The rest of the Sunday passed without notable events. Talking with his parents was pleasant, but a mundane thing. After a few hours of cake and tea, they took their leave and went back home. Once there, John decided to leave the photos in his trophy room. As much as he felt emotionally attached to them, he didn’t want to hang them up in his own apartment. For one, it felt self-aggrandizing to have a timeline of himself on the wall. Although the Gamer was not one to hide his pride, that was a flavour of arrogance he didn’t subscribe to.

Secondly, perhaps more importantly, he didn’t want to have the high definition photos of his parents hanging around where he regularly had giant orgies. That was just asking for awkward eye contact with the still images.

Instead, they found their place on a podium next to a few other things he kept for sentimental value. Examples of those would be the golf ball from his first game with Abraham, a few cooled drops of molten metal that had formerly been the Construct of Order that Romulus had destroyed at Warsaw, a feather from the Reichsadler that Lydia had gifted him at some point and a bunch of other, smaller things. Admittedly, John felt that his trophy room needed some more real trophies before it was worthy of the name.

The following Monday ticked by without any noticeable events as well. Both days had John grind a whole Assault session of four hours. Although that didn’t give him a level, such was the nature of growing EXP requirements, it was still progress made. Aside from that, it was the usual combination of lust, diplomacy and paperwork.

Tuesday, however, was a noteworthy day. It was the last day of July, which had been a busy month for John. Over the course of it, he had integrated the Small Lake Pact and Amacat, ended the war with the Lake Alliance and put the actual Fusion government system in place. While that last thing was technically an on-going process, it was without doubt that a whole lot had happened this July.

Aside from that, it was the one-year anniversary of Aclysia’s creation.

“Celebrations will not be necessary,” the weaponized maid declared when everyone piled on her in a good morning group hug.

“Whaaaaaa?” Sylph cried out in surprise, being the quickest to blabber about. “Nonsense! Celebrations are always necessary! Celebrations for everything! Celebrations for brushing your teeth! Celebrations for getting out of bed! Celebrations for celebrations! Especially, we need lotsa celebration for your birthday or creation day or making day or whatever you want to call it! Celebrations means cake! Audible gasp! We should do a cake celebration and bake cake for the cake celebration and bake cake for the cake of the cake celebration and bake…”

Sylph lost herself in a continuous stream of celebration cake requests. Which opened the window of opportunity for John to say what he wanted, “Well, the celebration might not be strictly necessary, but I want to do it anyway.”

“Yeah!” Rave exclaimed, both her and her boyfriend doubling the intensity of their embrace under the silky bed sheets. “Ya gotta want something!”

Aclysia blushed the slightest bit, but kept her voice steady. “I have received a gift in the shape of upgraded weapons and an addition to my outfit recently. I require no further things.”

“There is always more to gift than things,” John told her and gently kissed her neck. “Yours is the first birthday in a line over the coming weeks. You, then Gnome, Jane, Salamander, Undine and Sylph – on the same day –, and Momo. We should make August a happy month!”

“No need to mention me in that list, I ain’t celebrating my birthday,” Rave announced.

“That’s mighty hypocritical of you,” John pointed out. “You’re getting a birthday, live with it!”

“Johnny…” his girlfriend gave him an unappreciative glance.

“Don’t you ‘Johnny…’ me, if you have bad memories, then I just got to make happier, new ones!” John declared and pulled Eliza, who had been only minorly attached, deep into the group hug. “I have big time experience at that.”

“This is all so vomit inducing fucking awfully sweet.” The blood mage gagged, even as she wore a broad, maniacal smile on her lips.

“The point is, nobody is having sad or skipped birthdays around here,” John stated in the tone of absolute authority. “Not after you all made mine so fantastic. So, Aclysia,” he turned his attention back to his first maid, “be as selfish as you want to be. Today is your day. Before you say anything, I have already arranged it so that no paperwork will come our way today, so you don’t have any responsibilities to weasel yourself out of being happy!”

Aclysia shut her mouth when her last line out of being gifted was cut off and she instead had to concede the point. “Is it truly fine for me to be selfish, Master?”

“A little bit, always,” John told her. “Today in particular, as much as you want to be.”

After a few moments of thinking, she slowly peeled herself out of the cocoon of naked hugs. Not to stand up, but to have the room to properly kiss him. “Let me prepare breakfast then,” she said, and kissed Rave next. “Once you are sated, I wish for two simple things.” Eliza, Salamander, Undine, Metra, one after the other she kissed all of them. A long, proper kiss between lovers. “I wish for all of us to be together…”

“And cake for the cake celebration of the celebration cake celebration cake of the celebration cake for the celebration by the celebration cake…” Sylph was still blabbering on until she, too, was pulled into a deep kiss. “Aclysia tastes like cherries, I love Aclysia!” she then exclaimed instead and embraced the just recently freed maid.

