The Soul of the Library spoke again.
"There is something with the Lotus. It is acting as a power source, giving nutrition and energy to the entire area. The shrubs and ordinary trees have mutated because of the power emanating from within the Lotus. Moreover, the snake dragon is slowly absorbing this power and growing stronger."
Dan heard this but said nothing. He wanted to know more and felt increasingly curious as he observed the lake. The surface shimmered with an unnatural stillness, like glass stretched thin over something alive beneath. Mist clung to the edges, curling around the reeds like ghostly fingers. A few minutes later, the Soul of the Library spoke again.
"Now, don't go up. Move sideways along the lake, especially to the backside. Go deeper into the wild trees."
The forest was dense—so thick it seemed to breathe. Twisted trunks rose like pillars of an ancient, forgotten temple. Dan could barely move his body through the tight mesh of branches that clawed at his clothing and skin. It was nearly pitch black. No moonlight filtered in. The branches grew at chaotic angles, like limbs frozen mid-spasm, and thick shrubs sprouted grotesquely from them.
Somehow, he pushed deeper along the side of the pond, the air thick with the earthy scent of moss and rot. Then he saw them—small root-like fruits clinging to the base of twisted trees. They looked oddly like mangoes, yet they glowed with a subtle violet hue, their skins glistening like wet gemstones in the darkness.
Dan reached for one, tempted, but hesitated. Everything here was bizarre and unnerving. A damp, almost metallic scent hovered in the air. He didn't want to fall sick or get caught in another situation that would make life harder in this already dangerous scenario.
But the Soul of the Library insisted.
"They are the fruits of true natural power. They won't harm you. Eating them will only increase your aura."
Dan stepped forward and took one of the fruits in hand. Its surface was soft, almost pulsing beneath his fingers, as though it were alive. As he salivated, he could already sense the energy it held—like holding the warmth of a sunbeam wrapped in skin. There was something radiant inside it, like the echo of a powerful being's essence.
He bit into it.
A warm, sweet taste burst in his mouth, like honey laced with spice. The fruit was soft and tender, almost melting on his tongue. The moment he swallowed, a wave of heat surged through him—pleasant, empowering. It spread through his limbs like fire meeting frost, neutralizing fatigue, pushing strength into every corner of his body. An inner force lit up within him, vibrant and fluid.
He dropped into a seated posture on instinct, letting the flow take over. His breaths slowed. He began meditating, drawing in the energy morsel by morsel, letting each bite guide him deeper into focus.
As Dan meditated, his aura pulsed with growing intensity. The energy from the fruits poured into him, seeping into muscle, marrow, and mind. The forest around him, eerily silent moments before, now hummed with hidden life, as if nature itself was watching.
The Soul of the Library spoke again.
"That's absolutely right. The form of the fruit is a true form of power, easily digested and absorbed by any living being. That's why these trees have mutated. The snake is inside the pond. Even the water has become purer."
Dan had completely forgotten about the pond, the Lotus, and the snake dragon lurking within. He was entranced—eating, meditating, growing. After a couple of fruits, he felt full. His body thrummed with energy, yet it refused to absorb more. He didn't even know how much stronger he had become.
But as he took the final morsel of the purple fruit, the world shifted.
The ground beneath him vibrated—a subtle tremor, like the heartbeat of something ancient awakening. It wasn't widespread. Just the patch of earth where he sat. Dan snapped to attention.
A moment later, the snake dragon broke through the trees like a nightmare given flesh.
Long and sinuous, its scales shimmered like liquid obsidian. Its eyes blazed with primal fury, and every movement crackled with lethal speed. It was coming right for him.
Dan froze. The dragon had sensed an intruder—and power fading. The fruit's aura had exposed him. Just as he had felt it, so had the dragon. It came not out of hunger, but out of instinct to defend its source.
Dan bolted, crashing through the undergrowth. Twigs whipped at his face. Roots clawed at his boots. But the dragon—gods, the dragon—was faster. Trees exploded in splinters behind him as the beast tore through the forest like a storm.
He didn't look back. He couldn't. He wasn't ready to face it—not yet.
He hurled Vale Blaze over his shoulder, igniting trees and brush in flashes of searing flame. But it didn't work. The dragon didn't slow. Fire licked at its scales and vanished. Its gaze never left him.
This was bad.
Unknowingly, Dan had led himself straight to the edge of the pond. Water stretched before him—dark, silent, like the eye of an ancient god. Behind him, the snake dragon bore down like judgment incarnate.
He had no time.
Without a second thought, he leapt into the water.
The moment he hit the surface, his mind sparked with an idea. As he plunged, he shifted his form—melding into debris: roots, twigs, and branches scattered across the pond. He sank like lifeless wood, hoping to fool the dragon into believing he was nothing but flotsam.
Beneath the water, he floated, barely breathing. Cold seeped into his bones. The pond smelled of lilies and something old, metallic and deep. But none of it masked the fear pressing in on his chest.
