"Do you like being alive?"

“I do!”

"Is something specific going to happen in the next day which you think is likely to change that."

“I like existing, and I exist within a process where I’m going to stop, so I also like the - natural conclusion - of that process? If I had an opportunity to exist within another process I would take it and I also wouldn’t defect against it. I think that treants and regular people might have a baseline psychological difference here.”

"Sure.  If you say so.  But even given that - the person who animated you could not have reasonably expected you to actually hold back a decent party of adventurers all on your own.  The options here for you are either you fight us and we kill you, or you let us through and continue to exist.  I would argue that the former is actually the defective option, because in the latter you get to stick around for at least a short while, and keep on keeping out interruptions that are too minor to be of your animator's concern.  Which we are not."

“Can I have a credible signal of your status as decent adventurers?” inquires the tree.

"Hey, muscle man."

Zeke stomps, twice, on the stone floor; the top layer shatters like a potato chip dropped from a two story window.

The tree creakily bends down to inspect the floor, and then rises back up again.

”I think that I am less durable than stone. Although I’m not entirely sure? I think that’s enough of a credible signal that I can update accordingly, anyways.”

- it? they? - step off to the side, away from the three doors, and take on a sort of resting ‘I am definitely just a regular tree that’s uprooted and underground for some reason, don’t be suspicious of me’ pose.

"Good call."  She turns to the rest of the party.  "How are we feeling about these doors."

“They’re super duper doorlike!”

“Doorian. Doorabesque. Doorable? - um, the rest of the traps weren’t very good at being traps but Zeke should still be the party member to open one, I think?”

“If we’re not, like, trying something elaborate, then I can just go ahead and do that.”

"I meant which one."

“We could continue going right?”

"Alright, all right.  After you, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Punchy."

“Uhuh, fernfucker.”

“... should I find that offensive?” wonders the definitely-just-a-regular-tree.

"Not any more than mothers do, I should think," says Jace, doubling the gravity in a selective cylinder around Zeke for one and two-thirds seconds before immediately putting it back to normal.

Zeke notices this and does not really care.

He backflips over to the rightmost door, opens it, and finds himself greeted by a burst of extremely intense blue-white fire; it leaves the door and the rock around him mildly melted, and leaves him and his clothing mildly singed. 

“... ow?”

“Meep!” meeps the tree.

“Meep!” meeps Kamin.

(He is going to STARE at his BOYFRIEND for approximately ten seconds and there is going to be glitter and then his boyfriend is going to stop being injured, it is very unjust that his boyfriend is ever injured in the course of deliberately putting himself in injurious circumstance and they really need to make a law against it.)

"Let's re-center.  Middle one?"

The treant quietly shuffles over to the far end of the room and resumes half-heartedly attempting to be inconspicuous; Zeke opens the middle door and immediately blackflips away from the ensuing eruption of flame.

"Well, what's left."