CHAPTER ONE — The Tree That Called His Name

Every night for a week, eleven‑year‑old Milo dreamed of the same place.

A field of soft golden grass.
A sky the color of early morning.
And in the center of it all — an enormous weeping willow tree.

Its branches hung low, brushing the ground like curtains of green silk. The leaves shimmered, whispering secrets he could almost understand. And every time Milo stepped closer, the tree seemed to breathe, as if it were alive in a way no ordinary tree could ever be.

But the moment he reached out to touch its trunk, he always woke up.

Heart racing.
Sheets tangled.
Rusty — his scruffy, copper‑furred dog — staring at him with worried eyes.

“It’s just a dream,” Milo would whisper, rubbing Rusty’s ears. “Just a weird, weird dream.”

But Rusty never seemed convinced.

By the seventh morning, Milo felt the dream tugging at him even when he was awake. At school, he doodled willow branches in the margins of his notebook. At lunch, he caught himself staring out the window, half expecting to see the tree rising from the playground asphalt.

And that afternoon, when he got home, Rusty was already acting strange.

The dog paced the backyard, nose to the ground, tail stiff with excitement. Milo dropped his backpack and jogged over.

“What is it, boy?”

Rusty didn’t bark. He just kept digging — paws flying, dirt spraying everywhere. Milo groaned.

“Mom’s gonna freak out if you ruin the yard again.”

But Rusty didn’t stop.

He dug faster.

Deeper.

More frantic.

Milo knelt beside him, brushing dirt away. “Rusty, seriously, what are you—”

His hand hit something.

Not a rock.
Not a root.

Something smooth. Cold. Like metal.

Milo’s breath caught. He cleared more dirt until a small, round object emerged — a bronze ring set into the ground, attached to something buried beneath.

Rusty whined, nudging Milo’s arm.

“You want me to pull it?”

Rusty barked once — sharp, urgent.

Milo wrapped his fingers around the ring and tugged.

Nothing.

He pulled harder.

The ground trembled.

A crack split the earth beneath Rusty’s paws, widening into a perfect circle. Milo stumbled back as the ring lifted — not because he was pulling it, but because something below was pushing it upward.

With a soft, echoing click, a wooden hatch swung open.

A warm, golden light spilled out, washing over Milo’s face.

Rusty barked again — not scared, but thrilled — and bounded toward the opening.

“Rusty, wait!”

But the dog had already disappeared down the glowing tunnel.

Milo stared after him, heart pounding. The light felt familiar. Comforting. Like the sunlight in his dreams.

And then he heard it.

A whisper.

Soft.
Gentle.
Calling his name.

“Milo…”

His breath hitched.

It was the same voice he heard beneath the willow tree every night.

He swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the hatch.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “This is either the coolest thing ever… or the worst idea of my life.”

He took a deep breath.

And climbed down after Rusty.

"Rusty, come back!! Please??" Milo called, but for a long while Milo was chasing after his tail which seemed to disappear more and more as the light in the tunnel got brighter.

"Rusty please I don't want to lose you..." Milo was at first, laughing but now crying and out of breath in fear that Rusty would run away for good, alfter trudging a few more steps, Milo could see that the light had become softer and Rusty's silhoutte as his eye's adjusted filled out, to his regular ol dog. Rusty fixed his eyes on something invisible in the distance.

"Oh boy, I was supposed to be ready for lunch and come inside in 10 minutes before I followed Rusty down here..." thought Milo. But before he could worry his little head anymore, he felt giddy and started rolling around in the grass. The grass was literally never greener. "What world is this?" Milo whispered to himself. In the distance the willow tree was waiting for him, but in his immediate surrounding were poppies, daisys, lupines and other wildflowers growing in a meadow. But these flowers were so freely growing and intricate they almost seemed like invasive weeds, this meadow was not manmade for sure. Maybe where Milo was was never touched by humans before him. A perfect sun placed left overhead of Milo, like the one he would draw on his doodles. A warmth so artificially comfortable that milo felt like he was wrapped in a heated blanket rather than getting beamed on in one spot. The grass breathed into his ear and he got scared and sat up. The flowers turned to face him ever so slightly, and by now Milo noticed.

"I like it but I don't like it here," he thought "I should start moving."

He crouched and grabbed Rusty by his collar, when he turned around to head back home a voice cried "Don't leave yet!"

Unmistakably, this voice belonged to the willow tree farther off in the distance, waving it's branches (which now looked like moving limbs) slouched over, poor and helpless posture did the willow tree have. It stood by a clear water stream where little fish popped their heads up to the surface every now and then to greet the willow tree.

"Oh please don't go Milo!" the willow tree sighed, "I'm so lonely and nobody has visited me for some, uh, 24 years now!"

Milo dared not to respond just yet, this tree being the enitity appearing in his dreams for a week straight, which now is reality.

Milo whispered to his dog "Rusty, if you sense anything off you run back home and I'll follow. Worst case scenario, attack!!" Milo let go of Rusty's collar, as he was usually a good dog and could understand and follow Milo. Milo tiptoed towards the willow tree, now about 20 feet away.

Milo never sped up his pace but it seemed that the tree had some magic ability, where one second Milo was far away and the next thing he knew, he was standing right below the tree.

"Milo, do you know what would make me most happy? Join me for a cup of tea!"

And so Milo sat on a stump next to the willow tree, and waited for his next directions.