God’s Tree

The corpse remained behind them, silent and unmoving, even as the wind pulled at the blackened grass around it like invisible fingers.

Argolaith didn't look back.

Neither did the others.

Whatever had killed the strange creature had done so cleanly—and left the remains as a message. Whether it was a threat or a warning, none of them could say. But Argolaith knew one thing as they pressed forward:

The forest was no longer waiting.

It was leading.

Only an hour passed before the terrain began to change again.

What had once been winding, uneven trails through tangled brush became smoother, narrower. Vines drew back. Branches rose. The trees themselves shifted ever so slightly—angled in ways that, when studied closely, all leaned in one direction.

They converged toward a path.

Straight.

Unbroken.

Too clean.

Kaelred stopped walking. "Okay. Does anyone else see that?"

Malakar's cloak whispered as he moved to the edge of the new trail. His glowing eyes traced the length of it.

"It wasn't here before."

"Obviously," Kaelred muttered.

Argolaith stepped beside Malakar, squinting at the ground. The dirt was loose but undisturbed. The moss had already begun to cover its edges, as if it had grown into place rather than been walked on.

He turned slowly, looking at the way the light passed through the trees—how it framed the path.

It didn't feel like a trick.

It felt like a choice.

Thae'Zirak landed beside them in his smaller form, wings folding. "The forest has made a decision."

Kaelred crossed his arms. "So we're just supposed to follow the road it rolled out for us? Like honored guests?"

Malakar's gaze was unreadable. "Like a test."

Argolaith nodded. "It's showing us a way forward. That doesn't mean it's the right way."

"But it might be the only one," Kaelred said.

They made camp just off the new path, beneath a thick-trunked elmbark tree whose roots formed natural benches and dividers.

Argolaith cooked again—something simple. Roasted thornback haunch with bloodleaf seasoning, wrapped in steamed nightmoss to keep the flavor sharp. As the others ate, he remained quiet, staring down the straight line of the path the forest had made.

After a while, Kaelred said what they were all thinking.

"It's not just guiding us. It's watching how we respond."

Argolaith met his eyes.

"That's exactly what it's doing."

Malakar added, "It has chosen to acknowledge your presence. Few have received such a gesture. Fewer have survived it."

Thae'Zirak said nothing, only watching the sky—or what passed for sky—above the trees, nostrils twitching.

Argolaith finished his food, packed his tools, and stood.

"We follow it."

Kaelred blinked. "Just like that?"

"If the forest wants to show me something," Argolaith said, "then I'll look. But I won't kneel. And I won't stop thinking."

Malakar gave the faintest nod. "Good."

Thae'Zirak rumbled with quiet approval.

Kaelred sighed. "Well. At least we'll die on a road for once instead of another cursed mushroom field."

They began walking the new path as twilight settled—not that it made much difference in the Forsaken Forest. The deeper they went, the more the forest grew… quiet.

Not silent.

But listening.

The wind carried no scent of rot or death.

The ground was firm beneath their feet.

And the trees ahead began to hum softly, a low, wordless sound like a chorus of distant echoes.

They walked without speaking.

Because something at the end of this path was waiting.

The path narrowed as they walked, but never twisted.

Not once.

It remained perfectly straight, like a blade drawn through the earth, dividing wildness from order. The deeper they followed it, the more the surroundings changed—not with rot or decay, but with design.

Vines grew in spirals along the trees. Moss formed runes across the bark, repeating symbols they couldn't read. The hum from the trees grew clearer. Not music. Not speech.

But memory.

And ahead—beyond the misted edge of their vision—stood a figure.

Waiting.

At first, the figure looked like another tree. Tall. Still. Rooted. But as they approached, Argolaith noticed the subtle sway of cloth, the glint of amber light along a wooden staff.

The figure was cloaked in layers of bark-like robes, their shoulders draped with woven moss. Their hair—if it was hair—was made of fine silver threads that moved like strands of rain. A wooden mask covered their face, carved into the shape of a serene expression, and their skin, where visible, was dark and marked with faded green sigils.

They did not speak.

They simply raised a hand in greeting, palm forward.

Malakar stopped first. "An Arbor-Keeper," he murmured.

Kaelred blinked. "A what now?"

"Forest-bound guardians," Malakar replied. "Spiritual echoes of those who gave their lives to the oldest trees in exchange for knowledge. They don't age. They don't die. They remember."

Argolaith stepped forward, careful but unafraid.

"You've been waiting for me," he said.

The figure inclined their head.

"You walk the marked path."

