Chapter [B5] 24 — Junior Sister

Chapter [B5] 24 — Junior Sister

I looked at Labby beside me as we walked through the tunnel. Her expression was still downcast. The air smelled of wet rock and faint resin from the pitch we used to seal weak points. Far behind us, the sound of water striking stone counted slow seconds, regular and steady. My steps matched the rhythm without trying.

Labby kept her hands tucked close to her stomach, her head drooping. Every few breaths she glanced at my shadow and then away again.

I reached over and patted her head gently, smoothing the soft hair behind her ears and the small ridge where bone met muscle.

She blinked and looked up at me.

“Do you know, Labby? I’m really proud of you.”

Her eyes widened. “What? What does Master mean?” The tunnel returned her words with a softer echo that faded into the trickle of water.

“I mean exactly what I said. You’re the reason I am who I am. You’ve been such an influential part of my journey. You were my first and true junior sister, you know?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her throat moved as she swallowed. I could see the wet sheen gathering at the corners of her eyes, but she held her chin steady. She drew one breath, then another, and forced her lips into a smile that started unsteady and settled into something firmer. “Labby is happy to be Master’s junior sister. Labby…” She paused, searching for the rest. “If not for Master, Labby would have been a very different person too. Maybe only ever stayed a rat.”

I chuckled. “Perhaps so. But Labby is amazing. Amazing enough that I’m sure you would have found a way out of your rat form and into becoming an immortal anyway.”

I nudged her shoulder, and she nudged me back, the contact firm and familiar. I took a deep breath. The air tasted cleaner as we approached the tree’s chamber, though I knew that was probably only because the miasma was being consumed by the demon god.

“You know, Labby, you should rely on others. You’re amazing, but you don’t have to do everything alone. You don’t have to save everyone alone. You don’t have to be the most amazing person ever. You can depend on others, and they will help you.”

She looked at me, then back at the ground. “Even if… Labby doesn’t want to burden others?”

“Is it really burdening them if you help them and they help you? If they enjoy your presence? Do you think you’re burdening me, Labby?”

Her fingers worried the hem of her sleeve. “But Labby isn’t able to help or save Master,” she whispered, the words so soft I almost missed them under the steady drip of water and the faint hum from the wards further ahead.

I stopped, turned toward her, and pulled her into a hug. Her body was warm, the tension in her shoulders obvious under my hands. “And I love you anyway, and I am very proud of you.”

I lifted her, and she responded at once, the movement practiced—arms looping around my neck, legs tightening across my front as she ended up draped across my shoulders. Labby pressed her cheek to the side of my head. Her breath moved my hair. She hummed, a sound that vibrated through her chest and into my collarbone. “Thank you, Master.”

“You’re welcome. You’re always welcome, Labby.”

After that, we didn’t talk much. Our steps made the only regular sound, alongside the water and the occasional creak from the stone as temperature met pressure.

I could have tried a joke. I knew the words I could use to pull a laugh from her, but the quiet felt correct. It gave her space to hold what she felt without having to defend it.

A draft touched my face. The usual hum of the wards grew clearer and then settled into the background, as if it too knew to keep quiet here.

When I saw the divine tree, my breath caught.

The chamber was larger than any palace hall. The roots filled much of it, some as thick as towers, some thin as my finger, lacing through the bedrock and vanishing into walls and floor. All of that was normal.

What wasn’t were the leaves covering the ground in layers. A thick green carpet that had not been there the last time I stood here, soft underfoot when we stepped onto it, so dense I couldn’t even see the floor of the cavern.

The tree was shedding. Leaves drifted down in twos and threes, turning as they fell, edges catching the lantern’s light. They landed without sound, layering over one another until the yellow gold covered the path stones.

I let out a sharp breath. What was happening? Was the tree ill?

I rejected the thought immediately. I would have known sooner if anything were truly amiss. The tree still had plenty of time before being affected by the demon god’s miasma.

No, the Divine Tree was giving us the resources we needed so we could face the Demon God and his armies. It understood our determination, judged our need, and gave its provision. I centered my intent and reached with my sense. ŕàＮО฿ËŚ

The tree’s presence filled the chamber, strong and steady despite the shedding. Under it, lighter and playful, I felt Twilight’s small echo, familiar as a touch on the back of my hand, a ripple of giggling in the leaves.

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My mouth lifted at the corner and I looked up at the divine tree. “Thank you.”

The bark in front of me warmed under my palm. A pulse moved through the trunk, down the nearest root, across the soil mound, and into the ground beneath my feet. The acceptance was simple. The chamber’s air shifted a fraction, as if exhaling.

I stepped back, raised my hand, and drew a slow circle with my fingers. Wind gathered from the edges of the room and met at the center of the leaf-strewn floor.

The fallen leaves answered without resistance. They lifted cleanly, not a single one snagging on a root or the roughness of the stone. A few intact leaves fluttered from higher branches and joined the mass, drawn to the movement.

I guided them higher and then compressed. They pressed inward, layer over layer, a rotating sphere that tightened as I fed more will into it. Chi paths inside the leaves found each other and locked, the tree’s own order knitting the pile into something more cooperative. This way, it’d be much easier to carry and transport.

A faint thrum started in the center of the mass.

