God’s Tree

The silence was overwhelming.

Then—

A voice.

Not spoken.

Not heard.

But felt.

"You have come."

Argolaith lifted his gaze. "I have."

The tree's pulse quickened.

"You seek what was lost. The lifeblood of my roots. The gift that is not given lightly."

Argolaith's fingers curled into fists. "I've passed your trials."

A pause. Then—

"Yes. But trials are only steps. And a path is more than its stones."

Argolaith held his ground. "Then what more do you need?"

"A conversation."

The wind shifted.

The tree was not just testing his will.

Not testing his body.

It wanted to understand him.

It wanted to know who he was before it gave him its power.

Argolaith took a slow breath. "Then speak. And I will answer."

The branches above trembled.

The second tree stirred, its vast branches trembling with unseen energy, sending faint ripples through the air.

The mist swirled around Argolaith's feet, pulling back, revealing more of the massive roots that spread like a network of veins across the land.

This was not just a tree.

It was a living force.

A mind as old as the gods that ruled the world from the shadows.

And now, it spoke.

"I am called by many names."

The voice did not come from above. It came from everywhere—from the roots, from the air, from the pulse of magic itself.

"The Root of the Forgotten. The Warden of Balance. The Second Pillar."

A pause. The leaves above rustled softly.

"But my true name is Valtheryn."

Argolaith let the name settle into him. It was not just a sound. It was a presence. The weight of something that had endured the rise and fall of empires, the changing of the sky, the slow erosion of time.

He lifted his gaze. "Valtheryn."

The tree's pulse deepened.

"You have walked the path. You have been tested. But before my lifeblood is given, I must know one thing."

The air shifted again, thickening with something unseen. The mist around Argolaith curled inward, pressing against him like unseen fingers, not threatening—examining.

"What do you seek, Argolaith? What is your purpose?"

He exhaled slowly. He had known this question would come.

But standing here, before this ancient force, the weight of it felt different.

Lies had no place here. Half-truths would be meaningless.

So he gave the only answer that mattered.

"I seek power."

The mist stilled for a fraction of a second, listening.

Argolaith's voice did not waver. "Not for conquest. Not for greed. I want the strength to protect the people I care about."

The roots around him shifted slightly, curling inward. Not in rejection—in consideration.

The pulse of the tree deepened, and the voice returned, softer this time.

"Protection is a noble pursuit. But it is also endless. There will always be another battle. Another threat. Another force that seeks to take what you guard."

The words were not meant to break him. They were truth.

Argolaith knew it. And still, he did not waver.

"I don't care how many battles come." He clenched his fists. "I will fight them all."

A silence stretched between them.

Then—Valtheryn spoke again.

"Then you must know this—power alone will not keep what you love safe."

The branches overhead trembled, and a slow gust of wind carried a scent old as the earth itself—the scent of damp soil, of forgotten ruins, of ancient forests that had lived and died before the world had names.

"To wield my lifeblood is to bear a burden. It is not simply strength—it is connection. My roots do not bend to war or rage. They endure. They grow. They change."

A pause.

"Can you do the same?"

Argolaith met the unseen gaze of the ancient tree. The question was not a test.

It was an invitation.

"I will."

The tree's pulse shifted, its slow, measured heartbeat aligning with his own.

And then, the time had come.

Argolaith reached into his storage ring, his fingers brushing against cold steel. A second later, he pulled out a long, slender needle—not ordinary, but one made for this exact moment.

Forged from tempered silver, runes of containment etched along its length, it was designed to take something that did not belong to mortals.

A vial followed—its surface glowing with inscriptions designed to preserve what it held.

Malakar had once told him that the lifeblood of the trees was not just liquid. It was memory, magic, and will.

To contain it was to carry something greater than himself.

The tree did not stop him.

Valtheryn accepted.

Argolaith stepped closer to the massive trunk, placing one hand against the ancient bark. Beneath his fingers, the tree's pulse quickened.

The air vibrated with something unseen.

Then, carefully, he pressed the needle into the bark.

The tree bled.

Not red.

Not gold.

A single drop of emerald fire welled up from the wound, glowing faintly in the dim light. It clung to the tip of the needle for a fraction of a second—then slid into the waiting vial.

The moment it did—the tree shuddered.

Not in pain.

Not in anger.

In acknowledgment.

Argolaith sealed the vial quickly, locking the lifeblood inside with the containment runes. The glow pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat held in glass.

He turned to his storage ring—and placed it inside.

The instant he did, the wind shifted.

The tree's branches relaxed, and the mist that had thickened around them began to fade.

Valtheryn's voice was softer now, more distant.

"You have taken my gift. You will carry it with you. Let it change you."

Argolaith exhaled. "I will."

A pause.

Then—

"Go now, Argolaith. The world does not wait."

The ancient presence that had filled the space around him began to fade, not disappearing—but retreating.

Valtheryn had spoken.

The exchange was complete.

The second tree had given its blessing.

And now, it was time to leave.

As Argolaith stepped back onto the path leading away from the tree's base, he felt different.

Not stronger.

Not changed in body.

But aware.

The lifeblood was his now.

Not just power.

Not just magic.

A responsibility.

The roots shifted behind him, and as he moved forward, the golden mist parted—revealing the way back to the others.

The journey was not over.

But this chapter had come to an end.