Sitting by the tree.

He knelt to drink from the lake.

The water felt different. As he swallowed, he felt it move through his body—not just down his throat, but through him—until it reached his eyes.

The world changed.
Everything was alive.

Then he heard it: a voice on the lake, barely more than a whisper.

He moved closer, but the sound stayed distant. So he drank again. And again. Each sip brought the voice nearer, clearer.

The voice began to hum—a melody.

Mesmerized, he sat beneath a tree and fell asleep.

When he woke, it was night. The fog had lifted from the lake, and the moon was the only light left. The melody had stopped, but above the water, the fog traced the silhouette of a woman.

She drifted to the lake’s edge and asked,
“Have you come for answers?”

Confused, he stared at the clear space where she stood—an absence in the fog.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“You have three questions,” she replied.

He understood then: an oracle.

“Three questions…” he repeated, standing.
Three questions—but which ones?

When will I die?
Or how—but that was already two.

What would life be like knowing its end? Would he spend it trying to escape it?

What is my purpose?
But if he were told, would it still be his to find?

Does God exist?

Seeing his hesitation, she said softly,
“There are hundreds of questions. But only a few you truly care about.”

“Is my destiny written in stone?” he asked, the words escaping before he could stop them.

The water beneath her feet began to glow. It rose, shaping her form in light.

“Destiny is written in the stars,” she said.
“From dust to dust. But you are made of them, and they of you. It is no more theirs than it is yours.”

The light sank back into the lake.

“Two more questions,” she said.

“Will there be regrets at the end of my life?”

Once again the water rose, glowing gently.

“There are always regrets,” she said.
“But the life you will live will hold more to be grateful for. Your last words will be a smile.”

His voice trembled as he whispered thank you. The water dimmed and returned to stillness.

“One last question,” she said.

He swallowed.

“Will I ever find what I’m looking for?”

The lake surged upward one final time, brighter than before.

“No,” she said.

His heart sank—

“But you will understand that it was in the looking that you found it.”

The light burst softly, dissolving the fog. Only her humming remained.

He sat beneath the tree, listening, holding the answers.

Before he noticed, he fell asleep again.

Morning found him there, seated beneath the tree, the lake quiet and unchanged.