Labby hopped down from my shoulders and came to stand at my side. Her ears were forward, her eyes steady and bright in the yellow light. She held out her palms and added her own control—precise, careful, the exact way needed to handle fragile materials without tearing them with excess force.

With this amount of leaves, we would be able to make a lot of bombs, imbue tools, ward anchors, devices for the militia, even fuses for the larger formations along the outer lines. The tree had given us a proper harvest. We no longer had to worry about not having enough leaves, or using them with reckless abandon.

Exactly what we needed for the final battle.

I had to admit that it did feel strange to hold so many leaves at once, almost immoral. Wrong, even if the leaves were sanctioned by the source.

I glanced at Labby. She watched the spinning sphere with focus.

“We’ll sort by thickness,” I murmured at her, already planning. “Thicker for the bombs. Medium ones for my testing. Thin for everything else.”

I drew the sphere tighter. The whirling mass condensed to something the size of a barrel, then a bucket, then a fruit, smooth and firm. I felt for the point where compression would begin to damage the inner structure of the leaves and stopped there. The thrum settled into a slow pulse that matched the tree’s own cadence.

I set the ball down on the soil mound. It didn’t bounce, even though it really felt like it should. That thought made me smile; what was I treating this essentially sacred artifact as? A football?

It sat there and vibrated, not affected by my heretical thoughts at all, the tiny movements from the leaves keeping the layers from fusing into a solid lump. We would separate it easily later.

Around us, more leaves drifted down. I caught a few in my hand as they fell, each one slightly different, veins forming all kinds of patterns. They naturally drifted from my hands and into the ball lying below me.

Standing this close, the magnitude of the tree’s sacrifice pressed against my sternum.The knowledge lived in my bones already, but seeing the leaves fall and feeling the acceptance under my palm made it immediate again. It held the demon lord down, it gave hope to the populace, and was the only reason they were surviving.

The world had been shaken, but growth had not stopped. The tree made sure it didn’t. Even though the tree was something born out of my seed, it felt like its own being now, and I couldn’t help but feel appreciative and grateful to it.

Labby stepped closer to the trunk. She reached out as if to touch, then pulled her hand back and bowed instead. “Thank you,” she repeated, her voice much firmer than mine had been. The downcast look she had carried through the tunnel had eased. It hadn’t vanished, but it no longer dragged at the corners of her mouth. She rested her forehead against the back of her wrist for a breath and straightened.

“You know,” I said, keeping my voice even, “relying on others includes relying on the tree. That isn’t a bad thing, no? When you can’t hold everything, you set some of it down so more hands can lift it. You shouldn’t feel guilty about relying on others. May they be trees or people.”

Perhaps I was just worrying too much. But I didn’t want Labby to become withdrawn after the demon god’s battle, to isolate herself due to my passing. I believed Labby could overcome anything and everything, but to do so, she needed support. I didn’t want her to close herself away from the people she did have to support her, no matter what.

Labby’s ears flicked. “Labby knows.”

“Knowing and doing are different.”

She made a face that she usually reserved for bitter pills and nodded. “Labby will try.”

“That’s more than enough.”

We worked in quiet for a little while, gathering a few ‘dead’ leaves without much Chi that hadn’t been attracted into the ball into smaller bundles, since they could always be useful. Then sorting the ones with unusual vein patterns into a separate stack and checking the soil mound for stress where roots had shifted.

Two of the thinner branches had scraped a patch of stone on the far wall on their way through; I cleared the stone, opening it up so that the tree could expand outside uninhibited. It only had a few days more to grow, yet it felt right to do that for it anyway.

I ran a palm along a root as thick as my torso and felt the slow, steady movement inside, a circulation that matched the pulse in the trunk. The root flexed a fraction in response to my touch, acknowledging contact.

Labby circled the mound and crouched where the roots came closest together. “Twilight?” she whispered.

A faint tingle brushed the skin along my wrist. The reply came as a feeling rather than a word: a splash of laughter, a small hand clapping, a sense of approval.

Twilight must’ve replied to Labby too, as Labby’s shoulders relaxed. She exhaled, long and silent, and touched the soil with her fingers. The dirt stained her fingers dark; she didn’t wipe it off. When she stood, she glanced at me and then at the ball of leaves. “Master?”

“Yes?”

“Will Master… will Master let Labby carry it?” She lifted her arms a little, palms up.

“It’s heavy.”

“Labby knows.”

I knew Labby could carry it, yet playfully, I added, “And you’ll ask for help if you need it?” We both knew that didn’t refer to just this incident.

She nodded. “Labby will.” She held my gaze for three breaths without dropping it. Then she smiled, small and real.

“Then go for it.”

She stepped close, grounded her stance, and slipped her hands under the compressed leaves. Her qi wrapped the sphere in a thin layer that cushioned the surface so her fingers wouldn’t tear the outer layer. She tested the weight and then settled it against her hip like a large basket; she didn’t wobble.

We turned to go. At the tunnel’s entrance, I stopped and looked back up through the branches. More leaves were still drifting down, steady and sparse rather than frantic. The Divine Tree seemed… peaceful, almost.

“Thank you,” I said again, because it mattered to say it more than once.

The acceptance seeped through the connection I shared with the Divine Tree, lingering at my palm a moment before it moved through me and out, an exchange as simple as breathing.