God’s Tree

The hall stretched on, lit only by the ghostly flames flickering along the walls.

Each step echoed—not with the sound of footfalls, but with a weight.

Like they were walking through a place where the past had never ended.

The voice had not spoken again.

But its presence was everywhere.

It wasn't haunting them.

It wasn't stalking them.

It was waiting.

Argolaith led the way, his sword sheathed but his hand resting loosely on the hilt.

Malakar walked beside him, calm as always, the violet flame of his gaze casting eerie shadows along the walls.

Kaelred followed a step behind, blades drawn, muttering. "Creepy voice. Timeless fortress. Flickering lights. Nothing weird at all."

They passed beneath a massive archway—its edges carved with ancient runes long faded, their meaning lost to time.

Beyond it, the air grew colder.

The light dimmed.

But they kept walking.

They entered a massive chamber, circular in shape, its walls lined with towering statues of cloaked figures.

Each was unique.

Some held blades.

Others, staffs.

One stood with arms crossed over its chest, mouth open as if mid-command.

Each bore the same symbol on its chest—a circle split by five roots.

Argolaith stopped. "This symbol…"

Malakar stepped closer, brushing one bony hand across the weathered stone. "It is the mark of the Treeborne."

Kaelred frowned. "Who?"

Malakar glanced at him. "The ancient stewards of the Five Trees. Keepers of balance. They were once warriors, sages, and guardians."

Kaelred stared. "You're just dropping that now?"

Malakar's tone was dry. "You never asked."

Kaelred groaned.

Argolaith stared up at the statues, his blue eyes narrowing. The energy in this room—it wasn't Hollowed. It wasn't hostile.

It was… watchful.

And then—

The voice returned.

"You walk among their memory."

From the shadows stepped a figure.

Not a man.

Not a beast.

Something between.

It wore a cloak of woven night, its face hidden beneath a mask shaped like a shattered moon.

Its voice echoed unnaturally, resonating through the air itself.

"Treebound. You carry the mark of the sword. The scent of the trees. The echo of forgotten blood."

Argolaith stepped forward. "Who are you?"

The figure tilted its head. "A shade. A memory. A remnant of what was."

Kaelred folded his arms. "Helpful."

The figure ignored him, turning its masked gaze toward Argolaith.

"You approach the second tree, bearer. But the roots grow tangled. The Hollowed seek to sever what you would restore."

Malakar's expression darkened. "We've seen their work."

The shade nodded slowly. "And you will see more."

Argolaith asked, "Why are you here? Why now?"

The shade stepped closer. Its form didn't move as a body should—each step seemed to slide rather than walk.

"This fortress was built by those who came before. It exists outside of time, guarding a single truth: that the trees are alive—and they remember."

Kaelred raised a brow. "What does that even mean?"

The shade turned toward him. "It means the trees choose. And they have chosen him."

It lifted one hand. In its palm appeared a small orb of light, faintly pulsing with green and gold.

"A seed of memory. A gift from the First Tree. Take it, and carry it to the second. It will know you. It will listen."

The orb hovered toward Argolaith.

He reached out and took it.

The moment his fingers closed around it—

A rush of sensation flooded him.

Wind through ancient branches.

The warmth of sunlit roots.

The heartbeat of something massive, distant, alive.

And then—

Silence.

The shade stepped back.

"You must go. The Hollowed do not sleep. The further you walk, the closer they will come. But you are not alone. The roots remember."

Argolaith nodded slowly. "I understand."

Malakar gave the shade a final glance. "Will we see you again?"

The figure did not answer.

Instead, it turned—and vanished into the stone.

As if it had never been there.

They retraced their steps in silence, the ghostly flames lighting their path back to the entrance.

Outside, the mists had faded, and the land stretched wide beneath the night sky.

Kaelred broke the silence. "So… mysterious ancient shade gives us a magical seed to talk to a giant tree and then disappears?"

Argolaith smirked. "Pretty much."

Kaelred sighed. "Yep. Sounds about right."

Malakar's tone was calm. "It means the tree is aware. And it is waiting."

Argolaith stepped forward again. The seed of memory pulsed softly in his palm.

The second tree still called to him.

And now—it would know he was coming.

The fortress faded into the mists behind them.

Ahead, the land stretched wide and bleak, illuminated by the pale, cold light of dawn rising behind the distant ridges.

