Ren woke, staring at a wood-paneled ceiling. His instincts screamed at him to stay still–something was off. Lifting his head, his eyes traveled down his chest–leeches pulsed across his body. His head swam as he clung to consciousness, a twitch between his legs, his eyes slid down between – his vision narrowed to a point of light, his body reflexively tensing, he needed to –

  "Don't do it."

  A deep, gravelly voice off to the side halted his train of thought. He wanted to get away.

  If I roll over the side of the table, maybe I can –

  "Be at ease, pink one; my leeches are healing you."

  Ren's mouth ran ahead of his brain."Where am I? What happened? Did I – did I die again?"

  As he spoke, the Incredible Hulk in a brown duster–no, Hulk's lanky cousin Slim, reluctantly leaned up against a near wall, lifting one foot to rest flat against its surface.

  His gaze cast down, the figure reached into the leather duster's breast pocket, pulling out a simple, flat case with a wooden surface polished to a dark cherry red. Fingers wrapped in runes, matching the case's colour, flipped open its lid before slipping a rune-stick between gritted teeth.

  He puffed a white ring towards a nearby window – his eyes followed it as he spoke, "How recent was your death?"

  "Uhhh, recent? Time and I have been having a hard time as of late." Ren stated without confidence.

  The orc sighed heavily, and as he did so, a smaller ring shot from his lips, parted in an O, and passed through the first ring, lazily drifting towards the window. "What does that mean, pinky?"

  "Pinky? Is that some kind of racism?" Ren tried changing the subject.

  The orc lowered his eyes, “Racism? Is that a skill? Look, the names Draven, I’m a [Summoner] – why are you here?”

  Ren just blinked. A [Summoner], what is he talking about –

  Ren’s mind went to the metallic voice in his head, the one he’d heard after almost dying. At a loss for words, he stupidly repeated the question, “Why am I here?”

  “[Dispell Summon: Circuleech],” In a flash of light, the leeches covering Ren's body vanished, minor bite marks their only traces.

  Ren sat up, legs dangling over the edge of the table. He glanced down at his naked, wiry physique, no longer emaciated, with a look of surprise on his face. His body was chiseled with tightly packed lean muscle, all sharp lines and flat surfaces.

  “You were in rough shape, mostly skin and bones, covered in rags, scraps of leather worn through, bound to your feet.” Draven gestured towards a pile of clothing, then pointed his thumb towards the door, and a pair of flip-flops. “I had some clothes delivered, those odd sandals were with you – neatly placed on your chest…”

  Ren dressed himself from the pile of clothing. There were trousers and a V-neck, complete with a kimono. Sinching the sash around his waist, he turned to face Draven, “Thanks for your help, and for feeding me –”

  Draven cut him off, “I didn’t feed you. I assumed you ate some food, prepared with a high level of skill. Though why you would have waited so long…”

  Ren screwed up his face, “There was a biscuit.”

  Kicking off the wall, the orc approached Ren, who was around five ten, and had to look up to meet Draven's –

  Ren froze, a vision washed over him: he was in a pool of thick goo that bubbled and stank like rotting vegetation. Mist swirled, forming ghostly visages, arms wide, reaching up – Ren tracked their gaze, up into the night sky, an aurora borealis danced and swirled like emerald curtains. The Sun was there – but it was night? Ren’s attention was distracted, pulled to – a meteor crashed into the atmosphere, burning up, it was too large, it was headed right for –

  "Deep roots…"

  Ren staggered, looking into mismatched eyes in the style of the twin moons, soft white and deep-sea blue.

  Draven stood staring, a single eyebrow raised to his forehead, arm outstretched, looking at Ren, who extended his arm, still shaken from the –

  Draven clasped his forearm, gladiator style, allowing Ren to steady himself against a boulder-like stance.

  "Deep roots, [Summoner] Draven – I’m – [Echo Runner] Ren."

  Draven gave a nod, his grip lingering a bit longer than necessary; Ren responded with an awkward smile.

  Nothing to see here.

