He forced his gaze back to the hatchling, its tiny form now still and sated, its vitality steady, reassuring glow under his talent.
At least you're okay, little one.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it faded as quickly as it came, replaced by the pressing need to push forward. The pouch at his belt hummed faintly with the warmth of the remaining Essence Crystals, a reminder of untapped potential.
If I can summon something, it could hunt for me. Protect me. But the seed comes first. Heal it, and I'll get my Sanctuary.
He knelt beside the Territory Seed once more, its fragile shoot trembling ever so slightly in the dim light filtering through the canopy. The soil around it felt alive, pulsing faintly with absorbed vitality, and Karl's hands hovered over it, channeling his Breath of Spring in gentle, controlled waves.
The cracks in the seed's surface sealed further, the shoot stretching upward with agonizing slowness, its green glow brightening like a dawn breaking. The prompt flickered in his vision:
[Evolution Countdown: 0 Days, 05 hours, 15 minutes].
Excitement surged through him, a hot rush that drowned out his exhaustion and the gnawing hunger in his gut.
Five hours.
By nightfall, I'll have the Sanctuary.
I'll be able to summon something.
He grinned, a quiet cheer escaping his lips, the spark of hope burning brighter than it had in days. But then, a sudden thought jolted him like a slap—Oh shit, I'm an idiot.
I forgot to use that skill.
His new Vital Touch skill that can help him restore his stamina. Why didn't I think of that sooner?
He pressed a hand to his chest, focusing inward, drawing on the faint reservoir of qi tied to his Intelligence. A pulse of energy sparked, warm and invigorating, spreading through his limbs like sunlight melting away frost. His muscles steadied, his breathing deepened, the fog of fatigue lifting just enough. The prompt updated:
[Status Panel]
Name: Karl Varn
Lord Level: Bronze II (0/10)
Strength: 10 (3 → 8)
Agility: 11 (3 → 7)
Vitality: 14 (2 → 8)
Intelligence: 9 (8 → 4)
With renewed resolve, he called the Breath of Spring to life again, pouring every last shred of strength and will into the seed.
This time, it was different—like a hidden law of nature had recognized his determination. A surge of vitality exploded outward, not merely growth but creation itself, raw and unrestrained.
The air vibrated with an ancient resonance, as if the forest itself had drawn in a deep breath. The ground shuddered, splitting as luminous roots burst forth, twisting outward like titanic serpents, embedding themselves into the earth's marrow.
From the seed rose a colossal trunk, thick as a fortress wall, climbing relentlessly toward the heavens. Bark layered itself in ridges and knots, scarred yet magnificent, each groove glowing faintly as though etched by divine hands.
Branches unfurled like the arms of giants, spreading wide to weave an emerald canopy that swallowed the sky, casting the world below into sacred twilight.
Vines slithered down in perfect harmony, braiding themselves into natural ladders, bridges, and spiraling steps that invited ascent.
And then, from the living heart of the tree itself, the sanctuary emerged. Not built but grown—a vast wooden refuge cradled among the branches, its walls pulsing faintly with the same vitality he had poured into the seed.
Windows flickered with soft light, railings entwined with flowering vines, and the entire structure seemed to breathe, alive and adaptive.
It was no mere shelter. It was a citadel of life itself—a bastion of safety, power, and wonder, towering above the wilderness as though the gods had sculpted it to house their chosen.
He stood beneath it, chest heaving, dwarfed by its might. This was more than a treehouse.
It was the Treehouse Sanctuary, a living fortress, a sacred throne carved from the marrow of nature, bound to his very soul.
Karl staggered back, eyes wide, awe and disbelief colliding in his chest.
The towering sanctuary loomed above him, a living monument to his will—but the cost hit him like a hammer. His body sagged under the profound drain, every muscle screaming in protest, his breath shallow, mind fogged as though he had sprinted a marathon, without pause. The prompt flickered in his vision:
[Evolution Countdown: Complete]
[Treehouse Sanctuary Unlocked: Level 1]
It… it worked. Faster than he could have imagined.
He reached instinctively for the nearest vine ladder, the tendrils cool and firm beneath his fingers, but his strength betrayed him.
Arms trembled, legs turned to lead, and exhaustion swept over him in crashing waves. He pulled himself a few rungs upward before slipping back down, landing on the mossy earth with a muted thud.
"Too tired… need to rest first."
He fumbled for a golden fruit from his pocket, its skin warm and yielding under his fingers. Biting into it, the sweet, nutty flesh burst across his tongue, easing the ache in his stomach and sending a faint trickle of energy through his veins. He chewed slowly, savoring the melon-like juiciness, letting it ground him.
Glancing at the hatchling one last time—its coos soft and peaceful now—he decided to relax for a bit before exploring the new sanctuary.
Curling up near the fire's dying embers, the warmth flickering against his skin, he kept his spear within easy reach. The forest's restless hum faded into the background as sleep claimed him, deep and restorative.
Even in slumber, a rare smile lingered on his face, the tension easing into genuine relaxation for the first time since his arrival.