Chapter 99 - Great Spirit Of The Pond (Patreon)

Jiran stepped into the Valley of Melodies. His aura expanded in every direction, the information it fed to his brain caused him to flip around in a blur of movement. A group of unusual people inhaled sharply at his sudden action. They jerked away from him with what he assumed was fear or terror. It was hard to tell since the only outward change to their appearances was vibrating… leaves?

Leaves and bark sprouted from their heads and shoulders, and in two cases, actual tree branches. Jiran blinked repeatedly as he took in the sight of the humanoids before him. In most regards, they appeared human. If you could ignore their skin growing and shedding leaves like a tree cycling through the seasons every few seconds.

One of them, a woman or girl, he honestly couldn’t even begin to guess at her age, raised a finger to point his way. The skin of her arm grew vibrating foliage that fell to the ground even as her mouth opened in a haunting lullaby. Coating flashed across his skin. After his recent brush with a mental attack, he wasn’t going to take any chances with unknown sentients. Within moments, he discerned it was not any kind of attack and relaxed his guard with a sigh.

Nobody else moved as the woman continued to sing at him, which gave him a few seconds to take stock of his surroundings. The people were all lower-tier, their movements so slow he felt a tinge of impatience waiting for them to do something other than sing and point.

He could see a second group of the same species a bit in the distance, they appeared to be waiting for access to the pond he stood within. A wounded man, held aloft by three of them, dripped brown blood onto the forest floor.

At the feet of the group directly in front of him, an injured woman was half-submerged in the water. Several members of the group still knelt over her, though they turned their faces up to look at him after the woman began to point and sing.

He took a closer look at her. Cracks ran along her cheeks like bark. They were reminiscent of delicately drawn lines from a master craftsman. If he had to call the marks anything, he would have thought them distinguishing or outright beautiful. Now that he was looking more closely, he was a bit surprised to find them all extremely attractive with perfectly symmetrical, delicate features and long flowing silver hair. The leaves that grew and vibrated across their skin gave them an otherworldly appearance that was impossible to turn his eyes from.

[Vacant Timberling] (Tier 3 - Sapient - Wary) (280/280) A failed species incapable of complete integration. Subjugation recommended.

Failed species? Integration into what? Madra? The system? Subjugation? That’s… a lot to unpack. Why couldn't they have been good old-fashioned elves? Why does everything always have to be so complicated? And what’s with the wary tag? The implications of all this are going to send me down a rabbit hole I don’t have time for right now. I have no idea how long I was in those trials, I have to prioritize getting to Niya.

They wore finely decorated robes and leathers with few gems or jewelry. Based on the style and detail, he assumed they were as advanced as the empire, at least in textile technology. Only one of them had a weapon, a long knife that could have been for butchering or crafting as easily as combat. That weapon was not drawn, and until it was, Jiran saw no reason to appear hostile himself. He brought his palms level with his waist and moved them in soothing motions.

Looks like they use the teleportation node as some kind of healing center. Which I’m sure I thoroughly fouled. I bet they’re pissed.

“Sorry for barging in. I won’t be interrupting whatever you’ve got going on here for long. Uhh, I’m Jiran of Feylon. Pleasure to meet you all…”

They showed varied expressions to his words, some shaking their branches and leaves, others frowning and skewing their faces in unfamiliar expressions.

Yeah, they don’t understand a word I’m saying. I could just leave, but when I come back, it might be at the point of a dozen spears. Would rather make a decent first impression. I can at least spare five minutes.

The woman singing had stopped with her mouth hanging open when he interrupted her. The second he stopped talking, she began anew in a shrill pitch that caused Jiran to frown. Suddenly, a single word appeared amid her long, keening note; ‘Why?’

It was strange to hear someone singing, then without their mouth moving in any noticeable way, a word popping out. Jiran assumed it was his new dialect upgrade hard at work and eagerly awaited more clarity. When she stopped singing a moment later, he huffed.

Just a little more, don’t stop now!

“Still not picking up what you’re putting down. Keep talking, we’ll get there pretty soon. Might help if more of you talk-err-sing at the same time.”