  Draven broke contact as he walked to the corner of the room, speaking over his shoulder.

  “I’m retiring to the mezzanine – join me if you wish.”

  Ren took a moment to look around the room. A workbench sat along one wall–schematics plastered behind it–each depicting flying machines: zeppelins, derigibles, a mechanical bird. The bench had metal tools scattered across its surface. His eyes moved to a nearby bookshelf, lined with jars, monster parts, leather-bound tomes, and long square cases stacked and labeled with colorful runes.

  As he descended the steps, he could see their base, awash in a galaxy blue glow. Reaching the bottom stair, Ren stepped down into an empty room, save for a floor table running the length of the far – force field, not walls, but shimmering translucent panels framed on all sides by thin bars of light, the source of the glow at the base of the stairs. Their light cast a pale reflection across the fields, tinting the world beyond.

  But before Ren could appreciate the scenic view, Draven circled to the back wall, and Ren followed. A kitchen spanned its length, not just a kitchen, a work of art. It was as if Darth Vader turned into a transformer, and his final form? Sleek rectangular cabinets with shining reflective surfaces, above and below, leaving a counter-top bathed in light. Draven slid open a panel at eye level, filled with dishes, "Grab a pillow, I'll be right there."

  Ren was awestruck at the transition from room to room. He didn't know what to expect, but not this. He headed toward the table, eyeing a floor pillow. As he approached, movement from outside caught his attention—a miniature zepplin floated by, carrying something suspiciously like a pizza box. Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze away. Finally, Ren took in the landscape, or treespace as it were. His first impression, Neo Tokyo splashed over an Ewok Village.

  The ground was nowhere in sight; it was as if he floated amongst the clouds. Trees ladders to the heavens – dotted the landscape. Platforms intermittently ringed their girth, each containing a perfect suburb, flush with plants, people, and warm, inviting lights —a promise of comfort and rest, a place to relax and call home.

  Ren snapped his mouth shut before kneeling atop a pillow. Ren’s gaze was drawn up to where the delivery drone had vanished before, a small traffic jam: a roller derby of steampunk dirigibles jostling for space, their goal a small takeaway counter.

  An orc, covered in nothing but shimmering runes and a canvas apron, approached the head of the line, holding a handful of stacked trays. One by one, dirigibles were loaded, their utility baskets eagerly accepting hard-won prizes, the servers' motions practiced and swift.

  A balcony bathed in the glow of restaurant signage, their buzzing mana-core’s a constant din to the hustle and bustle of the evening traffic. Tables arranged in neat rows, filled with patrons, painted a mosaic of joy and conversation; the sounds of food sizzling in the kitchen accenting it all.

  The floors, walls, and siding were all transparent – either rune-fields or plaglass. All the building's angles were bubbled, seamlessly descending to form a bustling house of entertainment and flavor.

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  Bright signage, the logo—a cheerful alligator wearing a chef's hat, flanked by orc runes that lent an air of authenticity. Long red rectangles painted down the length of the plas-glass showcased the busy cooking staff who moved like dancers behind the counter, preparing culinary delights for the eclectic mix of customers.

  The clanking of cups drew Ren’s attention to the smell of a leather duster. Draven was sitting next to him, green legs crossed, as he poured. Golden brown liquid flowed from the cutest little turtle pot Ren had ever seen – it smiled in an apron, while holding a mini kettle of its own, the detail was exquisite down to its brightly painted nails.

  "About those deaths?"

  Draven’s voice, like rocks sliding down a ravine, interrupted Ren’s musings.

  Taking a deep breath, he recounted his tale: arriving in a patch of blackened ground, being lost in a sea of grass, the attack by bands of light, discovering the edge of the swamp, and finishing with his mad dash from the mosquito swarm.

  “How did you get into the swamp?”

  “How did I – did you hear anything I just said?”

  “Look, Ren – was it? I don’t really care about your story. Even if I did, you wouldn’t want my help. I’m an outcast, a stranger in this city – I can be of little help to you.”

