Khar has become a very good diplomat over the past few months. With Frida's masterful craftsmanship, he's been able to barter for knowledge that was otherwise unavailable to me. The beastfolk village, while an ally of the loosest sense, is very much isolationist. Under Poppy and her council's leadership, the city is almost completely unknown to its human neighbors.

Saea's presence down south in Anslo has also produced very useful sources of information. She's still finding her place, but from the letters she's sent me via message owls, she's been spending no small amount of time at several of the libraries. An interesting aspect of the situation is how the books that she's deemed of great interest to me get to me. I've learned that there's a postal system within Rykensvik and, albeit for a decent amount of coin, postmen will travel as far as Gelwood. Kateda has been my runner to and from that rural town.

These books are all historical accounts of events or documented renditions that came years later. With more than a dozen in my possession, I've been able to piece together bits and pieces of who I am, and who I was. The stories of the Father of the Forest, the God of Nature, and Life, all depict a benevolent treant who not only shared his power willingly and unconditionally but actively challenged the rise of the dragon.

The books lightly touch upon Odis, the dragon who ascended to godhood. I've yet to learn how a dragon became a god, but what I do know is that the Odissian Pantheon is relatively new and ascended to near global dominance after my death. How I died, however, is still shrouded in mystery. The pair of books Falcher brought back from Huma also go into encyclopedia-level detail of the world's history but both end before the Age of Monsters, this world's fifth era. The frustration grew ever larger when I discovered that this world is in its seventh era. To complicate it further, there is no consistency between each era and all seven of them vary in length. Only world-altering events dictate the change of eras.

Winter is almost upon us, and the future is not in my hands alone, but in the hands of my companions whose favor I must court whilst they must also gain favor with the greater powers of the world itself. An intricate puzzle with more pieces appearing every day.

I hope Simadger is still doing alright.

An icy wind sharply blasted through the open windows of the home tree, breaking the treant's focus on the journal before him. He raised his wooden head and turned to look outside. Nearly all the leaves had fallen from the trees. A cold and damp fog had also set up overnight. The lake shimmered in the early morning rays of sunlight, unobstructed by the old-growth forest that Oakengrove grew himself during the summer. Since Falcher's return, Frida, along with some of the Huma refugees, chopped down trees for lumber to build a more permanent residence.

At first, Oakengrove protested the idea. He didn't want to draw more attention to himself and starting his own town will do just that and then some. However, there was nowhere else they could go that would not only ensure their safety but not add to the issues already brought forth by the Basar Clans. That and Sura also promised to help him with the fight.

He stood up from his desk and walked over to the window. Even in the crispy cold air, birds still chirped like it was the first day of spring. He heard the bluejays assert their dominance over the mourning doves and black-capped chickadees. The treant took a deep breath. The tingle of frost coated his chapped wooden lips and left an icy glaze on his ivy beard. Then it all melted away with a warm exhale.

For all the moments he spent in admiration of the beauty of nature outside his room, the rampant thoughts became still and quiet. Every subsequent breath felt refreshing. His gaze drifted down towards his left hand. A rotten texture had overtaken one of his knuckles. The spongy squish felt repulsive and itchy. Then his thoughts returned. He looked back over his shoulder at the room.

At the start of the summer, it was empty and only had a few improperly made furniture items that he tried growing himself. Six months later, books filled half of the room. Most of the collection came from the beastfolk village. Some of those books were empty journals he filled with his own thoughts and musings. Six months of studying for a life he once lived. Thinking about amnesia infuriated him. Even as he tried to calm himself time and time again, his mind would drift to a blank memory filled with emotions, happy and sad alike.

Oakengrove let out a heavy sigh, catching himself trying to scratch off the rotten bark. "Leave the scab alone and it'll heal on its own," he reminded himself aloud. He then firmly pressed his knuckles to it, hoping it would push the itchiness away. "A risk worth taking, but I should refrain from any further necromancy."

He then looked up towards a shelf above the desk. Fast asleep on a bed of moss was a small white enoki mushroom, its feet rooted into the soil the ceramic pot held. He smiled softly and then took a seat at the desk, returning to another day of studying and journaling.

I've not spent my days idling away. I take each one as it is, striving to make the most of it. Some days are more successful than others. Some days are completely lost to the darkest depths of the mind, where the love of self goes to die. I sometimes wonder why I am back, why I was even gone. I ponder these questions with intent that breaks not just my mind, but my heart as well. With no provable answer, I can only say that I exist selfishly. I exist because I willed it so.

I ponder my purpose then. I know myself now to be not just the Father of the Forest, but the god of nature itself. What does that entail? What is my domain? What is the absolute extent of my power? I see the coming winter not as a warning of the harsh future ahead of me, but as a time of respite well deserved. As each day becomes shorter and shorter, I feel myself growing more and more tired. I fear that throughout winter, I will hibernate away with this exhaustion.