Yes, Dan was afraid.
He had seen the power of the snake dragon. Its speed. Its violence. The way it moved—like thunder with a mind of its own.
He still didn't feel he had a chance against it
Dan had formed himself into a small piece of fallen branch. He had transformed into wood—it was all part of his disguise. Now he floated half-submerged on the surface of the pond, a lifeless sliver of bark drifting amidst the still water. The surface shimmered faintly in the pale light, cool and glassy, broken only by the soft swells of his disguised form.
For a second, he didn't have eyes—he couldn't see. He could only perceive what was happening through his sharpened senses: the delicate pressure shifts in the water, the hum of vibration through wood, the faint echo of movement reverberating like ripples through silence.
Then came a sudden disruption. The snake dragon dove into the water with a soundless fury, slicing into the depths like a living spear. The shockwave it produced blasted through the pond like a rolling burst of thunder beneath the surface, hurling debris and current outward in a chaotic pulse. Even Dan was swept away—his form tumbling weightlessly for a moment like a dry leaf caught in a storm.
Yet amid the rush, he felt a quiet wave of relief. He hadn't been caught.
He realized that with his aura sealed, the snake dragon couldn't sense him. It could only detect movement—the brush of water, the shimmer of form. The dragon was lost in a frenzy, tearing through the pond in wild zigzags, its long body carving furious arcs beneath the surface. Dan could feel it from afar, every dash and lunge sending waves and ripples that lapped against him like ghostly hands.
After several tense minutes, the violent movement ceased. The pond stilled. He floated quietly now, the water again placid around him like a mirror, disturbed only by the slow curl of mist rising from its surface. But he needed to morph—he needed eyes.
The moment his vision returned, he was stunned.
There were no fish in the pond. Not a single one. The water was eerily clear, its depths sterile and pristine. The bed was smooth and bare, save for scattered slivers of wood and a strange structure at the center—a slender, thread-like filament rising from the ground like a crimson vein, anchoring itself to the Lotus that floated far above. The Lotus glowed faintly, suspended in perfect stillness, untouched by ripple or wind.
He caught only a fleeting glimpse—he was still on the run. The danger of the snake dragon loomed. He dove back into the water.
Little by little, Dan began shrinking himself. His large wooden form began to contract, pulling inward with practiced precision. From the size of a forearm to a clenched fist… from a finger to a bead… smaller and smaller. Each reduction was a folding of essence, a compression of self into tighter dimensions, as though he were threading his being through the eye of a needle.
Soon, his body was only a centimeter tall. But it still wasn't enough. He pushed further, narrowing himself to the tiniest mote of matter, until even the idea of scale became meaningless. He didn't know how small he had become—only that he had reached the very edge of possibility.
Then, he took form again: a tiny man, impossibly minuscule, smaller than the breath between moments. He opened his eyes.
What he saw was a world transformed.
The pond stretched before him like a vast alien ocean—an endless dome of crystalline blue overhead, where light bent and fractured like shattered glass. The water was crystal clear, like liquid air. There were no fish, no movement, no life. Only stillness.
At the center, the red thread still climbed upward from the bed, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat, connecting to the Lotus above like the stem of some divine blossom. The Lotus itself hung like a jewel suspended in the air, its petals curled in a state of gentle slumber.
Around it, the snake dragon circled. It spiraled in endless orbit, graceful and soundless, like a guardian spirit bound to sacred duty—yet it never touched the Lotus. Its scales shimmered faintly, a mixture of moonlight and obsidian, each movement smooth and sinuous like liquid shadow.
Without hesitation, Dan whispered in his thoughts: What is the snake dragon doing?
But the Soul of the Library remained silent. Its presence had faded. Dan had moved beyond its sight.
Still, he was sure—so long as he remained unseen, untouched, unnoticed, the snake dragon would not find him.
He inched forward, drifting ever so slowly toward the center of the lake. Every movement was deliberate, painstaking. But it soon became obvious that at this scale, the journey would take years—perhaps lifetimes.
Then something drifted beneath him—a leaf, broad and pale, with fine veins like spiderweb threads. Dan gazed down in wonder.
He was smaller than the veins.
Smaller than the delicate fibers that held the leaf's shape.
Invisible, even to the human eye.
He doubted the snake dragon could see him anymore.
He waited.
Time slipped past like drifting sand. He knew the snake must eventually return to feed. That would be his chance—to get closer to the Lotus, to uncover its secrets.
So he waited.
Hours passed.
Finally, the snake dragon moved.
With slow, graceful undulations, it unfurled from the Lotus and rose upward, its body ascending like smoke unraveling from incense. It pierced the surface and vanished into the air—gone without a trace, like a dream ending at dawn.
Dan didn't hesitate.
In an instant, his form changed—his body expanded, fluid and quick—and he became human once more, full-sized and solid. He dashed forward, cutting through the water with urgent strides.
But just as he moved, a thought struck him:
Why become human, when I could take the form of a fish… or a snake… and move even faster?