Trees that have stood long enough earn a name. At fourteen days, Elder. At sixty, Ancient. At three hundred and sixty-five — a full year in the real world — Millennial. The title appears when you open the tree and read its age. The field keeps count.

Trees planted close together slow each other's reach. A hex cell has six neighbours. Fill them, and the tree at centre grows at half pace — crowded by what it shares roots with. Plant with room to breathe, or don't, and watch the slow ones age into something older than they should be.

The console cleared its face. Your stats now show what matters to a walker: level, energy, your streak, how far you moved today, how many trees are yours. The skill tree drew the branch it always should have had. Quests and the daily check-in sit together in one place, one tap.

The field calls out when something needs you — a fruit ready to harvest, a tree drifting toward dormancy. If you carry the app, it finds you.

First-time walkers get a bearing now. A card in the console explains the shape of things. The early hints cycle instead of repeating, and the map speaks more clearly while you find your first orb.