A young boy jumped in place while singing a rapid trilling melody. The instant he stopped, another took up the song, then a third a moment later right as the second finished. They transitioned from one person to the next so smoothly that it all blended together into a single, delicate chant.

They’re not big on singing at the same time. Maybe they consider that rude. Noted.

The first woman who had sung at him turned to a young man at the edge of the group. She pointed into the distance and sang.

“Soaaalara fetch the meeeralo, stop standing there like a fiiiiibalaa or you’ll not see the suns for a week!”

Nice, almost there.

When she finished singing at the boy—who was already scampering away—Jiran tried again.

“Sorry for intruding, I mean you no harm. My name is Jiran of Feylon and I’ll be gone from here soon. How may I address you?”

Whew, way better than the first try. Glad they couldn’t understand me before.

A barrage of flashes appeared in his interface and system notifications. He checked the system first.

Charisma: + 3

Woah?! Seriously? After everything I’ve done in my life to add up to forty-two, that little greeting netted me three? Why? Wait, I’m still at zero percent growth, how did I gain attributes without any density dedicated to growth?

Moving to his interface, Jiran focused on the blinking ! in the corner of his vision.

[Entity Vacant Timberling has increased its affinity toward you. Wary > Indifferent.]

The message repeated twelve times, once for each of the people standing before him. The group once was songless as they processed his words which he hoped had come through as clearly as the woman’s last sentence. After several seconds of silence, the woman dropped her pointing finger like it was on fire and hastily sang—though now Jiran only heard occasional notes amidst her relatively normal talking.

“Jiran of Feylon, we hear you. May your shade be cast at last, far and far. This one is known as LuuuuuuaarrraaaLuuuaatorrraaapa. We beseech you as we greet you, Bond of the Spirit Pond. Our mother is wounded and we have come seeking your leeeeeamaro. Would you bless her? That she may live to shade another glade?”

Uhhh, what? Can you pronounce that name six or seven more times for me? I think I bit off way more than I can chew here. Olive would probably know exactly what to say here. It’s okay, I got this. All I have to do is make a good impression so I can come back without being stabbed by an army of these people. The woman is obviously injured, should be an easy enough fix. Few percent of my mana so I can come back without worrying about the locals seems like a worthy trade.

Every single one of their heads bowed low, foreheads gently touching the pond's surface. They hummed in harmony, causing ripples to spread across the water as they waited. Not trusting himself to move slowly enough that they wouldn’t be startled, Jiran lifted himself with aura and hovered over to the injured woman.

Leaves sprouted, grew, shook, and then fell like snow in a blizzard as they watched him approach through the reflection of the pond. His hand came to rest on her exposed arm and a thread of Coating—as delicate as he could make it—slithered through her body.

She was very much not a human. She was built in layers like the rings within a tree. Each layer served a different purpose and for several of them, he had no way of knowing what that purpose might be. She had organs, but each was trapped within its own separate layer as if they had grown one at a time.

Her injury pierced through her core and nearly out her back. It bled sticky, sap-like blood that invaded the layers around the wound, infecting each with multiple layers that were definitely not supposed to mix. To heal her, he would need to separate all the damaged tissues and put them back where they belonged.

Jiran flexed his new mental prowess to its absolute limit as he split the single thread of coating into a hundred filaments that wormed into and around the hole in her torso.

“Today is her last day, Great Spirit. No healers would sing to her heart ring. Your powers, they are not like ours, the price, I am ready to pay thrice. Take my life, I give it, if my mother you save from the grave.”

“Enough with the rhyming! Can't you see I’m trying to focus here? Your voice is impossibly distracting,” Jiran’s voice was strained as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

She opened her mouth to sing, then clamped her lips shut even going so far as to smack a hand over her mouth. She then nodded vigorously with raised brows. Jiran shook his head slowly with a sigh before refocusing. After spending a dozen seconds mapping out the mixed layers, he felt ready.

With the image of moving tissue, separating mixed organs and fluids, then regenerating everything as a human would, Jiran began.

“Restoration.”

Jiran manually guided his mana through one layer of her body at a time, refusing to allow the automated technique to wreak havoc—potentially doing more harm than good on her alien biology. He used the hundred threads of his coating to work on each layer’s organ, separating out what did not belong and moving it to where it should be before sealing them.

