Cypress's Arc

Chapter 1 of 10

Cypress pressed their wooden fingers against the damp bark of an ancient willow. The moss on their shoulders glowed faint green in the swamp's twilight. They needed answers—someone or something had changed them from a simple cypress tree into this walking, thinking form. Every day brought new sensations: the squish of mud between root-like toes, the buzz of dragonflies past their branch-crown, the ache of questions with no answers. The Swamp of Secrets held many mysteries in its murky waters and twisted roots. Somewhere in this vast wetland, Cypress would find the truth about their transformation. They had wandered alone for days, asking the silent trees and passing creatures their questions. No one had answers. The swamp folk scattered when they approached, frightened by a walking tree. Cypress needed a better way. Near a cluster of mangroves, they found old planks half-buried in mud. They pulled the wood free and stacked the pieces against a wide trunk. Vines hung nearby, perfect for binding. They wove the vines through the planks until a sturdy board stood before them. Moss crept up from the base, making it look like it had grown there. Cypress carved words into the surface with a sharp twig: "Who changed me? What magic did this?" Now anyone passing could read their question and leave answers. The bulletin board would speak for them when fear kept others away. Days passed with no response on the board. Cypress walked deeper into the swamp, searching for anything old enough to remember. A stone rose from the water ahead, covered in carvings and slick green moss. The shape of a frog stared back at them from the ancient wood. Its eyes seemed to follow Cypress as they moved closer. They reached out and touched the totem's surface. The wood felt warm, almost alive. This thing had stood here for years, maybe longer than Cypress had been a tree. If objects could hold memories, this one had seen much. Cypress traced the frog's eyes with one finger and whispered their question into the silence. The totem gave no answer, but something about it felt important. They would return here. Whatever force had changed them might have left traces in old things like this. The swamp held its secrets close, but Cypress would not stop searching. The path forward appeared through a break in the fog. Stone steps led up from the murky water, each one thick with moss and ferns. Cypress climbed slowly, their root-feet finding grip on the slick surface. At the top stood a temple, half-swallowed by vines and hanging plants. Carvings covered every surface—symbols Cypress couldn't read but somehow recognized. Their wooden heart beat faster. This place felt familiar in a way nothing else had. The entrance stood open, darkness waiting inside. Here, in this ancient structure, answers might finally exist. Cypress stepped through the doorway, ready to discover who had given them life and why. The Swamp of Secrets had finally revealed where their story truly began.