She paused at the top of the ladder, peering into the unsettling void between the buildings. The sun was beginning to smear the sky with muted hues, casting an eerie glow that transformed the old, crumbling structures into something hauntingly beautiful. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she might mirror this transformation—perhaps, like the buildings, she too could be beautiful if only the sun would bless her. Shaking her head, she pulled herself over the edge and hurried along the warped, rickety planks of plastic someone had long ago discarded as a pathway. Each step sent a shudder through the fragile boards, a reminder of their impending collapse. She felt a strange calm about the possibility of falling into the darkness below—an abyss of uncertainty. After all, what lay beneath? Surely, no one could remember. Who would dare to explore the depths where life had long since abandoned hope?

With a swift jump, she caught the bottom rung of the next ladder, straining her shoulders to pull herself up. At the top, she collapsed onto the roof, her mind racing with anxiety over whether her precious cargo had endured the journey unscathed. Without checking, she steadied herself and walked gingerly across the broken tiles, her whiskers twitching with apprehension.

Once more, she turned her gaze to the sun. The vibrant reds and oranges had faded, giving way to a washed-out blue punctuated by faint gold streaks in the clouds. The outlines of the buildings melted into the hills and trees, a blurred boundary where the forest and the city once stood apart. Perhaps they had always been entwined in this decay. She had known nothing else; this place had always been in decline, and her purpose was to assist its slow return to the earth.

Reaching the spot she had envisioned for planting the tree, she felt a swell of determination. Here, the sun would shine, and the rains would nourish it. Many trips had brought rich soil to cover the cracked tiles, preparing this space. She unbuckled her backpack and carefully extracted the small tree—an unfamiliar species, nameless and strange. Its bark was pale with dark veins that twisted through its smooth surface. The needles fanned out gracefully, and she hoped fervently that it was as resilient as it appeared.

Yet, the reasons for this place's abandonment haunted her. Who had labored to erect these monuments of stone and metal? The names—concrete, brick, metal beams—echoed in her mind, but the art of creation was lost. The forest’s roots had invaded these structures, slowly tearing apart the foundations. All that remained beneath was forsaken, a shadowy history hidden from generations.

The tree nestled securely in its new home, she gently stroked its green needles. “Why do you loathe this place?” she pondered. The tree thrummed in silence, too young to possess a voice. She had never dared to question an elder tree, fearful of the answers it might reveal. Perhaps this young one would also inherit the burdens of its ancestors.

The building's edge loomed ominously, a stark line gleaming in the rising sun. She stood at the precipice, peering into the shadows below. The sun's rays struggled to reach those depths. Had it always been so dark? An unsettling sensation prickled at her, a whisper from the darkness that beckoned her closer. A weight settled over her heart, and she wept. Leaning forward, she surrendered to the void, the darkness swallowing her whole as the sun faded from view. With a flutter of her wings, she spiraled downward, spiraling into the Beneath. Would she ever bask in the light again?

Time stretched on, the darkness coalescing into a murky grey. Light trickled through the swirling particles stirred by her descent. It felt like diving into the ocean, a final plunge without the knowledge of survival—an acceptance of her fate. As the ground came into view, she prepared for impact. She skimmed her feet against the earth, testing its solidity before planting herself firmly. Her wings twitched, whiskers on alert; this place felt utterly alien, yet it resonated with a sense of home. Here lay the roots of her existence.

Before her stretched a thin, spongy expanse, where white mushrooms gleamed like ghostly sentinels and grey moss clung desperately to every surface. This was the forest’s foundation—so distinct from the upper realms, yet teeming with life. She inhaled deeply, savoring the damp, musty aroma that enveloped her. There were no flowers here, no gentle winds to stir the dust; only the quiet rustle of her movements, a trespass into this sacred space.

But a voice called her forward, one that smelled of cedar and felt like oak—strange yet familiar, as if it had been woven into her very being. Was it a sin to be here? It didn’t feel that way. This place craved the living.

With each step, she stirred up small clouds of spores, the dim glow of mushrooms and blue vines casting a faint light to guide her. She pressed her palm against a tree, questioning whether her presence was a violation. The wood beneath the moss and vines felt smooth, cold—no branches extended from the central trunk, only a bizarre node at its peak. It exuded an eerie stillness, as silent as death itself. This tree was long gone. In the forest above, such decay was unheard of.

Her hands clenched against her chest as a sob escaped her. What could extinguish the life of such a tree? If even a mighty oak could not thrive here, what hope did she have? This strange realm felt destined to be her tomb. But it was not the solitude that unsettled her; it was the rows of lifeless trees flanking her path, their central trunks standing like mournful sentinels marking an unfathomable divide.

Yet the line ahead beckoned, compelling her onward. What stories had this place once held? The fuzzy light revealed another path, entwined with dark, rusted remnants covered in vines. She could only imagine the forgotten secrets beyond—perhaps the skeletal remains of long-dead bushes. A gap opened in this barrier, and she slipped through.

Suddenly, life erupted around her, overwhelming and chaotic. The buildings loomed, encasing this enclave from the rest of the Beneath. Sunlight poured down, infusing the space with warmth. Bushes sprawled, choked with vibrant blooms—reds and yellows bursting forth, thorns reaching out like grasping hands. They throbbed with a strange resonance when touched, echoing the silence of the young tree. Had language truly been lost?

Crumbled bricks lay scattered beneath her feet, remnants of a bygone era, forcing the line that confined the flora. The air buzzed with dissonant wails, a cacophony of confusion. She was a stranger here; no one had ventured Beneath for generations. They didn’t shun her but pulsed with a restless energy that threatened to engulf her.

At last, she broke free into an open circle bordered by crumbling bricks, a refuge amid the encroaching vegetation. In the center stood an enormous tree, ancient beyond comprehension. She pressed her hands against its trunk, tears streaming down her face as visions surged within her—a flood of memories of lives once lived here, separate from the forest. Those who inhabited this space had lost their voices; the trees could no longer hear their whispers.

The roots twisted and clawed at the earth, pushing against the brick confines, while the mighty trunk stretched skyward, its branches brushing the undersides of the buildings above. This tree had been planted in a time long forgotten, brought here in the same way she had carried the saplings above. It was unlike any tree she had known—older than time itself.

An ache resonated through her, a yearning for what this place once was. Rage seeped from its bark, mingling with sap and poisoning the new growth. This marked the beginning of a reclamation, yet the tree could not relinquish its hatred. It burned within her, a sensation like a storm in the sky, grasping at her heart and soul. She felt ensnared, bound to its sorrow as the shadows deepened around her. This was the moment that demanded the erasure of the past.

Though the sun still touched its leaves, the tree had forgotten the joy of warmth. It no longer relished the caress of the wind or the gentle kisses of sunlight. Hatred had consumed it, leaving no room for love to blossom.

With trembling hands pressed against the trunk, she stepped forward, fully aware of the gravity of her choice. Her people had long held that only the oldest and wisest could merge with such trees; the young had little to offer. The trees above had taken many within their embrace, leaving only the youngest, yet to grow large enough to contain the memories of their kin. Those that remained were reserved for the greatest among them.

This tree was ancient, deserving of far more than she could provide. Yet it called to her, a desperate plea echoing through the ages. How could she refuse it?

As the bark enveloped her, she glimpsed the reason no one ever returned from the depths below. How could one stand in the presence of such longing and anguish, and not succumb? She surrendered her essence to the flowing sap, pouring forth every memory of sunlight and the gentle wind that danced through her fur.

She gave this tree her joy.