Logan sat there, mulling over the words. He wasn’t sure about this Shadowcroft guy, but the idea of serving in some sort of galactic defense force didn’t sound terrible. Not really. The Last Starfighter had worked out pretty well for Alex Rogan.
“Fine,” he finally said, crossing his arms. “I can at least finish hearing you out.”
“Excellent.” Shadowcroft beamed, leaning back in his chair. “Let us just pull up your file.” He waved a spindly hand. The spinning crystal behind the tree man threw a complicated sheet of numbers and glyphs into the air above their heads. At first, it was unreadable, but after a second it shimmered and shifted, taking the form of an evaluation sheet of sorts.
It reminded Logan of the menus from the Shadowcroft game.
“Do not be alarmed, Mr. Murray. The Arcane Lexicon of the Tree of Souls is indecipherable to all but those closest to the Tree Spirit. As a result, your mind will interpret the report in a way that makes sense to you,” Shadowcroft explained. “Let’s see what we have to work with.” His fingers flicked through the air. Information scrolled by. “Ah, an elite warrior. Good. Decorated for heroism in combat. Excellent. No long-term relationships to get hung up on, other than the uncle. Yes, that should make the transition easier.”
The tree man beamed more brightly than ever, seeming quite pleased. He swept through more pages until he got to one that detailed Logan’s core, whatever that was.
His smile evaporated like water in the scorching desert sun. Shadowcroft sighed and pointed. “Oh dear. Now here, you see, is the real problem. The mimic must’ve been truly desperate to have taken you.” He faltered and tapped at his chin. “Perhaps we might have to rethink the quota system.”
“I’m sorry. What’s the problem?” Logan asked, hunching forward, forearms resting on his thighs.
“No, no, that can’t be right,” Shadowcroft said, ignoring Logan’s prodding. He stood, walked to the crystal, and flicked it with a finger several times.
The crystal went dark, then reignited, even brighter. The information was the same. The headmaster shook his head. A few flowers swayed. “It says you are a Deep Root cultivator, Rank 9? Am I reading this right?”
“Deep Root cultivator sounds promising,” Logan said. “Not sure if being a Rank 9 is good or not.”
Once more, Shadowcroft didn’t respond. Clearly troubled, he stole a sidelong glance at Logan.
“Okay, seriously. What the hell is going on?” Logan asked, starting to get annoyed. “Do I get to keep the leg? Or do I have to give it back? I’ve kinda grown attached to it.” The bad joke didn’t clear the air.
“Not to pad it, Mr. Murray, but your core is just... well, terrible. I’m honestly shocked you survived the transition at all. You are supposed to be an elite warrior, yet to be honest, there are peasants—literal serfs—on Eritreus with more robust cores than you. I knew your world had troubles, but I didn’t think it was so severe. Let’s check it again.”
The crystal flickered, as did the screen hanging in the air. Shadowcroft, standing next to his desk, appraised it carefully. “Now isn’t that interesting. You call it Earth, but we have it classified as Uroth, a world on one of the far branches of the Theta Arcturus. Yes, I understand your comments more. It does indeed appear to be a beautiful planet, though a wretched one in many ways.”
“Not wretched,” Logan said forcefully.
Shadowcroft shook his head, sending his mossy beard waving. “By the Tree, look here. No wonder your core is so terrible. While once a great place, full of promise, your planet is now dying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more Apothos-poor world since I first started the academy. The fact that you even reached Deep Root status is amazing, considering the circumstances. Yes, so far, your world’s greatest contribution to the multiverse has been the Marvel movies.”
Logan let out a grunt of frustration. “All I’m hearing is a whole lot of bad-mouthing and not a whole lot of answers. How about you tell me why you seem to think my planet sucks so much. You mentioned Apothos. That’s the energy I used in the game to build the dungeon that protected the Tree of Souls. Which, given where I am, is probably important. Care to fill in some of the blanks for me?”
“Fair points. And yes, both Apothos and the Tree of Souls are extremely important,” Shadowcroft agreed. “The Tree of Souls supports all of reality. Every aspect, every version. You played the game, so you understand the basics. I’m relieved, at least, to see you are putting things together quickly. Astute of you—a trait that will carry you far.”
“Appreciate the compliment, but maybe you can just circle back around to the part about my world dying and you recruiting me into your little academy by having something eat me. I remember the fangs quite clearly.”
“Yes, the fangs, regrettable.” The headmaster stroked his beard, musing hard. “As to your world. To put it candidly, your world, Mr. Murray, has become incredibly weak. Amazingly, your species has adapted some impressive technology to compensate for its many deficiencies. Let me clarify. It’s quite rudimentary by our standards, but fairly impressive by your standards.”
Logan blew out a breath. “Okay, Mr. Shadowcroft. You call me Mr. Murray. I’ll call you Mr. Shadowcroft. Tell me everything I need to know.”
The headmaster nodded. “Good. Good. You wish for more information. Sit back, Mr. Murray, while I reveal the very secrets of the universe to you.”
He snapped his tree fingers, and a resonating crack like a gun report echoed off the domed ceiling. The crystal brightened, spilling stars, planets, and space across the room.
Logan flashed back to trips to the planetarium in elementary school.
The headmaster’s rich voice filled the room. “The Ashvattha, otherwise known as the Tree of Souls, is rich with Apothos—the fundamental energy of creation. The tree is not root, bark, nor branch, like I am, but invisible dark matter that holds the multiverse together.”
Shadowcroft gestured to the branching darkness that wove endless, twisting limbs through stars and planets. “Every world, in every dimension, is sustained through its connection to the Tree of Souls. Those worlds are basically the fruit of the Tree, hanging from its branches, being nourished. But no piece of fruit can survive long apart from the Tree, yes? And, if the Tree of Souls were ever to fall, it would be the death of reality itself.” He nodded his head grimly.
After a beat, Shadowcroft snapped his fingers. The tree—that dark thread twisting through the entire multiverse—vanished. The results were immediate. Stars winked out. Green planets turned brown, then black, then crumbled into nothing. Dust, blown away into less than nothing. Whole galaxies stopped spinning and grew dark.
With a word, Shadowcroft directed the crystal to restore the simulated Tree of Souls. The picture of the multiverse reappeared as it had before, in all its shimmering glory. He then moved aside various versions of galaxies until he reached Logan’s home section of the Milky Way—or what Shadowcroft referred to as the Theta Arcturus.
The sun was a yellow ball shining across the planets, and there, attached to a weak looking branch of darkness, the dull green continents sat on dirty blue oceans.
“This, then, is your Earth,” Shadowcroft said. “Though Earth is such an odd name, don’t you think? Uroth sounds far more natural. You see, your world is barely connected to that far-flung branch of the Ashvattha. The limb has withered away to almost nothing. Hence, it is an Apothos-poor environment. My records indicate that it used to be more powerful, but as the Apothos began to die, you replaced it with technology.