Chapter 12 — The Duel
And thus begins Chapter Twelve.
Now, children.
There we were.
Inside the banyan.
Reality bending around us.
Roots twisting.
Leaves breathing.
Shadows moving with far too much confidence.
The council nods.
Acid had fully entered the chat.
Now.
Paul had found himself a root.
Not just any root.
Children.
This root curved in such a way that it vaguely resembled a hammock.
And apparently,
that was enough.
Paul climbed onto it,
leaned back,
looked upward at the leaves,
and vanished spiritually.
The council leans forward.
Still alive?
Physically.
Mentally?
Children.
He had become part of the canopy.
Every now and then I looked toward him.
Same position.
Same expression.
Eyes fixed upward.
The council nods solemnly.
Paul had entered Tree Mode.
Best not disturb him.
Now.
Kosmo?
The council looks around.
Gone upward.
Naturally.
Children.
Some people encounter a giant banyan tree and think:
How beautiful.
Kosmo encountered one and thought:
I must climb this immediately.
The council applauds.
A man of purpose.
He climbed.
Higher.
Higher.
Then disappeared somewhere among the branches.
Eventually,
we spotted him settled above us,
perfectly comfortable,
like some strange forest cryptid returning to its natural habitat.
The council nods.
Kosmo had achieved elevation.
Then Laia looked at him.
I looked at him.
Then we looked at the tree.
The council becomes concerned.
Children.
I attempted climbing.
Of course I did.
Surely,
if Kosmo could do it,
so could I.
The council sighs.
This logic has caused many tragedies.
I grabbed a root.
Pulled.
Adjusted my foot.
Tried again.
The tree remained unimpressed.
Another attempt.
Failure.
Another.
Worse.
Children.
The banyan had rejected my application.
The council applauds.
MISSION CLIMB BANYAN:
FAILED.
I accepted defeat with extraordinary maturity.
Meaning,
I gave up immediately.
Laia laughed.
I joined her.
And so,
while Paul merged with the leaves
and Kosmo became a tree dwelling creature,
Laia and I wandered.
The council grows quiet.
Through the roots.
Around the trunks.
Past little openings where sunlight fell through in strange shapes.
Hand in hand.
Barely speaking.
And then something happened.
Something I still cannot properly explain.
The shared trance.
The council leans forward.
Children.
Reality was bending hard now.
Not gently.
Not slightly.
Hard.
The roots moved when I looked away.
Patterns appeared across bark.
Distances stretched.
Then shrank.
The space inside the banyan seemed impossibly large.
Like we had entered one tree from the outside
and somehow found an entire forest within it.
The council listens.
But the strangest part wasn’t what I saw.
It was Laia.
We stopped talking.
Not entirely.
But mostly.
And somehow,
we didn’t need to.
Children.
I would look at her face
and know what she meant.
Not telepathy.
Let us not begin manufacturing supernatural claims.
But something close enough to feel magical at the time.
A raised eyebrow.
A smile.
A glance toward some bizarre root formation.
And somehow,
I understood.
The council nods.
She would look at me,
pause,
then laugh before I had even said anything.
I would gesture vaguely.
She would nod like I had delivered an entire paragraph.
Children.
Language had become inefficient.
Faces were enough.
Hands were enough.
Movement was enough.
And so we wandered.
Quietly.
Together.
Her hand in mine.
No destination.
No objective.
Just two chemically compromised cryptids strolling through the inside of a giant tree
while communication slowly evolved backward.
The council approves.
Pure.
Then
I saw it.
The council leans forward.
A stick.
Children.
Not just a stick.
A glorious stick.
Long.
Balanced.
Slightly curved.
The sort of stick that immediately stops being vegetation the moment a man picks it up.
The council gasps.
A sword.
Exactly.
I lifted it.
Tested the weight.
Swung it once.
Children.
Magnificent.
The council applauds.
Weapon acquired.
Then destiny intervened.
Because nearby,
Laia found another.
The council grows still.
Another stick.
Equally magnificent.
She picked it up.
Looked at it.
Looked at me.
I looked at mine.
Then at hers.
No words.
The council waits.
A duel had begun.
The council erupts.
Children.
There was no declaration.
No countdown.
No terms of engagement.
No discussion of sides.
We simply knew.
I raised my sword.
Laia raised hers.
And attacked.
The council cheers.
She dodged.
Countered.
I blocked.
Or perhaps our sticks collided somewhere vaguely near each other and the acid filled in the rest.
History is flexible.
But inside our minds?
Children.
Cinema.
Pure cinema.
I swung.
She ducked.
She attacked.
I stepped aside.
Roots became castle walls.
Branches became battlements.
The banyan became an ancient arena.
The council watches in awe.
