198 Roots Beneath the Canopy
198 Roots Beneath the Canopy
Qilin took the lead again, waving for me to follow as if the earlier confrontation beneath the Divine Forest King had been nothing more than a formality. “I’ll show you around,” he said, already moving. “But first, lunch.”
“I should see Boarhead first,” I replied, falling into step beside him. “And apologize.”
Qilin glanced back, surprised, then nodded once. “That’s… probably wise. He should be in the mess hall.”
As we walked, Huston’s presence lingered in my thoughts like an afterimage burned into the mind. I couldn’t shake the enormity of his power, even knowing he was capped at six. That kind of dominance wasn’t raw output; it was mutation refined by extreme technique, power sculpted into inevitability. If that was what one overlord looked like, I could only imagine what the others had become in their own domains.
“Tell me about the other Overlords,” I said after a moment. “What are they like?”
Qilin hesitated, eyes scanning the path ahead. “There isn’t much to know,” he replied. “Only that each of them is a peer to the Divine Forest King.”
“That’s not an answer,” I pressed. “You’ve been here long enough. Throw me something, anything.”
He sighed, conceding. “The Kingdom has the Mad King, Lear. Candyland belongs to Whimsy the Sinful, eccentric doesn’t begin to describe her. And the Urbanites…” His voice lowered slightly. “They answer to someone called Gameboy. Mysterious, even by Lockworld standards.”
He slowed his pace, expression tightening. “Be careful,” Qilin added. “Especially in unexplored regions. The three factions are enemies, but we’ve been locked in a kind of stasis for nearly ten years. That balance can break suddenly.” He glanced at me sideways. “That’s why I pushed for you to join us.”
I considered that as we passed under a lattice of branches reinforced with metal struts. “What does Foresthome’s military look like?”
“Twenty-nine capes,” Qilin said without hesitation. “Eight combat-capable. Myself, the Divine Forest King, Snap, Whisperer, Firefist, Boarhead, and two others who are roughly my equal.”
He snorted quietly. “Boarhead’s strong, too. He’d be at our level if he weren’t so carefree and stupid.” The humor faded quickly. “He’s been suffering from an incurable brain injury. Even Huston couldn’t fix it.”
I absorbed that in silence. “And the other two?”
“You’ll meet them soon enough,” Qilin replied.
As we moved deeper into Foresthome, people began to greet him openly. Adults nodded with respect, some stopping him briefly to exchange words, while children ran up without hesitation, tugging at his sleeves or calling his name. They looked at him with open admiration, as if he were something solid and dependable in a world that rarely allowed such things. He responded easily, ruffling hair, crouching to listen, smiling without effort.
“You’re loved here,” I remarked quietly once we had some space again.
Qilin shrugged. “You could have that too,” he said. “If you put in the effort.”
I watched him as he spoke, realizing how deeply rooted he was here. This wasn’t like Seamark, a base of convenience and shared survival. Foresthome was family to him, more than I thought he’d ever allow himself to admit. Still, I couldn’t reconcile that with the man I had met before, the one who had lost almost everything. He wouldn’t so easily let go of Seamark, or the memory of the murderer who had slaughtered his capes, his people.
“I mean no offense,” I said carefully, “but why aren’t you angrier at me?” I kept my eyes forward. “I know parts of your memory are gone, and that might affect your judgment. But if you remember what I did, you should feel something. At least a desire for revenge.”
Qilin stopped walking.
For a moment, I thought I’d miscalculated. Then he turned to face me, expression unreadable, and asked quietly, “Do you believe in reincarnation?”
“No,” I said flatly as we resumed walking. “I don’t believe in reincarnation. Same goes for souls or gods.”
Qilin hummed thoughtfully beside me. “An atheist,” he said, not mocking, just noting. After a moment, he added, “I think the past me and the current me are different people. In that sense, I’ve undergone reincarnation.” He kept his eyes forward as the canopy shifted overhead. “The missing memories probably have something to do with the lack of hate. But more than that, it’s my love for Foresthome. This is where I grew up.”
He slowed slightly, then continued, voice quieter. “I was dropped into this world as an infant. No parents, no explanation. Huston found me.” There was no bitterness in his tone, only fact. “It wasn’t easy. I was called a freak. Worse things too. My growth rate was abnormal, far faster than a normal infant’s. That scared people.” He exhaled through his nose. “Rumors spread. Demon child. Monster’s son. The truth was simpler. It was my power working on me overtime.”
I glanced at him as he spoke, noting how carefully controlled his posture was. “It only stopped recently,” Qilin added. “The growth, I mean.”
I didn’t comment, but the answer was obvious to me. The power cap of this prison world had finally caught up with him, clamping down on whatever unchecked potential he once had. Lockworld didn’t just cage bodies, it throttled destinies. There was still so much I needed to prepare for, so many pieces to move, and time here felt both abundant and dangerously finite.
“Eight fighters still sounds light,” I said eventually. “I won’t deny Huston’s strength, or yours. I’ve experienced your powers firsthand. But numbers are numbers.”
Qilin didn’t bristle. “We make up for it with quality,” he replied simply.
“That only goes so far,” I said. “No matter how strong the elites are.”
He glanced at me then, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “We have over two hundred augmented.”
I stopped short. “How?”