The voice came from the air—not from the mask—but it resonated within their minds like roots through soil.

"You bear the scent of three trees. And the memory of this forest's breath."

Argolaith didn't answer. He didn't need to.

"The one beneath the stone remembers you."

He felt the mark on his hand burn faintly—the one left by the petrified titan. Still there. Still pulsing.

"Why are you here?" Argolaith asked.

The Arbor-Keeper lowered their hand.

"To warn. And to guide."

Kaelred folded his arms. "That seems to be the forest's hobby lately."

The mask turned toward him.

"You joke to hide your fear. But your heart has not fled. That is enough."

Kaelred blinked. "Okay. Rude. But fair."

Argolaith stepped closer. "What am I being warned about?"

The Arbor-Keeper raised their staff and tapped the ground once.

The moss around them curled inward, forming a sigil—a ring of trees, and within them, a burning light.

"There are things in this forest that once hunted the gods. Their names were lost. Their hunger remains."

He tapped the ground again.

Another image bloomed: five trees, drawn in light.

One shimmered brightly.

Three pulsed faintly.

The fourth flickered.

"You carry what they hunger for. The life-blood awakens more than your path. It awakens the forest's memory."

"Memory of what?" Argolaith asked.

"Of war. Of fire. Of betrayal."

Thae'Zirak let out a low growl. "He does not seek war."

"Then he must walk carefully. Because the world remembers what it fears."

The Arbor-Keeper reached into their robe and drew out a small bundle wrapped in leaf-woven cloth. They held it toward Argolaith.

He stepped forward and accepted it, unwrapping it slowly.

Inside was a small stone—green and smooth, etched with a spiral. It pulsed faintly in time with his mark.

"Place this upon the fourth tree when you find it. It will show you its heart."

Argolaith nodded. "Thank you."

The Arbor-Keeper lowered their staff. "May the roots remember your name."

Then, without another word, they turned and walked into the trees—and vanished.

Not with flash or magic.

Simply gone.

As though they had never stood there at all.

The path ahead remained clear. The trees shimmered faintly as the group passed. The light above warmed, if only slightly.

Something had changed.

Kaelred looked over at Argolaith.

"Well, that wasn't terrifying at all."

Argolaith tucked the stone into his belt pouch. "We've been given something important."

Malakar nodded. "The forest is no longer testing you, Argolaith."

Thae'Zirak's eyes narrowed. "It is preparing you."

They walked for another day in silence.

Not because they had nothing to say—

But because the forest was listening.

Since the meeting with the Arbor-Keeper, even Kaelred had fallen quiet. The trees no longer shifted, no longer tested them. It was as if they had been accepted, folded into the rhythm of the forest like blood into soil.

But acceptance did not mean safety.

It began with a sound—dull, hollow, and low.

Thae'Zirak paused mid-step, one claw resting on the ground. "The roots beneath us are thinning."

Argolaith crouched, placing his palm to the moss-covered soil. "There's a cavern. Deep."

Before anyone could respond, the ground beneath Malakar collapsed.

The lich dropped without a sound, swallowed by the earth. Argolaith lunged, grabbing the edge of the hole, but it was too late—Malakar was gone, his violet glow vanishing into the darkness.

Kaelred swore and backed up. "That's it. No more weird green moss paths. I'm done."

Argolaith looked down. "It's not a void. It's a chamber."

Thae'Zirak peered into the hole. "I smell stone. Dust. And… metal. Old metal."

"Ruins," Malakar's voice echoed from below. "Intact. I am uninjured."

Argolaith stood and dusted his gloves. "We go down."

Kaelred groaned. "Of course we do."

The descent was quick. Argolaith tied a rope to one of Thae'Zirak's limbs, anchoring their way down. The drop was steep—thirty, maybe forty feet—and opened into a vast underground structure.

The chamber was massive.

Pillars carved from pale stone rose to meet gnarled roots that had cracked through the ceiling. Light from the forest above filtered through in narrow shafts, illuminating ruined walls, broken altars, and shattered archways.

Faint symbols were etched into everything—runic, circular, many of them matching the Arbor-Keeper's spiral stone.

"What is this place?" Kaelred asked, voice hushed.

Argolaith stepped forward. "A temple."

Malakar, now upright and brushing dirt from his robes, turned to them. "One built before the gods touched the trees. Before magic had form."

Thae'Zirak circled the center. "This was sealed. Long forgotten. The forest buried it."

"And then let us fall into it," Argolaith muttered.

Kaelred squinted at a shattered statue. "Why does it feel like this place was… broken on purpose?"