God’s Tree

The fire had burned down to embers by the time Argolaith stirred.

The land was too quiet. Not the quiet of peace, but the kind that came before a storm. It wasn't just the absence of animals or insects—it was the absence of movement. The wind had stilled. The fog had retreated. Even the frost seemed to hold its breath.

Argolaith sat with his back to the broken monument, staring into the half-dead glow of the fire. The stone around them pulsed faintly in the moonlight, the carvings catching stray glimmers of silver.

The image of the blue-eyed man before the crystal tree still lingered in his thoughts.

He hadn't spoken of it to the others. Not yet.

Because it felt like something that wasn't meant to be real.

Until now.

A faint crack rang through the plateau.

Argolaith's head snapped toward the monument.

The others, still in light sleep, stirred.

The ground beneath the obelisks trembled—not violently, but subtly, like something beneath it had shifted for the first time in centuries.

Malakar stood slowly, eyes glowing. "Something's changed."

The largest obelisk, half-buried in earth, glowed faintly now along its base. Not golden or violet—but a soft, pale blue.

The same color as Argolaith's eyes.

"I didn't touch it," Argolaith said. "Not directly. Just brushed the stone."

Kaelred unsheathed a dagger and rose. "You sure you didn't awaken some ancient, vengeful tree cult?"

The monument pulsed again. This time, they all felt it—a wave, like a ripple in the air. Not sound, not heat. A feeling, brushing through the skin, through the bones, like memory.

And then, the central slab cracked open.

A line of blue light split it from top to bottom, not violently—but with purpose.

Argolaith stepped forward slowly. "It's reacting to me."

The light spilled out, and Argolaith took another step—

And the world disappeared.

He stood again on mirrored ground.

The glass-like field from his earlier dream.

The crystalline tree rose before him once more—taller now, its branches stretching impossibly high into the darkness above. Beneath it, the faceless figure returned, but this time it held something in its hands:

A shard of the same blue light that had opened the monument.

Argolaith stepped closer.

The figure didn't speak. Didn't move.

But he felt it—an understanding pressed into his mind:

"This is not the path to the third tree.

This is what the trees were meant to protect."

The world shivered. The sky above began to crack.

Not from storm.

But from memory.

Shards of the past rained down—images of civilizations that no longer existed, people kneeling before trees made of fire, of wind, of earth. And beyond them, rising from a sea of stars, something vast.

A presence.

A watcher.

A god—or the ghost of one.

Argolaith stumbled back—

And woke.

He gasped for breath as the real world returned.

The light in the obelisk dimmed and vanished. The crack sealed behind him as though it had never been there.

Kaelred rushed over. "You disappeared. For a second, I couldn't even sense you."

Malakar stood motionless, watching the monument with narrowed eyes. "You were shown something. Something ancient."

Argolaith nodded slowly. "Not the third tree. But… something older. Older than the trees. Maybe older than the gods."

Thae'Zirak, who had moved to the edge of the plateau, spoke without turning. "You were allowed to glimpse it. That alone is dangerous."

Kaelred looked around at the frost-drenched land. "So, we're not just dealing with rogue trees and nightmare monsters. Now we've got—what? Lost civilizations whispering in our dreams?"

Argolaith stared at the stone. "I think… the trees were meant to keep something sealed. And we're following their path in reverse."

Malakar's voice was quiet. "And when you gather the lifeblood of all five—what happens to the seal?"

No one answered.

By sunrise, the light over the warped land had not warmed it. The monument was once again inert, buried in frost and silence.

But Argolaith no longer looked at it with uncertainty.

He looked at it with resolve.

The third tree still lay far ahead. That much hadn't changed. But now there were new questions. Larger ones.

He climbed back onto Thae'Zirak's back, eyes set on the south.

They flew again—

Through a world that had forgotten itself.

Through a land once shaped by memory, now unraveling.

And beneath them, something watched.

Not with malice.

Not with hunger.

But with interest.

They flew for three days without encountering a single living thing.

No beasts.

No ruins.

No signs of ancient travelers or even lost scavengers.

Just land that bent in unnatural ways, hills that curved inward like they had been stitched shut, and trees that had no leaves, only skin-like membranes that rustled with soundless breath.

The sky remained the same dull iron-gray, refusing to shift into night or day. Instead, the world was locked in a kind of eternal dusk, where the sun never quite rose and never fully set.

Each day that passed, the terrain grew more wrong.

Paths twisted behind them. Stones they had marked reappeared miles later. Rivers ran in loops that defied gravity.

And worst of all—the compass in Kaelred's hand stopped working.

It didn't spin wildly.

It just stopped.

Frozen, pointing nowhere.

They landed near a cliff edge late on the third day to rest, each of them weighed down not by fatigue, but by the strange drag the land put on their bodies. Every motion felt slightly harder. Every breath slightly colder.

Kaelred tossed the broken compass into the snow and scowled. "Okay. So let me get this straight: we've lost the trail, the trees are backwards, the stars don't move, and now this place is eating time and logic like a damn stew." He flopped down on a boulder. "Perfect."

Argolaith didn't reply. He stood near the cliff's edge, staring down into the chasm below. His blue eyes narrowed.

"Bones," he said quietly.

Malakar joined him. The chasm wasn't natural—it cut through the land like a wound. And deep inside, along the walls and floor, were skeletal remains. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.

Not just human.

Not just elf.

All kinds. Beast. Draconic. Giant. Insectoid. Fae.

Some of the skeletons were fused with metal. Others seemed half-turned to stone. One massive skull had six eye sockets—and something had carved runes into the bone.

"This was a battlefield," Malakar said. "No—something worse."

Kaelred joined them and peered down. "Why does it feel like none of them died fighting each other?"

Argolaith turned. "Because they didn't."

He knelt by a nearby ridge and brushed snow away. Beneath it, a series of claw marks. Not battle scratches—drag marks. Something had pulled bodies here.

And then left them.

Thae'Zirak approached slowly, his voice grave. "This is a feeding ground."

Just as the words left his mouth, the ground shook.

Not a violent quake—but a deep, slow pulse.

Like the world exhaled.

Then, from the far side of the chasm, a path appeared.

It hadn't been there a moment ago.

But now it was—a staircase of ancient black stone winding down into the dark. Each step was etched with symbols in a language they couldn't read, pulsing softly with red light.

Kaelred took a step back. "That wasn't there before."

Malakar narrowed his eyes. "It wants us to follow."

"Not the tree," Argolaith said. "But something tied to it."

He felt it—not a pull, not a vision—but an awareness.

The presence from the monument.

Watching.

Waiting.

Not hostile. Not yet.

But curious.

And in that curiosity, there was danger.

As they debated, the wind changed.

It came from the chasm now, not the sky.

And it carried something strange.

A sound.

It wasn't a whisper.

It was the absence of one.

A deliberate silence.

Like something in the dark was choosing not to speak.

Argolaith stepped forward, one hand on the hilt of his blade. "We don't follow it tonight."

Thae'Zirak nodded. "Wise."

They made camp far from the stairs.

Malakar set his runes in wide, overlapping circles. Kaelred cleaned his daggers in silence. Argolaith sat with his back to the fire, eyes on the cliff. On the bones. On the waiting dark.

Later that night, when the others slept, Argolaith walked to the cliff once more.

The stone steps still glowed faintly.

Still waited.

Still watched.

But he would not go yet.

Because something down there knew his name.

And it was smiling.