They walked in silence.

Argolaith kept his hand near the small seed of memory—a gift from the First Tree, still glowing faintly within the inner pocket of his cloak. He could feel it pulsing, not with heat or power, but with something far more ancient: awareness.

Kaelred walked beside him, glancing around warily at the barren terrain. "So… any chance this tree we're heading to is the friendly sort? Maybe offers tea, gives blessings without trials, doesn't try to kill people?"

Malakar, walking behind them with his hands clasped behind his back, let out a quiet, amused hum. "You wish for kindness from a force older than empires?"

Kaelred sighed. "Honestly, yeah."

After another mile of silence, Malakar finally spoke again, his tone calm, thoughtful. "When I took the lifeblood from the trees of my era… they were easier."

Argolaith and Kaelred both glanced back at him.

Malakar's violet eyes burned beneath his hood. "They did not test with endless trials. They did not summon fractured Hollowed or corrupted commanders. They did not lure ancient beasts to me in the dark."

Kaelred raised an eyebrow. "They just gave it to you?"

"No," Malakar said. "There were still barriers. Still requirements. But they were not… this."

He swept his skeletal hand toward the land around them—the cracked earth, the lifeless wind, the distant mountains laced with black ash.

"I was not hunted by stranger things," he said. "I was not pursued by forces I could not name."

Argolaith glanced back at him, blue eyes sharp. "You think something else is tracking us?"

Malakar didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was lower. "I know it."

Kaelred's expression tightened. "So… it's not just the Hollowed anymore?"

Malakar stopped walking for a moment. His burning eyes looked to the horizon. "The Hollowed are the messengers. There is something else at the edge of all this. Watching. Waiting. Testing you, Argolaith—not just for strength, but for something deeper."

Argolaith turned back to the path ahead. "Let it watch."

They resumed their pace.

Argolaith pushed forward with more purpose than before. The second tree still called—no longer just a pressure in the back of his mind, but a slow, steady voice.

Not words. Not sounds.

Feeling.

He could almost imagine roots stretching through the land beneath him, winding toward a place he had yet to reach.

Kaelred grumbled behind him. "So Malakar got the easy trees. That's what I'm hearing. Makes you wonder why ours are so dramatic."

Malakar gave a faint smile. "Perhaps the world has changed."

Kaelred nodded toward Argolaith. "Or maybe the trees just like making his life miserable."

Argolaith smirked. "Wouldn't be the first time."

They crested a low hill just as the sun rose higher, and saw—

Nothing.

Not a single tree.

Not a village.

Not even a beast.

Just endless rolling stone, dotted with jagged cliffs and the occasional shattered monument of some forgotten civilization.

Kaelred frowned. "I hate how quiet it is."

Argolaith nodded. "It's the kind of quiet that means something's listening."

Malakar's eyes narrowed. "It is the quiet that comes before a choice must be made."

Argolaith raised a brow. "A choice?"

Malakar gestured to the fork in the path below—a split in the broken land, one road leading toward a canyon lined with sharp ridges, the other veering wide into an open valley, its floor shadowed by twisted stone.

Kaelred groaned. "Oh good. A decision. I love decisions."

Argolaith stepped forward, scanning both paths.

To the left: the canyon, narrow and defensible, but the walls were steep and shadowed—a perfect place for an ambush.

To the right: the open valley, but the terrain was uneven, and the shadows beneath the rock looked unnatural.

Malakar offered no preference. "Both are dangerous. The question is whether you would rather face what hides close… or what watches from afar."

Kaelred rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Can we flip a coin?"

Argolaith shook his head. He turned his gaze toward the valley.

The second tree's pull was stronger in that direction.

"The choice is made."

And with that, they turned east, descending into the shadowed valley.

The sun hung low above the cracked ridgelines as Argolaith took his first step into the shadowed valley—

Then broke into a run.

Kaelred blinked. "Wait—oh come on!"

Malakar followed effortlessly, his skeletal form gliding over the uneven ground like he weighed nothing at all.

Kaelred groaned, adjusting his grip on his daggers. "Seriously? Is this how we're doing it now? Just start sprinting through every cursed valley we find?"

But even as he complained, he started running after them.

Because he already knew—Argolaith wouldn't stop.

Not until he reached that tree.

And the closer they got, the more intense its presence became.