It's dead.
The Wishing Tree is dead.
After Ignacio offered us his help, we were teleported to a vast field with nothing but grass and the Wishing Tree itself. And, no matter how I looked at it, the grass beneath our feet was lush and green, leaving only the tree all dried and withered. Is this our luck talking? What kind of shitty luck is this? Of all the grass here, why must it be the tree that died?
"Probably because the grass doesn't worth as much as the tree," Ignacio said, listening to my thoughts. Seriously, can he stop listening to my thoughts? I can't even talk badly about him even if I want to.
"What the hell? What do we do now? How are we supposed to save Alpha if there's no cure?" Andrew cursed, raking through his hair out of frustration.
