Chapter 1 #2
She looked at the seed, then at the muddy ground. This was insane. But everything was insane. The white void, the AI, the monsters, the magic purse—what was one more impossible thing?
"Okay," she said to the seed. To herself. To the empty field and the uncaring rain. "Here we go."
She set it on the ground.
"Grow."
The warmth in her palm flared up her arm, through her chest, and down into the earth. The pecan split. A shoot emerged, pale green and impossibly fast. It thickened, branched, leaves unfurling in a rush of living green. The trunk widened, bark forming in real—time. Branches spread.
And then it wasn't just a tree.
The trunk hollowed and shaped itself. A door formed—round, with a brass handle. Windows appeared, shutters already in place. The canopy rose higher, and she realized the top was covered in pecans, clustered thick.
The whole thing took maybe five minutes.
She stood there, rain pouring down, staring at the treehouse. It was long and low, built into—grown from—the pecan tree. The round door looked like something from a fairy tale.
A gust of wind nearly knocked her over.
She ran for the door.
The door swung open easily. She stumbled inside, slamming it behind her.
Darkness. Almost complete darkness.
She stood there, dripping on the wooden floor, shaking so hard she could barely think straight. Her eyes struggled to adjust. Faint predawn light filtered through shuttered windows—just enough to see shapes. Corners. The suggestion of furniture.
The air smelled of wood—fresh cut timber and something deeper, earthier. Like a forest floor. But it was cold. Just as cold as outside, but without the rain and wind. She could see her breath, and her teeth chattered. The wet dress clung to her skin like ice.
Fire. Need fire. Need to see. Need heat.
She fumbled with the purse again, reaching inside. Her fingers brushed seeds—so many of them, all different shapes and sizes. The warmth pulsed with each touch, and with it, knowledge.
Acorn. Walnut. Sunflower.
Sunflower. The warmth that came with that one felt... brighter. Hotter. She pulled it out.
Normally she would never set a seed directly on a hardwood floor. It made no sense—no soil, no water, nothing to root in. But the knowledge thrumming through her palm said it would be okay. The magic said trust this.
She set the sunflower seed on the floor near where she thought the fireplace might be—she'd seen a dark alcove. "Grow."
The warmth flared again, rushing down through her arm and into the floor. The seed split. A thick stem pushed up, fast and strong, leaves unfurling. The flower head rose, broad and bright yellow—suddenly she could see, the flower itself giving off light as it grew.
Then the seeds in the center began to glow. Soft at first—a gentle amber, pretty. Then brighter. Orange. The air around it shimmered with heat.
"Oh—" Her eyes widened.
The glow intensified. She could feel the heat from two feet away now, and it was building fast. The wooden floor directly underneath—was it starting to smoke?
"No no no—" She lunged forward and grabbed the stem.
Hot. Too hot. She gasped and nearly let go, but wrapped her already—torn dress hem around her hands and yanked. The sunflower pulled free easily—no roots, just magic—and she stumbled toward the stone alcove.
It was a fireplace—she could see it clearly now in the amber glow. And set into it, an oven with an iron door. The door was stiff but it opened. She shoved the sunflower inside, glowing seed head first, and slammed it shut.
Through the small gaps around the door, amber light leaked out. The metal began to tick softly as it heated. She stood there, breathing hard, looking at her reddened fingers. Not quite burnt. Close.
The stem was already crumbling to ash on the floor where she'd dropped it. Just... dissolving. Gone in seconds.
The oven glowed. Faint warmth began to radiate from the stone alcove—just the barest hint of heat, but it was something. She turned, finally able to see the room properly in the dim amber light.
The interior was larger than it should be. The walls curved gently, following the tree's natural shape, smooth and finished. Pale wood, warm toned even in the low light.
The stone fireplace alcove to her left, the oven still glowing faintly through its gaps. To her right, a wooden platform against the far wall—a bed frame, raised slightly off the floor. No mattress. Just bare wood slats.
Closer, a counter with a sink. An actual sink, carved from a single piece of wood, with a graceful basin and a simple spout curved over it.
In the center of the room, an island counter made of burl wood, all natural edges and swirling grain.
Two matching chairs tucked underneath. A rocking chair in the corner near the fireplace.
