The news about the Four Great Trees’ true nature hit Arctar like a bomb. Elisabeth’s article spread across all classes of society, its sales surpassing every newspaper sales' record in five years, even outshining the recent Lumen Orb craze. She never felt prouder of herself, convinced she finally achieved her long-awaited breakthrough.

  She had stayed late into the night, writing and rewriting the text by hand with the ancient book beside her. Yet, true to her ambition, she shaped the article according to her own opinion and flair, omitting much of the relevant information in favor of making it as sensational as possible.

  She wanted to captivate the masses. Thus, her article only briefly and vaguely explained what the Four Great Trees truly were, focusing instead on the powers they possessed and how each of them would soon choose a person to inherit them, one Chosen for each Tree. Elisabeth had colored the facts quite a bit as well, dropping the credibility pretense and trading accuracy for grandeur.

  The result was an uproar. The public was persuaded that the Four Great Trees had stocks of unimaginable powers in them and were searching for their Chosen, though no one knew why or for what purpose. What followed was a flood of pilgrims, tourists, and merchants pouring into Arctar from distant cities, crowding the four plazas where the Four Trees stood.

  The densest crowds gathered at the base of each Tree, where countless hopefuls had set up tents, camping day and night in hopes of being noticed. They waited as though queuing before a legendary discount sale, determined to be first in line for a miracle. People of all ages, professions, and backgrounds arrived, each utterly convinced that they would be the one chosen.

  Merchants and vendors, ever quick to seize an opportunity, flooded the plazas to profit from the craze. They lined the streets with carts and stands selling all kinds of themed trinkets. Mugs engraved with slogans like “Hope is in the air” or “Humility is in the lack of stare” gleamed beside balloons, keychains, and miniature figures of the Trees.

  The air was thick with noise and the scent of fried food and sugary drinks. Some stalls even claimed to sell the true sap of the Trees, promising that one sip would let you 'hear the Trees’ calling.' Hired actors played along, pretending to experience revelations to convince the crowds, and as expected, the biggest throngs gathered around them.

  Scientists, naturally drawn to the mystery, stalked the bases of each Tree. The discovery had shocked them too and did partly explain why each sample they had taken from the Four Great Trees in the past had given them incomprehensibly siphoned results. Also, many had come to attach monitoring devices near the roots now to record readings, trying to understand how these Beings were in fact constructs, not ordinary greenery. The sight didn’t please the crowds. Many feared the instruments would disturb the Trees’ powers, so arguments and scuffles often broke out between them and the researchers.

  It was the same by each Tree on all four plazas, the Tree towering wearily above the craze.

  Sir Vu had arrived as well, accompanied by his gnome entourage and Dream Factory neon banners, eager to exploit the hype. For the occasion, Sir Vu had designed a special attraction: The Hope Bounce.

  It was a type of trampoline, magenta of course, equipped with a small propeller system and safety nets, allowing jumpers to soar up to 15 meters, roughly the height where each Tree’s canopy began. The Four Great Trees towered nearly 50 meters in total, so the sight of hopeful participants bouncing toward their lower branches would be quite the spectacle. Each time a jumper, after numerous bounces, would finally reach the fifteen-meter mark, a large sign would flash behind them in bold, glowing letters: “BLESS ME!”

  Sir Vu insisted it was an essential and efficient step to being noticed by the Tree.

  “Your hopes can now reach the sky. Literally.” he kept repeating with theatrical pride.

  After some consideration, he had decided his crew should set up specifically at the Tree of Hope’s plaza, declaring it most aligned with the Dream Factory’s motto and purpose. Once the gnomes had the attraction running and a crowd formed, he left them to handle the customers while he took a leisurely tour of the plaza, eager to witness the spectacle of frenzy surrounding the Tree of Hope up close.

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  Every now and then, people, mostly gnomes, stopped him for photos or selfies, which he always accepted with a fanged grin, signing autographs with lines such as : “Always keep dreaming, sugar.”

  He also noticed Rogue Gnome tailing him at what the little spy apparently considered a safe stealth distance -which, for him, meant barely a meter away- scribbling notes with a deadly serious face. Sir Vu only grinned to himself and let him be.

