The Last Seed-Singer
Sing the World-Tree back to life—or let the blight consume everything.
You are the last seed-singer, the only one who can coax the World-Tree's seeds into sprouting. But the tree is dying, its roots rotting, its canopy withering, and with it, the barrier that holds back the blight. To save all life, you must journey to the tree's heart, where the ancient guardians wait—if they don't kill you first. But the blight is not a natural force; it has a mind, and it knows you're coming. Will you trust the guardians' riddles, or strike a bargain with the blight itself?
The story begins
The root-cellar reeked of rot and something else—something that made your stomach clench. You pressed your palm flat against the World-Tree's exposed root, feeling the faint, sickly pulse beneath the bark. It shouldn't be warm. It shouldn't throb.
"Still alive," you muttered, pulling your hand back. The black veins in the wood had spread since yesterday. They crawled upward, toward the canopy, like fingers reaching for a throat.
Behind you, the trapdoor creaked. A voice, low and familiar: "You're supposed to be watching the eastern perimeter, not fondling the roots."
You turned. Elara stood at the top of the ladder, lantern in hand, her face half-shadowed. She was the only other person who knew how bad it had gotten—and the only one who'd believe you.
"It's moving faster," you said. "The blight. It's not just eating the roots anymore. It's learning."
Elara's jaw tightened. "Then we're out of time." She dropped the lantern down to you, and the light caught something new carved into the wall behind her—a symbol you'd never seen before. Fresh. Still bleeding sap.
What happens next is up to you.
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