Sweat steamed on his brow before evaporating as his brain heated from the incredible strain. He had no idea how much time passed as he lost himself in the procedure. The woman’s healthy, flushing skin told of a tale of steadily improved health, which gave him ample motivation to press on.

Eventually, the last layer of her skin was sealed and regenerated, bringing the woman’s skin to a delicate pink flush as new leaves immediately began to grow across her. Jiran fell back into the pond, allowing the water to cool his steaming head. A wooden platter of fruits nearby caught his attention and he floated it over to land on his chest. He munched on the delectable pulp, juices flowing down the sides of his face as he gazed at the sky.

Charisma: + 4

[Entity Vacant Timberling has increased its affinity toward you. Indifferent > Trusting.]

More Charisma? Because I healed the woman? Is it increasing when I do things for others? Is that why it’s so low? Whatever, I’m in way too good a mood to care.

That was so awesome. That woman is breathing, healthy, and fully healed because of me. I feel amazing. No wonder Niya wanted to be a healer. Fighting is pretty fun, but saving a life is definitely a notch above. Niya… I’ve been here long enough. I need to go find a real meal and use revelation. This fruit is only tier three so it won’t even be enough to get back the five percent I used to heal her.

Well, I’ve done what needed to be done, knowing these people probably trust me is good enough. Mission accomplished, time to go.

Jiran lifted himself out of the water to hover above the platform. The actions of the group of twelve strange people spread a soft smile across his face. They were all crying, the leaves and branches that sprang from their bodies vibrated as if caught in a swift wind. None of them sang a word, but they each wore a look of gratitude that transcended racial barriers. Their eyes latched to his every move, shining with a silver intensity that made the skin on his back prickle and his hair stand up on end.

Charisma: + 8

Twelve messages populated within his interface, each the same. [Entity Vacant Timberling has increased its affinity toward you. Trusting > Adoration]

Okay, seriously? What is going on here? I think I need to turn off these notifications, they’re starting to creep me out.

Jiran turned away from the intently staring eyes and placed his hand on the gem-topped pedestal. He sighed with relief as he saw the familiar Finlest Empire and Jeweled Isles locations alongside his Sanctuary. He looked up at the timberlings one last time, seeing the children in the group sparked a thought that he couldn’t leave without voicing.

“I’ll be back at some point. Make sure you don’t let any kids play over here, okay? It’s dangerous when the portal opens. You can’t see it, but it's here. So just keep them away, okay?” Their creepy gazes intensified with each word he spoke. When it was clear none of them were going to sing again, he shrugged, fed eleven percent of his mana into the gem, and stepped through the opened portal.

. . .

Luara Luatorapa watched the great spirit of the healing waters vanish from sight as easily as it had appeared. When it first arrived before them, she thought it a destitute snag, free of the ornaments of the seasons’ grace as it was. What else was she to think? All who were not a beast had some adornment of the seasons upon them. Anguish and loathing churned in her heart at how foolish she had allowed herself to be in those first few moments.

Now, gratitude overwhelmed her thoughts as she poured her mana into the ground and water, determined to give all that she was in thanks. Their offerings had been eaten with eagerness but she knew that was not enough. How could a few paltry fruits ever repay what had been given?

Her mother was not a highly-valued member of the caste, yet her worth far outstripped Luara’s. There was only one way to bring balance to this cycle of rebirth; she would dedicate herself. She had made a promise to the great spirit, a life for a life. For the first time in her long existence, she had found a song worth singing and she would sing it proudly.

The spirit spoke of danger from the poaertall beasts. It warned of them coming to harm the saplings. She would spread its songs of wrongs to all who would listen. Then, when it returned as it promised, she would greet it with all who chose to believe. For in belief, there was power. She knew in her heartwood that this was the way. She had watched the spirit as it fed off her worship. With each moment she had observed it, its shine swelled as her faith welled. Its stature, bearing, and beauty intensified so greatly at the end, that it pained her to look upon it.

She knew what needed to be done. The spirit would return, and they would be waiting.