We fought like legendary warriors.
Graceful.
Precise.
Deadly.
Every movement choreographed by gods.
From the inside.
The council pauses.
And from the outside?
Two idiots hitting sticks together under a tree.
Correct.
But children.
Perspective matters.
And ours was excellent.
For a while,
the duel consumed everything.
No Goa.
No hostel.
No acid.
No friends.
Just blades.
Combat.
Honor.
The fate of kingdoms.
The council applauds.
Eventually,
however,
the universe introduced a new character.
A man.
The council grows quiet.
Standing near the entrance.
The root doorway.
Watching us.
The council leans forward.
And in his hand
a sickle.
The council goes silent.
Children.
This was not an imaginary sword.
This was an actual sickle.
A real,
sharp,
agricultural object.
The sort of item that dramatically changes the tone of a forest encounter.
Paul noticed.
Tree Mode deactivated.
The council nods.
Kosmo noticed.
He began climbing down.
Laia noticed.
I noticed.
The four of us slowly gathered.
The man remained there.
Watching.
Sickle in hand.
The council becomes concerned.
Now.
A reasonable interpretation:
Perhaps he worked there.
Perhaps he was cutting vegetation.
Perhaps he was a farmer.
Perhaps this enormous banyan existed somewhere near land requiring normal agricultural maintenance.
The council nods.
Many possibilities.
Our interpretation?
Children.
Sacrifice.
Obviously.
The council collapses.
The man stared.
We stared.
Silence.
Paul looked concerned.
Kosmo looked concerned.
Appropriately.
Laia looked at me.
I looked at Laia.
The shared trance activated.
Same thought.
Same moment.
Same terrible instinct.
And together,
in perfect synchronization,
we said:
“The final boss appears.”
The council erupts.
CHILDREN.
Paul turned toward us immediately.
The look.
The council knows the look.
The expression of a man who regrets every friendship decision that led him here.
He scolded us.
Rightfully.
Children.
There is a time for jokes.
Standing several meters from an unfamiliar man holding a sickle while all of you are deeply intoxicated
may not be that time.
The council nods.
Historical fairness demands that Paul receive this victory.
Kosmo also appeared to agree with the general philosophy of:
Perhaps do not antagonize the man with the blade.
Laia and I attempted seriousness.
Poorly.
The man continued staring.
The council grows quiet.
Then
he left.
The council pauses.
Just left?
Just left.
Children.
No sacrifice.
No boss battle.
No health bar.
No ominous music.
He simply walked away.
Probably wondering why four strange tourists inside his banyan tree had suddenly assembled like a malfunctioning adventuring party.
The council laughs.
Danger resolved.
Paul exhaled.
Kosmo relaxed.
Laia looked at me.
I looked at Laia.
The council becomes suspicious.
And we resumed walking.
The council collapses.
Immediately?
Immediately.
Children.
The final boss had despawned.
Quest continued.
Paul returned to his root.
Tree Mode reactivated.
The council applauds.
No lasting trauma.
Kosmo?
Climbed another section of the banyan.
Because apparently one climb had not sufficiently answered whatever question he was asking the tree.
And Laia and I?
Back through the roots.
Hand in hand.
Reality still twisting beautifully around us.
The duel sticks remained somewhere nearby.
Perhaps abandoned.
Perhaps waiting for the next warriors.
The council grows quiet.
And somehow,
that moment became one of the clearest memories of the trip.
Not because anything important happened.
No revelation.
No lesson.
No great emotional breakthrough.
Just absurdity.
Children.
A hammock-root philosopher.
A climbing Kosmo.
Two idiots communicating through facial expressions.
An imaginary sword duel.
And a man with a sickle briefly becoming the final boss of Goa.
The council nods.
Perfect.
Years later,
I would build entire philosophies around wandering.
Movement.
Stillness.
Temporary families.
The roads we choose.
The things we carry.
But old wanderings remind me of something simpler.
Sometimes a memory does not need meaning.
Sometimes it survives because it was fun.
Because you laughed.
Because reality became ridiculous for an afternoon.
Because for a few hours,
you and someone else inhabited the same nonsense
and understood each other perfectly.
The council smiles.
And perhaps that is enough.
Thus concludes Chapter Twelve.
Tree Mode.
Mission Climb Banyan.
The Glorious Stick Duel.
And The Final Boss Who Refused To Fight.
Children.
The acid had turned a banyan tree into an entire universe.
Paul had become furniture.
Kosmo had become arboreal.
Laia and I had become warriors.
And one completely ordinary man carrying a sickle had briefly become a mythological threat.
The council nods solemnly.
From outside?
Nonsense.
From inside?
One of the greatest adventures ever staged.
And children,
the trip was still not finished with us.
