Kael woke slowly, and for a few seconds he remained lying still, allowing the damp, all-too-familiar heat of Racines to settle over him, a heavy, persistent warmth that seemed to have seeped into the very fibers of the walls and that never truly faded.
His gaze drifted absentmindedly along the greenish veins running across the uneven ceiling of his hollow, where sap flowed slowly, casting a dim, muted glow, too weak to fully illuminate the space, yet constant enough to keep true darkness at bay.
"Three days," he murmured under his breath.
This time, he was old enough. In three days, his life would change. He would finally leave the depths of Racines and ascend to the very top of Yggdrasil, looking down upon the world that had been his for eighteen years from the height of his rise.
Three days before the Harvest, and yet nothing seemed to signal any kind of change. Neither in the stagnant heat of Racines nor in the slow circulation of sap above him did anything truly feel different, as though the world itself refused to grant the event the importance he gave it. Kael remained still for a moment, watching the dim light as his thoughts wandered, because the Harvest was not merely a trial or a selection, but the only real option, the only way to escape an existence otherwise set in place, the only chance to break away from what had always been.
Once a year, the Watchers descended or rather, they appeared low enough to be seen, and that alone was enough to remind everyone that the Tree did not end with Racines, that beyond these damp galleries there existed another world, one most would never know except through incomplete accounts, distorted retellings repeated until they hardened into truth. Their arrival marked the beginning of the Harvest, a time during which anyone from the lowest strata of Yggdrasil could present themselves for the Trial, gaining the possibility of becoming a Watcher in turn.
Their role remained unclear. Some whispered that they maintained the balance of the Tree, whatever that meant. For Kael, only one thing mattered: those who were chosen were taken to the Crown, and they never returned to the lower levels. "Succeed or perish" those were the words spoken by the Watchers when they accepted a candidate. Those who were taken never came back, and that absence, rather than inspiring doubt, only strengthened belief, the belief that life above was entirely different, that the Tree ultimately recognized those who were meant for it, and even if no one here could confirm such claims, no one truly tried to deny them either, because they were necessary, because they gave hope, the hope of escaping what they were.
Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Kael inhaled slowly, feeling the heat fill his lungs, his body trembling with both anticipation and unease.
In three days, he would have the right to step forward, to leave Racines or at the very least, to die trying.
And even though everything around him reminded him that he was nothing exceptional, with no lineage, no inheritance, no alteration, even though his life had begun among refuse, abandoned before he even had a name, he could no longer accept that this alone should define what he was meant to be.
So instead of trying to understand what set him apart from the others, he let the thought settle on its own, without needing to justify it, with the same quiet certainty as everything else.
In three days, he would try anyway.
Kael remained still for a few more seconds, then slowly pushed himself up, letting his feet touch the ground before standing without any real urgency.
Sounds were already drifting through the corridor, children's voices blending together, some still sluggish, others already too lively.
A sour smell lingered in the air, familiar, almost expected, the paste being prepared somewhere further down, a thick mixture whose warmth was already spreading through the cavities, promising a meal that would be the same as yesterday, and likely the same tomorrow.
Kael moved toward the opening, pausing briefly before stepping out. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself before starting his day.
A few seconds later, he stepped into the corridor, immediately met by the stagnant heat that never really left Racines, even heavier here, where more than fifty people lived in close quarters. The children were already gathered near the common area, some standing, others seated on stumps used as makeshift chairs around a large table of dark resin.
The younger ones spoke freely, their voices rising and falling without pattern, while the older ones kept to the side, watching more than they took part.
At the center, several women between their twenties and fifties, the Sisters, worked around the still-steaming containers, slowly stirring the paste to keep it from hardening too quickly, their movements precise, repeated without end, as if no words were needed. The sour smell grew stronger the closer one got, mixing with the damp scent of the walls.
Kael paused for a moment, letting his gaze pass over the room, recognizing faces without really focusing on any of them, then stepped forward and picked up an empty bowl like everyone else.
"You're late."
Kael turned slightly toward the voice and recognized Sister Maelin, bent over the containers, sleeves rolled up, moving the ladle in slow, steady motions.
"Didn't sleep."
"The dreams again?" she asked quietly, slowing just a little.
He nodded, eyes down.
Sister Maelin had always worried about him, never saying it outright, but it showed in the way she watched him, in the way she stepped in when needed without making a point of it. She had been the one to bring him in, found among refuse and taken back to the orphanage when he was still an infant, and she had taken care of him in those early years until he could manage on his own. Since then, she kept an eye on him, the same as the others, but not quite the same, sometimes a softer word, a slightly larger portion, small things slipped to him when no one noticed. In Racines, that was enough.
She glanced at him, then went back to stirring.
Kael held out his bowl.
She filled it.
"You on duty today?"
"Yeah. Conduits."
She paused.
"Don't like you down there. You know how bad it is."
Kael shrugged slightly.
"Took what was left. Not like I had a pick. I'd rather do deadwood. At least you see something out there. Not just the same rotten tunnels."
She gave a faint smile.
"Then show up earlier next time."
Kael looked at her for a moment.
"Ain't gonna be a next time."
She stopped.
"You decided? You're going?"
