God’s Tree

The path ahead wound tightly between ancient trees whose trunks had grown so thick they merged with each other—some fused mid-air like arched ribs, others forming natural doorways between towering roots.

The deeper they walked, the more the Forsaken Forest began to feel less like a wildland… and more like a living structure.

Thae'Zirak, now fully silent, padded ahead of the group with his wings partially unfurled. His golden eyes scanned the underbrush, his tail swaying with unease.

"There are no birds," he said after a long stretch of silence.

Kaelred tilted his head. "No birds, no bugs, no anything. We haven't heard a single animal since the last camp."

Malakar walked beside him, expression unreadable. "Because the forest is listening."

Argolaith slowed. He felt it too now—not fear, not hostility, but the recalibration of the world around them. Every tree felt subtly angled toward their direction. The moss, once patchy and wild, now formed patterns beneath their feet. The glimmers of light between branches no longer shifted randomly with wind.

They formed eyes.

"I think…" Argolaith began, voice low, "we've entered a place the forest doesn't want others to see."

It started as a small change.

The path twisted left—where they thought it had been straight.

Then a clearing opened, despite no such space appearing on their route before.

Kaelred spun slowly, daggers loose in his hands. "This wasn't here ten minutes ago."

"It was not," Malakar confirmed. "But it is now."

The clearing was wide, circular, and filled with soft white grass that hissed slightly when brushed. Strange stones circled the perimeter—monoliths worn by time, carved in runes none of them recognized.

Argolaith stepped into the circle, scanning the symbols.

They were similar to what he'd seen near the third tree's trial—but older. Cruder. The language of things before language.

Then—

Something moved.

Not around them.

Below.

Argolaith froze mid-step.

So did Thae'Zirak.

From beneath the clearing, a vibration passed up through the earth—not an earthquake, not a rumble.

A pulse.

Like something massive had just exhaled deep beneath the surface.

Then another.

And another.

It wasn't moving toward them.

It was already there.

Kaelred muttered, "I am so incredibly tired of ancient things living under my feet."

Argolaith crouched, pressing a hand to the ground. It was faint—but there. A rhythm. Like a slumbering heart.

"Whatever it is," he said, "it's old. Older than the trees. Maybe older than the forest itself."

Malakar circled the edge of the clearing. "I believe we've walked into something sacred. Or sealed."

"Or both," Kaelred added, his tone grim.

Argolaith stood. "We keep moving. Slowly. Respectfully."

Kaelred made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. "Because that always works."

They passed through the clearing, their steps careful. The pulse faded as they left its center, though the sensation of being watched from below never truly left.

And as they vanished into the trees again, the runes on the stones faintly glowed—not bright, not hostile.

Just… aware.

The forest twisted more aggressively now.

Paths doubled back.

Trees they'd marked hours ago returned again, but upside down, or mirrored.

Time dragged.

The light above never changed.

And yet they felt older.

Kaelred tossed a twig into the underbrush. "I feel like we've walked twenty miles and moved two steps."

Argolaith's jaw tightened. "It's trying to confuse us."

Thae'Zirak tilted his head. "No. It's trying to remember us. Like a dream trying to place a face it once saw."

Malakar nodded. "It recognizes Argolaith. But it has not decided what he is yet."

Argolaith stopped walking.

He turned toward the trees and said, softly but firmly, "I'm not your enemy."

Nothing replied.

But the next step forward—

the path straightened.

Just a little.

The forest had grown quieter.

Not peaceful—but tense. As though every root and branch was holding its breath.

The group walked in silence now, each step more careful than the last. The twisting paths had straightened slightly, but they no longer trusted the terrain beneath them. Shadows no longer moved with the sun. Trees curved in unnatural ways. Some pulsed faintly, like lungs hidden beneath bark.

And then—

They found it.

Beyond a thicket of brittle, colorless vines, the trees fell away into a wide basin surrounded by cliffs of stone and black ironwood. A great circle had been scorched into the land—nothing grew there, not even moss. Only dust and ash.

In the center of that basin sat a shape.

It was massive.

At first, they thought it was a mountain.

Then, a statue.

But as they drew closer, Argolaith saw the truth.

A creature lay in the center of the crater, crouched low on two limbs, wings folded against its back. Its body was turned to stone—gray, cracked, and ancient beyond comprehension. It had no eyes. Its mouth was sealed. Its skin was ridged with petrified scales, and its claws were the size of trees.

Kaelred whispered, "What in the name of the gods is that?"

Malakar stared with narrowed eyes. "A petrified titan. Not a statue. Not a corpse."

Thae'Zirak approached slowly, golden eyes fixed. "That is… not from Morgoth."

Argolaith stepped forward. "It's not asleep."

They turned toward him.

He pointed to the dust gathered beneath one of the titan's forelimbs.

"It moved."

And sure enough—

The dust around the creature's hand had shifted recently.

Fresh drag marks scarred the ground.

The group circled it slowly, never stepping into the blackened crater itself. The air was thick here. Not in scent or heat—but in presence. Like standing beside something holy, or cursed. Maybe both.

Carved into the stone near the base of the titan's body were faint runes, barely visible. Argolaith knelt beside them.

"They're old," he muttered. "So old even the stone tried to forget them."

Malakar moved beside him. "Let me see."

The lich brushed his bony hand over the symbols, whispering in a tongue none of them recognized. The runes flared faintly—just once—then faded.

"What does it say?" Argolaith asked.

Malakar stood slowly. "A warning."

Kaelred sighed. "Of course it is."

Malakar continued, voice flat: "It says: Those who wake the witness will be seen in return. If it remembers you, so will the world."

Silence.

Argolaith looked back toward the titan.

It hadn't moved since they arrived.

But its body was no longer just stone.

A single ridge near its back—faint, almost unnoticeable—was warm to the touch.

As they turned to leave the basin, Kaelred noticed something first.

"Hey. Your hand."

Argolaith looked down.

A thin mark had appeared on the back of his left hand. A branching line—like a root or vein—glowing faintly beneath the skin. It didn't burn. It didn't hurt. But it pulsed.

Like the forest had touched him.

Marked him.

"What is it?" he asked Malakar.

The lich's gaze lingered. "You've been remembered."

Kaelred stared. "That sounds ominous. Is it as ominous as it sounds?"

"Yes," Malakar said without pause.

Thae'Zirak's tone rumbled low. "The titan saw you. Now the forest will carry your image through its roots. You are no longer a traveler. You are a part of it."

Argolaith clenched his fist. The mark didn't vanish.

He didn't know what it meant yet.

Only that something ancient knew his name now.

And it would never forget it.