I see Enderia in my dreams. A dark elven goddess whose domain is over the shadows and the darkness of night. I see her ragged body lying motionless on a cold stone floor and I sense she is dying. She hasn't visited me since the earliest days of summer and even when she did; she didn't stay for very long. I worry because she called me brother. Who is she to me?

The books I have detail everything about this world. I have, in my collection, history, science, mathematics, agriculture, and fictional stories. However, the histories and fiction overlap in ways that I can't separate. I read and read and read even so, the true history of this world is lost on me. The pieces I know about me are from my return trip to the Basars. I gathered what I could, but actual written texts about Florism are limited, some are outdated, some are outright contradictory, and others speak in gibberish.

Even gods have wishes, wants, and desires. For me, I want my memories back. I hate not knowing who I was, not knowing what happened to me, not knowing who the people closest to me are. Weirdly enough, it's almost humanizing. That's what Kateda called it, at least.

To be human, to know you've only lived once, is a profound treasure. I don't know my old self and honestly, I can only hope my old self is as virtuous as my current self aspires to be. I want to be the good guy, to be the hero in some of these tales. Not for the glory or bragging rights it often brings, but because of the joy that fills this wooden heart of mine every time I do something that helps those around me.

Leave it to fear to put a limit to my willingness. I hesitated with Sura and her caravan of refugees solely because I feared for my preservation. I crave longevity only because it means I have more time to learn about my old self and the reasons why. I have been quiet with those beneath my command, but I worry that if I showed weakness, they'd turn.

A lack of trust breeds contempt and inevitably leads to betrayal. I know this, yet my pride, this image of a strong forest god that I created and aspire to be, stops me from going to them. Saea is the only one who's seen me in any weakened state, except for when the necrotic dragon nearly did me in. If there was ever a time I showed my soft side, it is when my heart bled for a poor slime on the side of a well-traveled road...

***

5th day of the Month of Seeding, 2E 2182

King's Road outside the town of Vellium, Republic of Oskary

The dusty orange road continued alongside the rolling plains for miles uninterrupted. With an entourage of mounted cavalry men at its flanks, the carriage rolled quickly across the dirt road in all of its gilded and opulent radiance. The carriage driver relentlessly kicked the reins of the six horses pulling it, keeping its speed high.

The dirt and gravel road carved its way through a thick old-growth forest. On either side of it, the tree line had been clear-cut twenty feet back. Grass was growing again and the first signs of spring were making themselves known. Yellow dandelions popped up everywhere. Buds sprouted on frosted tree limbs and the rodents emerged to forage in the meadows.

A pair of brown eyes, filled with childlike wonderment, watched the change of seasons from the cover of the forest's undergrowth. Craggy wooden fingers curled around the still-frozen branches of the tree. A slender framed treant ducked its head below a tree branch and looked out into the clearing, towards the rapidly approaching caravan.

Standing only four and a half feet tall, the Treant blended in with the edges of the forest as a sapling. His leafy beard, despite its comedically patchy and all-too-short length, gave legitimacy to his natural camouflage whenever he stood motionless. Less stealthy than him was a blue-green slime blob resting beside the road, munching away on a dark blue mawer, a type of wildflower that releases raw magical energy. The treant licked his lips, seeing a few more around the slime.

The clattering of hooves progressively grew louder and louder, causing the treant to shrink back into the treeline. The slime, however, continued its meal, oblivious to the threat rapidly approaching it. A loud grunt of the carriage driver and a hard yank on the reins brought the carriage to a grinding halt. The caravan guards dismounted and approached the slime with their weapons drawn.

The treant watched in abject horror from the sidelines as the guards stabbed and slashed the slime into small globules. He balled his fist and his eyes flamed into a vibrant orange. He ran out from the sidelines, rushing one of the five guards and brought down his wooden fist into the back of the first guard's head. The fully armored guard buckled over and bounced off the gravel road. The other four spun around and aimed their swords at the treant.

The treant reached down into the ground and pulled up two very long and thick tree roots, ripping them free of their respective trees. He cracked them like a whip, staring down at his foes. Then the closest armored knight's armor began to glow and radiate heat. He screamed because he couldn't take it off and roasted alive very quickly.

The remaining three guards dropped their swords and ran for their horses. With his two thorny vine whips, the treant cracked one after the other, hitting two of them, gouging chunks from their plate armor. He did not pursue it. He stood his ground and stared down at the caravan's driver. In a mad scramble, seeing two of his guards eliminated before they could even react, kicked the horses into a sprint.

