The Charlatan descended the subway stairs, stroking his hirsute mantle. His eyes fixated on each step, each one lighter than the last. His morose expression betrayed his broad, confident frame. Yet, the deeper he went, the less his brow furrowed, the less his knuckles gripped his beard, the less his nostrils flared. It was as if he found peace the further he moved from the top step—shedding sins and sorrows as he descended. But then, he realized: these weren't subway stairs. They were the steps to Hell itself. He was too late. Sins fell but were caught, fueling the fire; sorrows dropped, only to become chains on the devil’s crown. The last deception—his welcome to eternal damnation.

Beneath the earth’s veil lies a labyrinthine mansion—a vast network of roots, a silent system, pulsing with nutrients and wisdom. What confounds human understanding aligns perfectly with the silent language of trees. Life flows beneath the surface, an unseen current speaking in tongues shaped like lightning—not sharp, but a low hum, a murmur, as if ancient secrets are being whispered, exchanged in the dark. Here, deep within the soil, all beings share a connection, ancient and unbreakable. A place where new life is raised on the firmest of foundations, nurtured in the embrace of nature’s quiet power. The foolish believe the tree dies where it is born. But no. Trees are migrants of the soul. They travel through time, through bodies, always the same spirit, flowing along unseen motorways beneath the ground. They breathe life into new lands, once barren, now teeming with vitality. Do you believe deserts bloom without reason? Trees are nomads, educators, evolving with each new world they touch. But they are also conquerors, strategists. They move silently, either coexisting with or overtaking the land they encounter. While we, ignorant wanderers above, remain unaware of their hidden empires, their secret lives beneath our feet.