God’s Tree

The glow of the valley had faded behind them.

The guardian was gone. The silence had lifted. The trees no longer shimmered with unnatural light, and the wind—though cold—carried sound again. It rustled leaves, stirred cloaks, and howled gently through the narrow canyons they now crossed. The world had let them pass.

But more than that—

It had changed for Argolaith.

The moment the guardian faded into the roots and the last glow vanished from the trees, something had settled into him. Not pain. Not weight. Not pressure.

A presence.

Faint. Quiet.

Like a thread tied to his ribs, gently tugging with each step.

They had left the valley by morning. Now, with gray daylight filtered through skeletal branches above them, Argolaith led the way—faster than before, with more certainty in his stride.

Kaelred finally noticed. "You're not hesitating."

Argolaith didn't stop. "Because I know where to go."

Malakar's burning violet gaze narrowed. "The tree is calling."

The path ahead wound between two hills split by ancient erosion, the walls sheer and streaked with veins of quartz.

Thin fog clung to the ground in streams, moving like water through the low places. But Argolaith didn't pause. His boots landed with purpose. His grip on his sword relaxed.

He could feel it.

Not a voice. Not a word.

A pulse.

It came every few heartbeats—deep and resonant, like the toll of a distant bell underwater. It didn't reach his ears. It reached somewhere deeper.

"I think," Argolaith said, "the tree knows I've passed something I wasn't supposed to survive."

Kaelred frowned. "Like what?"

"The valley. The silence. The guardian."

Thae'Zirak's wings shifted behind him, trailing as he walked. "You have passed more than a trial. The trees mark time differently. Your survival echoes through their roots."

Malakar added quietly, "Your presence is no longer a question. It's becoming an answer."

By midday, they reached another forest—not as luminous as the valley, not as hostile as the twisted lands they had passed through before. It was old, yes, but peaceful.

The trees here bore thick trunks of dusky green bark, their leaves shaped like long silver coins that shimmered faintly in the dull light. The air smelled of damp soil and faint spices—notes of cedar, bloodroot, and something sweeter, like dried petals crushed underfoot.

The moment Argolaith stepped beneath the first tree, the wind shifted.

The path bent.

To Kaelred and Malakar, it was subtle. A faint change in trail, a curve where none had been before.

But to Argolaith—

It was a door opening.

Invisible, but unmistakable. The ground beneath his boots vibrated with a faint resonance, the trees gently leaning—not physically, but in intention—like the forest itself was offering him direction.

He turned left without hesitation. The others followed, silent now.

He turned right at a fork that wasn't there a moment before.

Malakar noticed it, even if he didn't say anything.

The forest was rearranging itself.

Around Argolaith.

By late afternoon, they arrived at a clearing where an enormous stone pillar rose from the earth. It stood nearly forty feet tall, covered in deep grooves etched with runes eroded by time. Moss clung to it, and vines wrapped tight around its base like snakes holding a dead god.

But near the top, just barely visible, was the mark of a tree—its roots carved downward into spirals.

Argolaith stepped forward and touched the stone.

The ground beneath him pulsed once.

The pull from the third tree grew stronger.

His vision blurred.

And for the first time—he heard a word.

Not from his mind.

From the earth.

"Soon."

He staggered back, eyes wide, heart pounding.

Kaelred was at his side instantly. "What? What did you see?"

Argolaith didn't answer for a moment. Then:

"It spoke."

Malakar tilted his head. "The tree?"

"No," Argolaith said slowly. "The land. The roots. The part of it that sleeps."

They didn't camp near the pillar.

Argolaith led them onward, deeper into the woods, toward a place none of them could see—but he could feel it now. The rhythm was clearer. The pull was firmer.

The third tree was near.

Not close.

But near enough to reach in the coming days.

And now, the forest wasn't trying to stop him.

It was guiding him.

The forest was no longer just a place—it was a presence.

Each step Argolaith took, the trees responded. The silver-leafed canopy above shifted to let more light through. The air grew thicker, warmer, humming faintly with an unseen energy that made the skin prickle and the hair along the arms rise.