  Ren sipped his tea before bringing the cup down to touch the rim. This was one sad, “You’re an orc, right?”

  Ren observed the orc, gauging his response. A slight twitch in Draven’s otherwise disciplined face told him it may have been a bad question.

  Draven answered slowly, “Yes. What else would I be? A bald beastkin?”

  Ren cast his eyes over the city, examining the incomprehensible symbols more closely; they resembled Chinese characters? With a touch of tribal banding thrown in for good measure, as if the language's architect were unable to settle on a motif. “Where exactly are we?”

  Draven's response was crisp, “Murkspire.”

  Ren winced at the one-word answer, still distracted by the views of the outside, “Is something wrong, Draven? Did I do something?”

  The orc turned to look at him, a blank, emotionless stare, “No.”

  Ren tried shock and awe to get him to open up, “I’m from Earth.”

  Draven sighed, like the last gasp of a dying orc. Ren flinched–this guy really didn’t want to talk anymore.

  Ren sat alone on the mezzanine. Draven had excused himself after a short and painful conversation. He had learned he was in a tree city, Murkspire, and that city was inside a swamp – Sinking Gods Mire. Ren reflected on the goliath presence that had touched his mind.

  “I guess I’m inside that place?”

  He didn’t like the sound of that, but as his eyes drifted back to the city beyond, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace – the hustle and bustle of a big city, always a comfort to him.

  He reflected on the other details he could remember from his conversation with Draven. There had been a teering? No, it was a tearing, the land shook – blah, blah, he’d tuned most of it out; there was too much to accept right now.

  “I think I need to run.”

  Ren had never been the exercise type, but after his adventures in the grasslands and their revelations – well, a new world, a new him.

  Stepping outside into the dim swamplight, Ren tossed his new slides onto the front porch with a casual flick. He paused, taking in his surroundings. Houses arched around out of sight to his left and right; he was getting suburb vibes. Looking behind him, those vibes were called into question by the towering trunk in their backyards.

  Directly ahead, past the front street, a view similar to the one from the mezzanine below.

  Scanning the horizon and its broader front yard view, he spotted a tree standing proud, the hub of activity, much like the spoke of a wheel—its branches reaching out to connect with pathways leading from every direction.

  The proud tree bore an elevator descending slowly, a wide, flat plank shimmering with translucent light, casting a rectangular shadow.

  As Ren approached the edge of the neighborhood, his eyes were drawn to an island of commerce and industry. This was a city proper, a real metropolitan kind of place, with towering buildings and lizard-drawn carriages moving through streets; their signs aggressively flashing, organizing the chaos around.

  A rustling from behind drew his attention, a brown bear in a pink kimono irritably fussed with a trash can lid before turning and shuffling back inside.

  “Not sure I’ll ever get used to – any of this.”

  Shaking his head, Ren stepped into his sandals and froze –

  [ Soulbound Item Obtained --> Fated Sandals ]

  Ren startled in alarm. Were his sandals – shrinking?

  He tried to kick them off, flailing like someone who’d just discovered a spider crawling over their skin. Hopping from foot to foot, the sandals wouldn’t budge. They relaxed a bit before squeezing down again, their colors flickering: red, orange… they covered the spectrum, before settling down.

  Ren stopped his jig as the – whatever had finished. Neck bent at ninety degrees, he stared hard at his feet. Flexing his toes, he lifted one foot, then the other.

  “Huh, like a glove.”

  He wasn’t sure about the ins and outs of flip-flop running, and he did have some concerns; mainly, what was a soulbound item, and what were these sandals fated to do?

  Ren, eager to stretch his legs, headed for the nearest bridge. The sandals would have to do for now – it was time for some exploring!

  Overhead, peeking from behind a nearby house, a single red cockpit light flashing, a small football-shaped dirigible motored after him.

  Ren ran across bridges and around neighborhood platforms, like Pac-Man; he appeared at one border, only to pop the distant side – it was madness!