"Yeah."
A short silence.
"It's my only shot. Next year's already too late. If I'm getting out, it's now."
She raised her hand a little, like she meant to reach for him, then stopped. A tear slipped down her cheek, quickly hidden behind a small smile.
"If it's you… you'll make it. Now eat. While it's warm."
Kael nodded and walked away without looking back, the bowl in his hands.
Kael moved away from the table without looking back, his bowl in one hand, weaving through the others without really trying to avoid contact, everyone naturally finding their place in the slow, disordered movement that marked the start of the day in Racines.
He found an empty spot along the table, away from the other children, and sat down quietly, leaning back against the warm surface as he glanced at the faces around him without lingering, bringing the first bite to his mouth. He had never really fit in at the orphanage. Introverted by nature, he didn't know how to start a conversation, or keep one going. He had tried, more than once over the years, but it had never worked. Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that being alone wasn't so bad. So he spent as little time as possible there.
The paste was still warm, dense, slightly grainy, and its taste never really changed, a mix of heavy carbohydrates, protein from crushed insects, and fibers from discarded crops. It was enough to get through the day, never enough to look forward to, and he ate without rushing, without disgust either, like completing something necessary.
Around him, the noise didn't fade. The younger ones kept talking without restraint, some already arguing, while the older ones ate in silence, conserving their movements as much as their energy. Further away, the Sisters continued working without pause, filling bowls one after another in a steady rhythm.
Kael finished his meal without really thinking about it, set the bowl down with the others, then stood up, briefly wiping his hands on his pants before leaving the common area.
The corridor narrowed for a moment before opening into a wider passage, marking the exit of the orphanage, and Kael stepped through without slowing, leaving behind the confined space he knew by heart for the disordered sprawl of Racines.
The corridor finally gave way to the outside, and Kael crossed the threshold without hesitation, leaving the suffocating heat of the orphanage for the heavy, humid air of Racines.
All around him, massive roots burst from the ground in every direction, some as large as houses, others thinner, twisted together into a dense network around the colossal trunk of Yggdrasil, whose base rose above everything, disappearing quickly into a height the eye could not follow.
The structures had adapted to it.
Crude huts, built from fallen, decaying wood, clung between the roots, pressed against them or suspended on fragile supports, their surfaces already worn by constant humidity.
Wooden platforms had been built at different heights, connected by narrow walkways, allowing movement above the ground and away from the mud, and some climbed gradually along the trunk, leading into the first higher levels of the tree, toward Sap, the layer above Racines.
The ground was no better.
Covered in a thick layer of rotting leaves, it formed a dark, permanently soaked soil, mixed with organic waste and stagnant water, making every step heavy, every footing uncertain, and the smell never really went away.
Kael stepped into it without hesitation, moving with the ease of someone who had grown up here, avoiding the worst patches without even thinking.
Around him, the city was waking.
Figures moved between the roots, some carrying wood, others tools or containers, their clothes stained with mud and damp, their movements precise despite the conditions.
Encircling the massive trunk of Yggdrasil stood a wall of thorns.
Dense. Thick. Interwoven so tightly that no opening could be seen.
It formed a continuous barrier around Racines, rising well above the structures, dark and impenetrable, and even from where he stood, Kael could make out its uneven mass, almost alive, as if it were still growing.
They said the Prophet Gaius himself had raised it.
That without it, nothing here would have survived what lay beyond.
To Kael, the thorn wall was as much a protection as it was a prison. He had never seen what lay outside it. In his entire life, it was the one thing he had never seen.
Above him, the branches of Yggdrasil stretched endlessly, forming a thick canopy that blocked out any direct light, letting through only a dim, cold glow that never really changed.
Racines lived in that constant half-light.
Kael kept walking, blending into the flow of people, heading slightly downward toward the work areas where groups were already starting to form.
Just a few more days of work, and he would finally be free from the mandatory duties of the lower levels.
That was how the Tree of Life was structured. Everyone had a role.
Each level of Yggdrasil was separated from the next by clear physical boundaries, as well as by the conditions of life and the people who lived there.
Racines was the lowest layer, where people were born with nothing and stayed unless something broke that fragile balance. Above it came Sap, higher, more stable, where homes were less fragile and resources less scarce.
After Sap came Trunk, the domain of merchants, where families lived in wealth. They were the richest people one might occasionally see down in Racines, acting as a link between the lower levels and the upper reaches of the Tree of Life.
Above Trunk stretched Branches, exposed, where the air was said to be clean, and where long-established dynasties held their place without question.
And at the very top lay Crown, inaccessible to most, seat of the Holy Church and palace of the Gaius dynasty.
Kael had never seen anything beyond Racines.
The people of the lower levels were tolerated as long as they stayed in their place, as long as they kept doing what others would not, and from the age of sixteen, it became a daily obligation. Duties were assigned every morning without exception, and refusing was never really an option.
Work. Maintain. Clean. Carry. Dig.
The task didn't matter, as long as the system held.
For most, it was simply the way things were.
Kael walked on without slowing, carried by the flow of people, already focused on what awaited him—and on what was coming.
In three days, none of this would matter to him anymore.
Or he wouldn't be there to care.