The treant stepped aside to let it pass, its guards following in fear. Then the treant turned to the destroyed slime creature. He closed his eyes and held out his hands, grabbing the two largest chunks of slime. Green magic coursed through the cracks in his bark-like skin. He spoke no words, letting his intent guide the magic.

Invisible hands pulled together the smaller pieces of ooze and formed two large pieces. Then, with all of it in his grasp, pushed the two halves together, reforming the slime creature. He set it down, plucked a mawer, and plunged it into its gelatinous body. He observed bubbles appearing as the flower dissolved.

A shiver-like tremor shook the slime's whole body as a pair of beady black eyes formed, staring up at him. Green streaks rippled through the blue body, giving it a more lively appearance. Surprisingly, the slime jiggled in excitement and adjusted its form to resemble the armored knights. It stood in a humanoid form and examined its new limbs.

The treant stood up, now equal height to the slime creature. He cracked a smile and held out his hand, saying, "What say ya?"

The slime tilted its head, repeating the words it heard, "Say ya." A feminine voice gurgled out, which surprised it and the treant. Then it moved its arm and grabbed his hand, encasing it entirely in blue slime. Unlike the mawer, however, his hand was not being devoured. "Say ya," it said again.

The treant nodded. "Oakengrove," he said, placing a hand to his chest. Then he pointed to the slime. "Saea." He dropped the extra oomph to the second word, giving the slime a rather unique name.

The slime glowed brightly with green and blue light for several long seconds, then the glow dissipated. The slime looked at her hands and a bolt of lightning cracked between her palms. "Saea," she repeated.

***

I saw the memory in a dream state. Even in its fragmented mess, some of it is assembling itself. I remember Saea as nothing more than a wild blue mana slime. Before my powers gave her shape and a mind, she existed solely in response to the extra mana the planet expelled. Mana slimes of all colors devour these flowers called Mawers, a very creative name I know. Mawers are the planet's way of displaying the amount of mana present in it. As the world that uses more and more magic, the more mana is present.

When the Age of Humanity hit its peak, as noted by a floral specialist's research, Mawer almost disappeared entirely. I originally believed the flowers would disappear with increased usage of mana, but without people to draw it out through usage, the world's mana supply instead enters hibernation. I struggle to wrap my head around how that even works. Makes me wonder if the flower channel the planet's mana like a wizard's staff.

If not for Khar and Falcher, I would be in the dark. I owe them both so much for their work. In many ways, I feel as though I've given them so little for their efforts. Even Frida has provided more to them than I. It makes me wonder if they resent me or question my ability to provide. I thought about just asking them outright. However, with Simadger still away, I fear that any questioning about my capabilities might sow the seeds of doubt rather than absolve me of my anxieties.

I speak of trust and I continuously find myself incapable of giving it. Yet, when I first found them, I displayed a level of trust that I wish to have again. I was so excited to have new friends back then. I remember the feeling of loneliness. Even though I was trouble-free, basking in the freedom and beauty of living wild, I lacked the companionship that is commonplace for all living and sapient creatures.

My spells allowed me to communicate with the surrounding wildlife, but it never worked long term. At some point in my history, I ventured closer and closer to civilization, drawn to both early human settlements and the longstanding beastfolk towns. According to the history books, before Huma achieved its famous empire status, humans migrated southward from the continent of Phodus to this continent, Fylkirfold. Once humans mastered sailing and star charting, they colonized the world. Some places were more successful than others.

Fylkirfold became home to the coastal raiders that currently occupy today's shorelines. History repeats itself in fascinating ways. Cultures shifted over the tens of thousands of years that humanity remained dominant. From what I see today, versus what the history book says, humanity didn't just lose its technological progress, it regressed its societies to what it was like before it ascended to dominance.

I note this as the world is on the precipice for humanity to return to the throne. Khar's reports on the information he's gathered from not just Poppy's town, but other beastfolk villages painted a picture of the patterns of imperialism returning to Huma. I suspect that while not a direct response to Falcher's presence, I'm sure that both his and Sura's involvement in the incineration of New Haven has not helped. If they follow Sura's path to me, then that is one more enemy that I'm not sure I can fight back against.

This reminds me, I have a lot of prep work to do and never enough time to do it. Since I visited the heart of the Basar Territory, I've been using most of my mana to make these woods untraversable to anyone but the most daring. I've scattered pricker bushes, poison ivy fields, and even carnivorous plants. That last species of plant was a surprising discovery. Wasn't even purposefully trying to get one, my willpower summoned one. Now I wait for wildlife to take residence in this forest and aid in my defense.

I'll count the days until the showdown. Mark my words, High King Oswald Jorgenson, at high noon, we duel...

~Oakengrove's Journal, 14th day of the Month of Feast