Qilin gestured upward, toward the vast interwoven canopy. “You’ve already met the answer. The Divine Forest King is a biokinesis-class cape. Creating augmented soldiers falls well within his purview.”
That reframed Foresthome yet again, shifting it from a peaceful enclave into something far more dangerous beneath the surface.
We arrived at the military mess hall shortly after, a wide structure grown from reinforced trunks and metal plating. Inside, the air was thick with conversation until Qilin stepped through the entrance. The noise died instantly. Dozens of people in green and black uniforms straightened, eyes snapping toward him with reflexive discipline. Augmented, most likely.
I spotted Boarhead immediately, seated at a long table piled high with fruit and mushrooms, eating with single-minded focus. He looked whole, not a mark on him, his recovery unnervingly complete. The timing was obvious enough that I almost smiled. Qilin hadn’t brought me here by chance.
I walked over and stopped across from him. “I’m Eclipse,” I said evenly. “Your new colleague.”
Boarhead looked me up and down, his gaze heavy and unimpressed. “I know who you are.”
“I nearly killed you,” I said. “I’m apologizing for that.”
He stared at me for a moment longer, then nodded once. “It’s in the past.” Without another word, he went back to eating.
That was it.
No shouting, no threats, no posturing. Just food and indifference. The awkwardness lingered in my chest longer than any hostility would have. I had expected anger, or at least resentment, but he seemed more invested in his meal than in settling old scores.
Qilin joined me, lowering his voice. “Foresthome’s like that,” he said. “People don’t cling to grudges unless they serve a purpose. You don’t need to be on edge all the time.”
I wasn’t sure I believed that, but I nodded anyway.
He clapped a hand lightly against my shoulder. “Come on,” Qilin said. “Let’s get lunch.”
Qilin and I fell into line with the others, the atmosphere surprisingly casual despite the number of armed and augmented bodies around us. The food line moved efficiently, trays sliding across polished wood grown smooth from living branches. The selection was better than I expected. There were vegetables prepared in a dozen different ways, grains and stews rich with herbs, and several kinds of meat laid out in careful portions. Chicken and duck were common, but I also spotted lamb, pork, and even beef.
“There’s rarely room for agriculture here,” Qilin said as we moved forward. “Not when the Divine Forest King handles most of it directly. Because of that, we lean more into animal rearing.”
I nodded, taking note as I loaded my tray. I grabbed a few pieces of bread, a portion of lamb, some greens, and a cold beverage that smelled faintly of citrus and mint.
We found a place to sit, and as we started eating, someone across the hall finished adjusting an old jukebox embedded into the wall. Static crackled, then an unfamiliar song filled the mess hall, melodic and earthy, carried by instruments I didn’t immediately recognize.
Qilin smiled faintly. “Foresthome has culture,” he said. “Especially music. You’ll hear a lot of songs you’ve never heard back home.”
“It’s impressive,” I admitted, chewing thoughtfully. “More than I expected.”
He nodded, then added almost as an afterthought, “Before I forget, you’ll need to respect people’s religion. Even if you’re an atheist.”
“I can manage that,” I said. “But why does it matter so much here?”
Qilin wiped his hands and leaned back slightly. “Foresthome’s religious system centers around the Divine Forest King. It formed naturally over the years, after Huston protected this place again and again. For many people, faith and survival became inseparable.”
I didn’t comment further, but the implication lingered. Power, protection, and belief braided together into something that was difficult to challenge without unraveling the whole structure.
We finished our meals without incident, and Qilin led me out of the mess hall and deeper into the settlement. Our next stop was a massive building grown from interlocking trunks and reinforced stone, rising several floors high. The interior was quiet but busy, filled with mundanes studying at long tables, reading, or moving between shelves stacked with books and documents. Through glass-walled rooms, I saw groups engaged in mundane research, diagrams scrawled across boards and equipment humming softly.
“If you need to learn something,” Qilin said, “this is the place.”
We approached the counter, where a gentleman stood waiting as if he’d known we were coming. He had a neatly groomed mustache, graying hair, and light brown skin, his posture relaxed but alert.
“This is Perry,” Qilin said. “The librarian.”
“Nick,” I said, offering a small nod. “New cape. Provisionally.”
Perry’s expression didn’t change, but I felt the resistance when I brushed against his mind. His mental defenses were solid, practiced, and he seemed already aware of me, likely thanks to the incident with Boarhead. “If you need to know anything about the factions, the capes, or Foresthome itself,” he said smoothly, “ask. I can provide answers, documents, or books as needed.”
A younger woman approached the counter then, returning a book. “Do you have an encyclopedia on raising chickens?” she asked.
Perry vanished.
He reappeared seconds later, placing a thick volume in her hands without a word. A teleporter, then, and a precise one. The speed suggested more than spatial ability alone. Enhanced cognition, perhaps, sharpened observation and deduction layered over his power.
“Do you have a map?” I asked.
“It’s incomplete,” Perry replied. “But we do have a copy.”
He vanished again and returned just as quickly, handing me a folded sheet. “Return it within a week.”
I unfolded it slightly. A city map of Foresthome, detailed but clearly unfinished. “What about a world map?”
Perry shook his head. “You’ll need to ask the Divine Forest King for that.”
We thanked him and stepped away from the counter, the quiet hum of knowledge continuing behind us. Qilin gestured toward the exit. “One more place,” he said. “I want to show you the doctor’s.”