Page 26 of Hot Monster Summer

“Hidden,” Oren explains, guiding me around a massive root that rises like a wall before us. “Protected. Last of old magic places.”

We walk for what feels like both minutes and hours, time seeming to stretch and compress in this enchanted space. Finally, the path opens into a clearing unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

At its center stands the largest tree I’ve ever encountered—a massive oak with a trunk so broad it would take fifteen people holding hands to encircle it. Its bark glows with the same subtle luminescence as Oren’s skin, and its branches reach up and out like protective arms, creating a cathedral-like canopy above.

The ground beneath our feet is carpeted with rich green moss that pulses with soft light in time with what feels like a heartbeat. Small flowers bloom and close again as we watch their life cycles accelerated to minutes instead of days.

“Forest heart,” Oren says reverently, his deep voice dropping to a quiet murmur.

“It’s alive,” I murmur, sensing immediately that this is more than just a tree. “I can feel it…”

Oren nods, something like pride in his expression. “Oldest living thing. Source of forest magic. Source of me.”

That gets my attention. “What do you mean, source of you?”

He leads me closer to the great tree, and as we approach, the moss beneath our feet glows brighter, as if welcoming us.

Or welcoming him.

“Not always this form,” he explains, gesturing to his massive body. “Once, long ago, just forest spirit. Formless. Tree gave body. Gave purpose. Guardian.”

The implications sink in slowly. “You’re… you’re part of the tree? Part of the forest?”

“Yes. No. Both.” He seems to struggle with the explanation. “Spirit bonded with forest. Tree gives form. Human shape, but not human. Tree flesh but not tree.” He touches his chest where a heart would be. “Same life force. Connected.”

My mind reels with this revelation. Oren isn’t just a forest troll or guardian—he’s somehow an extension of the forest itself, given physical form through this ancient tree.

“How old are you?” I ask, though I’m unsure I want to know the answer.

“Tree remembers ice age,” he says simply. “I remember less. Still… many human lifetimes.”

Thousands of years. Maybe tens of thousands. The concept is too vast for me to comprehend truly.

“Why show me this?” I ask, suddenly aware of how significant this revelation must be. “Why trust me with something so… sacred?”

Oren’s eyes glow softly in the twilight as he guides me closer to the great tree. “Because you see,” he says simply. “See me.”

How long has he existed, watching humans come and go, feared or hunted but never truly seen? The loneliness of such an existence suddenly hits me, making my chest ache.

“I want to understand,” I whisper, touching the ancient tree’s glowing bark. The moment my fingers make contact, a jolt of energy courses through me—not painful, but overwhelming, like touching a live wire carrying not electricity but pure life force.

Images flood my mind: glaciers retreating, forests spreading across barren land, humans appearing with stone tools, metal,and machines. Through it all, Oren watches, protects, and exists in solitude as the world changes around him.

I gasp, pulling my hand away. “I felt… I saw…”

“Tree memories,” Oren confirms. “Shares with you. Accepts you.”

He takes my hand again, his touch anchoring me as the lingering images settle in my mind. “No human touched heart tree and seen. Not in many lifetimes.”

“Why me?” I ask, genuinely bewildered. “I’m nobody special.”

“Wrong,” he rumbles, stepping closer until I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “Very special. Brave heart. Kind soul. See beauty where others see monster.”

The flowers on his shoulders seem to lean toward me, and I realize with a start that tiny new blooms are appearing where my shadow falls across his moss-covered skin.

“You make flowers grow,” I observe, gently touching one of the new blooms.

“Youmake flowers grow,” he corrects, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard. “I respond to you.”

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