  He continued weaving through the throngs, observing and laughing as he went. For all his mockery of the crowd’s performative and fake devotion, he couldn’t quite bring himself to mock the Tree of Hope itself. Instead, he found himself studying it in silence, curiosity softening his smirk.

  Its state was concerning.

  The leaves, once lush and evergreen, were shedding like tired feathers. The bark showed dark, smoky grooves that deepened into cracks, seeping along the roots and staining the soil. Even its faint glow seemed duller, flickering like a candle running out of breath...

  Suddenly, a loud male voice thundered across the plaza, cutting clean through the noise and chatter.

  “MAKE WAY!”

  Heads turned.

  A towering, broad-shouldered young man stormed into the plaza like a one-man parade. His short, spiky red hair caught the sunlight, freckles speckled his pale skin, and his amber eyes blazed with overblown determination. Muscles rippled beneath a tight crimson T-shirt emblazoned in bold brown letters: ‘JUSTICE HITS HARDER.’ His dark brown cargo pants were tucked into combat boots that struck the pavement like war drums.

  He charged straight toward the Tree of Hope as if it were the finish line of the Olympics, quite literally lifting and shoving protesting bystanders aside to make himself a clear space beneath the canopy. It looked absurdly like someone rearranging furniture in a hurry. People shouted, men raising fists as if to fight, but when Bjorn flexed, the crowd hesitated. The sheer bulk of him was deterrent enough.

  With a proud huff, Bjorn drove a tall stick into the ground beside him like a flag of conquest.

  “I AM THE FUTURE CHOSEN OF HOPE!” he roared. “I’LL GET CHOSEN OR I’LL DIE DOING PUSHUPS!”

  And without another word, he dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups with militant precision, barking out his own count for all to hear.

  Sir Vu stood a few steps away, watching with a mix of amusement and mocking awe. He approached the sweating young man on the ground and stared down at him with a smirk.

  “You sure are fired up, boy.”

  “YEAH! PERSEVERANCE IS KEY!”

  “Indeed. Perseverance is key to success in all fields and disciplines. But tell me. Why demonstrate it to the Tree through push-ups?”

  “BECAUSE DRILLS SHOW STRENGTH! HOPE NEEDS STRENGTH! HOPE EQUALS PROTECTION! PROTECTION IS STRENGTH! I AM STRENGTH!”

  Sir Vu chuckled. “Ah, but is the strength Hope needs physical strength, I wonder?”

  Bjorn only responded by counting louder. Sir Vu turned around then and added over his shoulder, grinning, “Carry on, boy. If you collapse, my gnomes have electrolytes. We’ll revive you.”

  Bjorn paused mid-push-up, glaring up. “I DON'T COLLAPSE. COLLAPSING IS FOR THE WEAK!”

  “Yes yes, if you say so.” Sir Vu waved nonchalantly as he walked away.

  Meanwhile, Bozo stayed away from the crowds, observing everything from a quiet distance. He’d passed through all four plazas to see the states of the Trees. Since Arctar was a sprawling metropolis and the Four Trees were located at its four corners, the distance between each plaza and its Tree was considerable.

  Bozo skipped the Tree of Wisdom and continued directly toward the Trees of Purity and Humility. Humility was in a similar state as Hope, though slightly worse.

  But it was the Tree of Purity that made Bozo pause. His expression darkened as his eyes traced the dangerous greying, the cracks, and the almost-bare branches, the crowds around it oblivious in their feverish pursuit of powers and blessings. Dark veins crawled from the ground along the roots, climbing all the way to the canopy. The Tree still clung to a semblance of color, its pulse minimal.

  Bozo took the sight in then closed his eyes, standing utterly still, as if the bustling city had faded to silence around him. A faint, golden halo shimmered at the edges of his figure, so subtle that most would have missed it. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze locked onto the ground for a longer moment.

  Without another backward glance, he moved back, his steps deliberate and silent, toward the plaza dominated by the Tree of Hope. He halted just beyond the reach of the crowd, letting the throngs of oblivious citizens blur around him. His gaze fixed on the towering Tree of Hope above, and then his eyes flared gold.

  “You’re the first to choose. Hurry before Purity’s barrier dies.” he whispered gravely.