He didn't speak much. He didn't need to. The path ahead opened for him—twisting without logic, yet always arriving at the next point like it had waited for centuries for his footsteps.

Kaelred was the first to say it aloud.

"This place is alive."

Thae'Zirak rumbled from behind. "It is more than that. It remembers."

Argolaith didn't slow. The pull had become constant now—a heartbeat beneath the earth, thrumming in time with the two vials of lifeblood secured at his hip. The third tree was near. Not visible yet, but its roots were everywhere. Listening.

Malakar walked quietly behind them, eyes scanning the trees.

"This forest is bent around your existence," he murmured. "It's warping paths, shaping memory. It's preparing something."

Argolaith nodded. "A trial."

Kaelred gave a tired groan. "Another one? You can't just find the tree and take the lifeblood like a normal magical chosen one?"

"No," Argolaith said, smiling faintly. "Not in this world."

The deeper they went, the more surreal the forest became.

The bark of the trees began to shimmer, as if slick with dew made of stars. Leaves whispered to one another in no tongue they could understand. Some trees were split down the middle but still alive, their roots twined like clasped hands beneath the earth.

The path narrowed without warning, funnelling them into a stone-carved corridor flanked by pillars covered in moss and ancient carvings.

Strange depictions spiraled upward—figures with antlers instead of heads, people with empty eyes planting saplings into the mouths of statues.

Argolaith slowed here.

"I've seen some of these symbols in the old ruins," he muttered. "Back near the first tree."

Malakar examined one of the stone figures. "No coincidence. This place is older than the trees themselves. You're walking through something woven between trials."

Kaelred stepped cautiously, his hand hovering near his dagger hilts. "And what, exactly, are we walking toward?"

Before anyone could answer, the forest moved.

It wasn't just a shift in direction. The trees ahead stepped aside—gently, without cracking, as if they'd never been rooted at all.

A grove revealed itself beyond the corridor, circular and serene, ringed by trees that shimmered with soft blue light. At its center was a pool of water—perfectly still, so clear that it reflected the sky above like a mirror.

Argolaith stopped at the edge.

The pull was stronger here.

But still no tree.

Kaelred frowned. "This isn't it."

"No," Argolaith agreed, stepping forward slowly. "But it's part of it."

Malakar's gaze narrowed as he studied the pool. "This is a memory well. A reflection chamber."

Thae'Zirak's wings twitched. "A test."

The water rippled.

Not from wind.

But from intention.

Argolaith stepped to the edge of the pool and looked down.

He didn't see his reflection.

He saw someone else.

A boy.

Younger than he remembered being.

Blue-eyed. Dirt on his cheeks. Scars on his arms. A rusted dagger in his belt and a piece of charred bread in his hand.

The memory of someone who had once survived, not thrived.

Then the image shifted.

The boy grew—through reflections of fire, loss, exile, and rage. He saw himself pushing back. Taking risks. Climbing that first slope. Finding the storage ring. Leaving Seminah behind.

Becoming this.

Kaelred and the others said nothing. They didn't see what he saw.

The water stilled again.

Then, the surface parted—just a little. A hand reached up.

A hand made of bark and bone.

It didn't grab him. It didn't pull. It simply opened, revealing a seed.

Smooth. Dark. Glowing faintly at its core.

Argolaith reached down and took it.

The water sealed behind him like glass.

And the grove darkened.

The forest didn't speak in words. But it made itself known.

As they left the grove, the path changed again. This time, not subtly. It rearranged itself. Trees moved. The light dimmed. The very ground softened beneath their boots, and faint glows beneath the soil flickered with each step.

Malakar looked toward the canopy.

"It's starting."

Argolaith looked at the seed in his palm. It had not faded.

"I know."

Kaelred sighed. "Wonderful. More tests. What kind of trial do you think it'll be this time?"

Argolaith's voice was calm. "I don't know. But the last two were body and mind."

Thae'Zirak growled faintly, a sound deep in his throat. "Then the third will be spirit."

They kept walking, the forest reshaping itself with every step.

And somewhere ahead, the third tree waited.