The weaponized maid laughed, three whole laughs, as pure as bells and as purifying as the greatest herbal tea. Beatrice, Scarlett and Gnome were the last to be kissed, before Aclysia finished her sentence, “…and I want us to experience my second dream.”

About an hour later, a morning uninterrupted by the diversion of sex and spent in a rather pure, loving way, everyone found themselves on or around the couch in the living room. Due to the combination of summer warmth and high-quality ventilation, the room was just the right level of cosy. All kinds of electronics were shut down and the blinds closed, leaving everyone sitting in the lulling twilight. Over the course of the breakfast, Lydia had even joined them, making the gathering as complete as it could be.

Aclysia was sitting in John’s lap, leaning against him, her eyes closed. Everyone was still naked, but there was no sexual tension in the air. Only comfort and happiness to show everything they all were to each other. Everyone was waiting for John to start this dream. Everyone was anticipating this. Aside from Aclysia, nobody had ever heard John tell a tale. They had heard the summary of that first time, but were interested regardless.

The Gamer was unsure where to begin, but that was always how it went with these things. He didn’t really think about what he wanted to say, only let his brain know that he wanted to tell a story. Although he wasn’t sure what, he knew when his mind had managed to create something. And so, he drew breath and formed it into words.

__________________________________________________________________________

Once, there was light. Perhaps it was shadow. There was no reference at the time to say what each was, no contrast to draw. Maybe it was twilight, neither white nor black, but grey. Whatever it was, it split one day, and then there were black and white and both mingled to form a grey.

With the contrast came certainty and with certainty came more contrast. The white and the black stretched away from each other endlessly, pulling the grey out between them until the grey, too, began splitting. It turned into colours and into shades, and when there were no more colours and shades to split into, it split into up and down instead.

A world was born from the stretching certainty. One of large oceans and vast deserts. Tall mountains and deep pits. A world of life and, soon after it was born, death. In the face of death, the life grew more certain and contrasted. The road to their end diversified until ‘life’ became hard to categorize.

And after aeons of this stretched world growing more certain and more contrasted, a tree began to grow. It was a horrid but necessary tree, as the first person that stepped up to it had to find out. A young woman, who rested after exposing herself to the contrasting world.

“What is it you seek?” the tree asked, and the woman wasn’t startled.

“To understand,” the woman said, burrowing her head between her legs. “What is under your branches I can see without thinking of its individuality.”

“Are you crying?” the tree wondered, its young canopy waving in the verdant winds and spending little shade. “If you cultivate me with tears of sadness, you should know that I will grow to protect you and help you understand, but you will have to fight to leave this place.”

“I will take this trade, I would never want to leave anyway.” The woman sniffed and cried her tears on the roots of the tree. Its branches extended, putting more shade over the nearby world. Where the shade was, the contrast between all things became lessened. There was no longer a grey and a different grey, there were greys. There was no longer a green and a different green, there were greens.

The roots of the tree extended too, burrowing through the earth and winding around the woman, who felt secured by their embrace. A long time, she smiled, enjoying the ability to perceive the world without being overwhelmed. A long time, she existed, feeling fine that there was peace. Then, she missed the one green or that certain grey that she had seen outside the reach of the tree’s shade. The desire gnawed at her until she could no longer resist.

“I wish to venture beyond your protection again,” the woman said to the tree, and felt how the roots that had grabbed her grew tighter.

“You have known when you made the decision,” the horrid and necessary tree spoke, “that my protection and the shade that I offer mean that I will not let you leave freely. If you want to leave, you have to fight.”

But the woman had no means to fight, tangled as she was. “You are a worse monster than the contrast I fled from,” she declared.

“Am I so?” the tree asked, not sure himself. “I will let you judge. Be at the border of my roots. You may not leave, but you may see.”

And the woman was pushed to the edge of the canopy that she had grown and saw to the world beyond the shade. There were wonders there and many bones, and she grew silent. Stepping over the bones came a man with hard eyes that ignored her and walked to the tree.

“Your shade intrigues me so,” the man said. “I wish to use it as a weapon so that I may see my one enemy and my other enemy as my enemies instead.”

“Are you willing to slay?” the tree wondered, its canopy waving in the verdant winds and spending shade. “If you cultivate me with the blood of your enemies, you should know that I will bind your enemies as one and hurt them with thorns, but those same thorns will cut into you when you try to rid of me.”

“I am stronger than thorns, I will use you and it will not break me,” the hard-eyed man decided and went back into the contrast. He returned with his enemy, who became an enemy upon being slain. One of many, but one sacrifice was enough. The tree grew, grew from the abundance of blood. The woman whined when the thorns poked her flesh, but it didn’t break her skin, just as long as she didn’t struggle.