A tree stump beside it, the perfect height for a side table.
Windows with wooden shutters, still closed against the storm.
It was beautiful. Sparse, but beautiful. Like something from a fairy tale cottage. And still freezing, though the oven's warmth was starting—just barely starting—to take the sharpest edge off the cold.
She sank into the rocking chair, wrapping her arms around herself. Her dress dripped puddles onto the floor. Her calf throbbed. Her hands stung, but there was light. And the promise of warmth.
Wait, what was she doing? She couldn't afford to sit! The amber glow from the oven was comforting, but it would be a while before the room was actually warm. And it was still so dark—just that faint light leaking from the iron door's gaps. She needed more light. Needed to see what she was doing.
And blankets! She definitely needed blankets. Something dry to wrap around herself.
Wren pushed herself out of the rocking chair, wincing as her scraped palms protested. Back to the purse. This time she moved more deliberately, sorting through the seeds by touch. The magic helped—each one announced itself as she brushed it. Maple. Pine. Morning glory. Lantana.
She paused. Lantana felt... bright. Cheerful. But not quite right.
Poppy. Iris. Japanese lantern.
Japanese lantern. Yes! The warmth that came with that seed felt like light. She pulled it out and crossed to the wall beside the rocking chair. Set it on the floor next to the tree stump table and watched hopefully. "Grow!"
The stem rose quickly, sturdy and green. Papery orange lanterns bloomed along it, clustering together like flowers. As they formed, they began to glow—soft, warm orange—yellow light. Not harsh, but gentle, like candlelight, but steady.
The room brightened immediately. She could see properly now—the grain in the wooden walls, the smooth curve of the counters, the way the burl wood island gleamed.
She shivered. Magic or not, she needed to get warm now. She reached into the purse again, pulled out seed after seed until—
Blanket flower. The name came with the warmth, and she almost laughed. Of course. Of course there would be a blanket flower. She planted it near the bed platform, because if this worked the way she hoped...
The plant shot up tall, taller than the sunflower had been.
The stem was thick, sturdy. And as the flower head formed, she saw it wasn't petals that unfurled, but rolled blankets.
Each one a different color—cream, soft blue, rose pink.
They were arranged like petals around the center, which held tightly rolled sheets.
And in the very middle, pillowcases, also rolled up tight.
It looked absurd. Beautiful and absurd, like a flower arrangement made of bedding. She reached out and tugged one of the blankets free. It unrolled in her hands—thick, soft, perfect. Warm even though it had just grown.
A sound escaped her throat, half—laugh, half—sob.
She pulled down more blankets, sheets, working quickly.
The outer "petals" for the mattress layers.
Sheets to cover them. More blankets to pile on top.
The stem began to crumble as she worked, the flower head drooping and dissolving once she'd harvested everything.
Within minutes she had a bed. The piles of blankets looked so inviting, but she had so much left to do.
She grabbed one more blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling it tight.
There! That would help. The room was starting to warm.
Just barely. The oven ticked and glowed.
The lantern plant cast gentle light. She was still wet, hurt and scared, but she had light, warmth, and a bed.
It was something. She stood there, wrapped in a blanket, and took stock.
The windows were still shuttered, but she could see brighter light leaking around the edges now. Dawn was coming properly. The rain had softened to a drizzle—she could hear the difference in the sound in the tree branches.
Her stomach growled. Loud enough that she looked down at it in surprise. When had she last eaten? Before the game. Before the white void. Before... everything. She needed food. And water—she had the sink, but nothing to drink from. No cups, no bowls, nothing.
And she was still soaking wet. The blanket helped, but her dress was plastered to her skin underneath, cold and clammy. She needed dry clothes, something to change into while this dried.
The purse was still slung across her body. She pulled it around, reaching in again. So many seeds. The possibilities made her head spin. Focus. One thing at a time.
Food first. What did she know that grew food? Her mind went to normal things—tomatoes, carrots, potatoes. But those took time to grow, didn't they? Even with magic?
Then she remembered the tree. The treehouse had grown from a pecan. And the roof was covered in them. She looked up at the wooden ceiling—could she get to the roof? Was there a way up? No. But she could go outside.