felt a chill sweep over him, the melody leaving a faint echo in his mind even as he fell silent, its last note fading into an unspoken promise of something lost, waiting to be found.

  Rehh… mi... laaah… soooh… faah... dohh... tiii... rehh… laaah…

  This refrain flows into another line, the tempo quickening briefly before settling back to its original pace, evoking a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the sorrow:

  Dohhh… rehh… laaah… dohh... tiii...

  The effect is almost like an incantation—a song not meant to be remembered in its entirety but to invoke a feeling, a connection to something greater. Each line of the song seems to invite the singer to journey a little further into the mystery of the World Trees and their legacy. As Noah hums, he can sense the melody winding through him, as if the very roots of the realms were reaching out, vibrating with the memory of this lost harmony.

  The final verses return to that mournful refrain, almost inaudible, a soft whisper, fading into the silence:

  Tii... rehh… dohh… laaah... soooh…

  The song finishes like a breath held too long, releasing into silence, leaving Noah with a sense that the melody had once filled all worlds with life and that it might, just possibly, one day do so again.

  As Noah closed The Eldergrove Histories, letting the last echoes of the melody fade into silence, a faint, otherworldly tune drifted to him from afar. The gentle hum was unmistakable, its resonance woven with the essence of the song he’d just read. The Tree of Knowledge was singing back.

  The sound was delicate at first, like leaves rustling in a gentle breeze, but as it grew, so did its power—a chorus of countless whispered notes rising and falling in harmony. The melody swelled, threading through the roots and stone, filling the library with an ethereal echo that seemed to bypass sound altogether, settling into his very bones.

  Noah’s heart beat in sync with the rhythm, each pulse reverberating with a feeling of connection deeper than he’d ever felt. It was as if the ancient tree acknowledged his journey, recognizing him as a part of the legacy it guarded. The song wove through him like a memory unearthed, carrying with it fragments of wisdom, sorrow, and hope.

  As Noah hummed in perfect sync with the Tree of Knowledge, his heart beating in time with the melody, the sound traveled through realms and dimensions, weaving its way into places where even light had struggled to reach.

  Back in the Library -

  Noah’s voice trembled with the weight of the song as he hummed along with the Tree of Knowledge, and he sensed that he was no longer alone. His heart swelled with the knowledge that all of creation sang with him. The Library itself resonated, each page and shelf alive with the pulse of the melody, a bridge across worlds, carrying the legacy of the trees and their Guardians.

  The song faded slowly, its echoes lingering in every realm as the World Trees returned to silence, yet the bond remained—a promise, a reminder, and a shared memory of hope. And as the last note dissolved into stillness, Noah felt a deep peace, knowing that, even if only for a moment, every world had remembered the song and felt its unity.

  Noah sat down, panting slightly as he caught his breath, the weight of the song still pressing softly against his chest. It was as though he’d glimpsed something eternal and unchanging, a harmony woven through every world and every life. The melody lingered, leaving a faint hum in the silence around him, echoing in his mind. It was soul-moving, the kind of song that made him feel whole and connected to something vast, something that went beyond himself.

  But he wished it hadn’t ended.

  With a quiet sigh, he closed his eyes, allowing the memory of the song to settle into the edges of his thoughts. He could feel its lingering warmth, like a fire’s last glow, soothing him in a way he hadn’t thought he needed. For just a moment, he felt utterly at peace

  Noah stretched, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling the stiffness from resting in the Library’s seating.

  Across from him, the old man sipped thoughtfully from a glass of golden liquid, raising an eyebrow as Noah stirred. “Sleep well?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement.

  Noah straightened, still trying to shake off his grogginess. “I guess I must’ve needed it. Time... slipped away a bit.”

  The old man chuckled, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “Time does tend to play tricks in places like these. Seven hours left, if I’m not mistaken.” He glanced knowingly at Noah. "Enough, but just barely, if you’re focused."

  Noah nodded, feeling both a jolt of urgency and a flicker of gratitude for the unexpected rest. “Thanks for… watching over me, I guess.”

  “Oh, think nothing of it,” the old man replied with a wave of his hand. “I simply thought you might need a moment to let everything sink in. Now,”

  “would you like a cold glass of sun melon juice” he smiled taking a sip of his juice.

  “what is sun Melon” Noah asked

  The old man chuckled, clearly pleased with Noah's curiosity. “Ah, Sun Melon—a rare fruit found in the warmest realms, where the sunlight seems to soak right into the soil. They say the fruit tastes like a mix of citrus and honey, with a touch of warmth, as if it held onto a piece of the sun itself.”

  He took another sip, savoring it. “The Library keeps a few choice fruits around for those who know where to look. This juice, in particular, has a rather energizing effect. Perfect for those with a deadline, wouldn’t you say?” He winked, holding out a second glass filled with the same golden juice.