And the hard-eyed man ventured out again and again. The tree’s shade allowed him to move in ways that others could not, and one day he had won. Thus, he spoke to the tree that he had cultivated with blood, “I no longer need you, so I will now rid myself of you, like I have rid myself of my enemies.”

And the horrid tree laughed. “You made me a giant, man with hard eyes. What your enemies feared is not what you are but what you made. Try then to rid yourself of me.” Around the hard-eyed man grew a wall of thorns. It was thick, much thicker than the roots that bound the woman. Although they didn’t grasp the man, they surrounded him.

And the man laughed and decided to climb over the wall. Barely had he put a hand on the wall that the horns drew blood. He tried to climb and soon his hands and feet were torn and shredded. Unable to feel his fingers, he fell and cried. “The pain is unbearable,” he complained to the tree.

“You’re the one who made this pain and now I wield it,” the tree stated and took great in glee watching the one hard-eyed man failing to escape over and over again.

The woman turned away and spotted, standing at the line of shade and contrast, another woman. A graceful one, that smiled towards the bound woman. The graceful woman walked towards the tree.

“Horrid tree, are you aware that there are others like you?” the graceful woman asked.

This irked the tree, who had grown so large. “I am not.”

“Then give me of your power and I will use it to destroy the tree that is more horrid than you,” the graceful one said.

“I will give you of my power, but to what advantage to you?” the tree wondered.

“I will rid the world of the most horrid tree, that is all I seek,” the graceful woman declared and the tree believed her. Thus, it made her a sword of its leaves that she took and returned with after three days. “I must rid the world of you, for you are now the most horrid tree and have grown too large to be necessary.”

“You cannot rid of me with my own sword,” the tree said in an amused fashion. “What comes from me cannot be used to destroy me, and since you wielded it, you too have been sworn to me.”

The graceful woman struck at the tree, but the tree spoke true. Although her fate was better than the bound woman or the bleeding man, she was now confined to see the world in the shades of the tree, no matter where she went.

Until, one day, a man turned up. A tall man with awake eyes and nimble fingers. “Have I come to the horrid, once necessary tree?” the man asked.

This irked the gargantuan tree. “I am the horrid yet necessary tree. I command for you to cultivate me with the tears of your sadness.” The awake man shook his head.

“I have no such tears to give, my sadness doesn’t belong to you.” He looked at the bound woman. “The world in which it was necessary to protect from is now very small.”

“I command for you to cultivate me with the blood of your enemies.”

“I shall not spill blood to cultivate you, only by necessity.” He looked to the bramble wall, and heard the man within. “The time for conquests has passed, for better or for worse.”

“Then I command you to destroy the trees more horrid than I.”

“I have chosen you as the horrid tree I live under. There may be more horrid trees, but you are the one that is my charge.” He looked to the graceful woman and offered his hand. “The trees most horrid were culled in time and now it’s time to put down arms.”

The graceful woman that had lost hope saw the man’s hand and gave him the sword of leaves. “Do what you intend,” she said and offered her palm. The awake man cut into her hand and his hand, and they dropped their blood together on the roots of the tree.

The leaves of the tree shook under the red winds and grew thinner. Spots of light cut through the shade and the contrast returned to the dark close to the trunk. “You cultivate me with the blood of yourself and your loved ones. Why?” the tree wondered, letting go of the bound woman and the bloody man.

“So you may be necessary,” the graceful woman answered.

“So you may not be a tyrant,” the man added.

And they lived among the leaves.

__________________________________________________________________________

The room was silent for a little while as everyone went through what they had heard or waited for a potential continuation.

It was Scarlett who broke the silence. “The fuck did any of that mean?” she asked.

John shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong guy; I just told the story as it formed in my mind. There’s probably some right interpretation to be found, but I don’t have it right now.” He stopped for a moment and looked down at Aclysia. “Was it bad?”

“No, John,” she said, using his name very purposefully as she opened her eyes. “It was odd, it was fascinating, it came from your heart, it is something I can think about.” Caressing his face, she smiled. “It was a dream you gave me, it’s the gift I desired.” Within a moment, their lips met, only to be interrupted by Lydia humming loudly.

“My fellow ladies, my love,” the queen spoke up and knocked on the table to get everyone’s attention, “I would like to discuss this story in-depth. As I am aware this kind of analysis isn’t of interest to all of you, I suggest we take this elsewhere.”

“Well,” Rave spoke up, “let’s see who cares for it and then we see which party is smaller and that one moves. Raise your hands if ya wanna stay and talk about it.” All hands, even Sylph’s, were raised. “Welp, there we go, no need to move.”

John found it wonderful that they could have a morning that was intellectually stimulating.