  The City was a maze, and Ren loved it; colorful wooden signs, their raised lettering etched in fine detail. Signs hung up high, down low, overhead, and were carved into just about every post and corner imaginable – it was an arcade of glowing runes, flashing lights, paint, plas-glas, and materials he couldn’t begin to grasp. Some of the signs he could even read! Thanks to the common tongue –

  The what?

  “Is this English?”

  Ren put those thoughts behind him, a question for another day. Enjoying the sights and sounds around him, and the feel of his new strength and flexibility.

  Ren was passing through his new favorite neighborhood for the second time. It reminded him of a seaside town, each balcony with a palm tree, paper lanterns lighting their branches, while families of beastkin and orcs engaged in the whole gamut of neighborly activity. One set of houses strung zip lines between their two rooftops, where children could be seen laughing and swinging from side to side. The children's joy and acrobatic behavior were infectious, and Ren decided to join in the fun.

  “[ Electric Pace ].”

  Ren blurred, like Sonic the Hedgehog, his feet barely touching the ground, as he cut towards a gap in the houses. He leaped, ping ponging himself across various surfaces – as he redirected himself to the rooftops above. Sandal’d foot hitting a corner, Ren vaulted at the trunk behind the house– only to run around the tree itself!”

  A sandal’d gecko on glass, he clung to the perpendicular surface before launching himself at the closest bridge. His feet in a blur, he hit the railing at a run, looking down as he moved, pulled by the allure of the district below.

  His core pulsed, the feeling now slightly familiar, as the aether swirled around him. Ren was a DJ and a part-time service sector worker, not a death-defying trapeze artist. To any of the City's busy residents, you’d never know it if you saw him in that moment.

  A group of the Keepers Watch, off duty, drinking horns in hand, paused to comment on what they assumed was another titled rank. ‘Why is he up on the railing?’ said one. ‘He’s probably got a climbing skill to test,’ said another. ‘I think he might jump,’ a bearkin in a floppy hat chuffed, ‘Yeppers, there he goes.’

  The Keeper watched as Ren dropped off the side, feet first, spread in a Y. His legs like sails on the wind, guiding him to his target – the tallest building, its windows and balconies full of the coming and going of commerce and trade.

  Ren’s legs spun seconds before contact; he hit the side of the building at a run. His sandals gripped the building with ease, propelling him along – his hands still in his pockets, casually as you please.

  The smell of sweet treats and tasty meats had his attention – the time for exercise was over.

  Like any seasoned building runner or Assassin’s Creed gamer, Ren searched for an awning to bail him out. As luck would have it, the alley below had several. Kicking off a balcony, Ren canonballed himself at the nearest one, its striped canvas a welcome boon.

  Ren didn’t know what to expect, as he braced himself for the worst, but instead was catapulted up into the air. The magical artisan responsible for this yellow and white purveyor of shade and protector of wares knew their work and had prepared their creation for any eventuality.

  Ren felt a brief sensation of weightlessness before falling to the ground. He looked to the side, at a beastkin couple locked in love's sweet embrace, staring mouths open from their fourth-story apartment. Ren gave a wave before plummeting to the ground below, arms pinwilling.

  “Oh, no no no, AHhh!”

  Ren popped up like a spring; the impact was surprisingly easy to catch. He didn’t know his own strength anymore and wasn’t entirely sure where it came from. He’d lost weight and gained muscle, running around in the grasslands, but that didn’t explain his ability to run on buildings and launch himself from heights that would have a seasoned trapeze artist questioning their pay.

  The sounds of street vendors shouting their wares caught Ren’s attention. He headed in their direction, as he dusted off his kimono and checked himself for injury.

  Ren exited the alley into a high volume of pedestrian traffic. His vision blurred, and everything—heights, shapes, colors, fur patterns, stride lengths, and sizes—melted into a mélange of activity.

  Ears catching up to his eyes, the shuffling of sounds—a distant cheer, bicycle bells chiming, wheels rolling, cart bells jingling, and dishes clanking. Boggwalk Platform-A003 buzzed with life.

  Ren stood fixed, firm, a single lucid island in a sea of haze.

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