  Noah took the glass, curiosity overtaking his hesitation. He brought it to his lips and took a tentative sip. The flavor burst onto his tongue—a refreshing, slightly tart sweetness with a warming aftertaste, just as the old man described. It was both calming and invigorating, as if it carried the essence of a bright summer day.

  “That is… really good,” Noah admitted, feeling a renewed alertness already stirring in him.

  “Glad you approve!” the old man replied.

  “so young man what is your plans now?” as he hums slightly

  Noah leaned back, considering the question. “I still have to finish my quest. There’s so much to process already, but I want to learn everything I can before time runs out.” He took another sip of the Sun Melon juice, the warm aftertaste lingering as he gathered his thoughts. “I’ve learned about the World Trees, the essence they hold… and even this song that connects realms. But something tells me there’s more.”

  The old man nodded, his eyes twinkling with a knowing glint. “Indeed, the Library seldom leaves one wanting, and it’s keen on rewarding the curious. If you’re looking for more, there’s a certain… depth you might explore. Unfinished pages, perhaps?” He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Or… testing what you know. After all, knowledge is as much about practice as it is about reading, wouldn’t you say?”

  Noah considered his words, a flicker of excitement stirring. “You mean… a trial of knowledge?”

  The old man leaned back with a satisfied smile. “Precisely, young man. A chance to see just how much has taken root. It won’t be easy, but I suspect you’ve gathered more than you realise. The Library has a way of rewarding those who truly seek.”

  A new window blinked to life at the bottom for Noah's sight, opening it the quest updated

  The old man chuckled, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “Ah, trials of knowledge… always seem mysterious until they’re right in front of you.” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “In truth, young man, the trial begins with a single question.”

  He raised a finger, as though about to share a secret. “You must simply declare that you are ready to begin, and the Library will do the rest. It’s woven into the magic of this place. So, whenever you’re ready, just say the word, and the trial will unfold before you.”

  “the question is are you ready for it?” the old man ask

  Noah looked at the old man, feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. The weight of all he’d read, the stories of Guardians, the melody of the trees—it all seemed to culminate in this moment. He took a deep breath, glancing around at the countless shelves, the wisdom housed in this ancient Library.

  With a firm nod, he met the old man’s gaze. “Yes,” he said, voice steady despite the flutter in his chest. “I’m ready for the trial.”

  The old man smiled, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Very well, young man. Let the Library hear your conviction.”

  As Noah’s words settled in the air, the space around him seemed to shift. The quiet hum of the Library grew, vibrating softly as if responding to his resolve.

  As Noah's words hung in the air, the Library seemed to come alive, the very walls humming as if acknowledging his decision. A subtle vibration ran through the floor, building into a gentle rumbling. The shelves around them shifted, slowly rotating and reconfiguring, their movements measured and deliberate. It was as though the Library itself was preparing for what was to come.

  Before he could fully process the changes, two tables materialized before them, the chairs rising and moving back to make room as if guided by invisible hands. The tables settled in place, their surfaces polished and gleaming in the dim light.

  “What… what’s happening?” Noah asked, glancing around, his curiosity and awe mingling with a hint of nervousness.

  The old man gave a relaxed smile, sipping his juice as though entirely unbothered by the Library’s sudden transformations. “Oh, the Library’s merely arranging things,” he said with a calm nod, casting a glance around. “Nothing to worry about. It always takes a bit of time to prepare for a trial.”

  Just then, five doors began to rise from the floor in an arc before them, each one unique, with intricate designs etched into their frames. The old man’s gaze lingered on the doors, his smile widening as if savoring a familiar sight.

  “It seems,” he murmured, “your trial is ready.”

  Noah watched, wide-eyed, as the Library seemed to come alive around him. Shelves swirled in a graceful dance, a silent orchestration of wood and ancient texts. The tables settled before him, each one lined with thick tomes, blank parchments, and inkwells that shimmered with a faint, silvery light. The doors, each unique in design, rose from the floor, standing tall as though they had always belonged in this space.

  He glanced at the old man, who simply observed the unfolding scene with a serene, amused smile, as if this were all perfectly ordinary.

  “What… what are these doors for?” Noah asked, looking back at the old man, whose eyes sparkled with a mixture of encouragement and mystery.

  “The Library’s trial has many paths,” the old man replied, gesturing at the five doors. “Each door represents a different aspect of knowledge. They test your understanding, your patience, your creativity, your memory, and your wisdom. Behind each one, a unique challenge awaits—only when you pass them all will your trial be complete.”

  Noah’s heart pounded as he took in the five doors. Each bore a unique symbol: a quill and scroll, a maze, an ancient tree, a glowing crystal, and a mirrored surface that reflected back his image, though slightly distorted, as though urging him to look deeper within.

  “Which door will you choose first?” the old man asked, watching Noah intently, his gaze sharp yet warm.

  Noah hesitated, feeling the weight of each choice pressing upon him.