God’s Tree

They moved deeper through the ruins. Each step echoed off ancient stone. The deeper chambers were choked with roots, but oddly untouched by decay.

At the far end of the main corridor, they found a mural—faded but intact. Argolaith brushed moss from its surface and revealed the image beneath.

A tree, massive and twisted, stood at the center.

Surrounding it were five figures—humanoid, but indistinct. Each one held a blade of a different shape. Beneath them, shadowy beasts rose from the ground like smoke, reaching toward the tree with outstretched claws.

Malakar translated the ancient script beneath.

"The roots that drank from blood bore fruit not meant for man."

"But it was men who reached first."

Kaelred stared. "That's… about the trees, isn't it? About the lifeblood?"

Argolaith nodded slowly. "This was the first place that tried to warn others."

"But the forest buried it," Malakar said. "To forget. Or to protect."

Thae'Zirak added, "Or because what once lived here broke the rules of the pact."

As they stood there, the ground trembled.

Just slightly.

A voice stirred—not with sound, but like a memory being forced to the surface of water.

"…he returns…"

Argolaith's hand went to his blade. "Did you hear that?"

Kaelred paled. "Yeah, I'm gonna pretend I didn't."

Malakar raised a hand. "That was not speech. That was a remnant."

The mural behind them cracked, a jagged fracture forming down the center of the tree's depiction.

A low groan echoed through the ruin.

Argolaith turned. "Let's move. We've seen enough."

They left the way they came, climbing out one by one.

But even after they reached the surface—

Argolaith could feel the memory of the temple still pressing at his mind. Like something from below had looked back at him…

…and chosen to remember.

The surface felt different after the ruins.

The air was colder now—not because of the weather, but because of something in the roots. The forest no longer whispered. It no longer tested.

It remembered.

And it wanted Argolaith to remember, too.

They moved carefully through the trees, the once-straight path narrowing, twisting again. The forest grew denser, more tangled. Leaves hung like veils, and the air shimmered faintly with drifting spores.

Kaelred's voice was quiet as he walked just behind Argolaith. "We've been followed since we left that ruin."

Argolaith nodded without turning. "I know."

Thae'Zirak growled low. "It walks just beyond the veil of sight. Not beast. Not shadow. But something close."

Malakar said nothing. His hand hovered just above his sword hilt, violet flame in his sockets burning faintly brighter.

And then—

They saw it.

It stood in the center of the trail, a dozen paces ahead. The forest had pulled back from it—leaves suspended in midair, roots parting like servants before a lord.

It wore a dark travel cloak, frayed at the edges, with a hood pulled low. Beneath it, the figure's posture was too familiar.

Too human.

Argolaith froze.

Kaelred whispered, "Do you know him?"

Argolaith didn't answer.

The figure raised its head.

And Argolaith did know him.

He was staring at a boy—a younger version of himself.

The younger Argolaith stood barefoot, with soot-stained skin and clear, defiant blue eyes. His hands were empty. His expression was unreadable—but not hostile. Just… haunted.

"Is this one of the forest's tricks?" Kaelred muttered, already reaching for his daggers.

"No," Argolaith said, slowly stepping forward. "It's not a trick."

Malakar watched the phantom with unreadable intensity. "It is a memory given shape."

Thae'Zirak rumbled low. "The forest is testing you again."

Argolaith came to a stop five feet from the phantom. The air between them shimmered like heat above fire.

"You're not real," he said.

The younger version tilted his head. "Aren't I?" The voice was quieter. Rawer. Less certain.

"You're what I used to be," Argolaith continued. "Alone. Scared. Hungry for answers. Angry at the world."

"I'm still here," the phantom said. "Buried under your calm. Your plans. Your strength."

The forest darkened.

"You ran from the past," the phantom said, voice rising. "You buried the boy who lived alone at the forest's edge. But you never faced him."

Argolaith clenched his fists. "I didn't run."

"You left. And you never came back."

Silence.

Even the wind held still.

Kaelred stepped forward, but Argolaith held up a hand.

"This is my fight."

Argolaith stepped closer, stopping just a foot away from the younger version of himself.

"You want to know if I'm still you?" he said.

The phantom didn't move.

Argolaith reached into his coat and pulled out a small silver needle—the same kind he used to draw the lifeblood from the trees. He held it up between them.

"I earned three lifebloods. I fought beasts, faced trials, saw places no man was meant to walk. I did it alone. And I did it with the people I chose to trust."

The phantom said nothing.

"I didn't forget you," Argolaith said. "I became you. Stronger. Smarter. Sharper."

He stepped even closer and pressed the needle gently into the phantom's chest.

"I didn't bury you. I carried you."

And the phantom—

Smiled.

Just once.

Then faded.

The forest exhaled.

Light returned to the path.

The wind resumed. The roots loosened.

Kaelred approached, eyes wary. "So… you're not secretly possessed now?"

Argolaith gave him a tired smile. "Not today."

Malakar gave a short nod. "The forest offered a trial of identity. And you passed."

Thae'Zirak's wings shifted slightly. "You faced yourself, and did not flinch."

Argolaith looked ahead. The trail stretched forward again—no longer choked, no longer shifting.

He exhaled.

And they continued walking.

This time, the forest walked with them.

The path led them into a valley.

Not one carved by rivers or glaciers, but formed by the collapse of ancient trees—trunks so massive they could only have belonged to the first forest, their hollowed forms now half-buried in moss and time.

A strange stillness blanketed the basin. The air shimmered faintly with golden particles—so small they looked like dust motes, but each carried a faint heat, like the embers of a dying star. The wind didn't stir here. The silence was not emptiness.

It was reverence.

Argolaith slowed as the terrain opened into a wide clearing, flanked by towering bramble walls and obsidian-black stones veined with glowing green.

Then—

They saw them.

And the world stood still.

Over a dozen Saint Beasts lay within the grove, their massive bodies coiled between roots, wings folded like skeletal tents over their slumbering forms. Each had six limbs three on each side ending in jagged claws that looked like carved bone.

Their hides were matte black, furred and scaled in irregular patterns that shifted under the eye. Their wings resembled torn banners—stitched with flesh and laced with veins of lightless silver.

And their faces…

Their skulls were elongated, with eyeless sockets and gaping maws filled with too many teeth. Antler-like horns curled in branching spirals from their foreheads, some adorned with old vines or glimmering fungus that pulsed like breath.

Kaelred froze.

"So, um… I'm assuming we turn around very slowly and forget this place exists?"

Malakar raised a hand, his voice low. "No. They're asleep. In ritual stasis."

Argolaith nodded, his eyes scanning every beast. "This grove is sacred to them."

Thae'Zirak remained silent, head bowed.

Then—

Kaelred tripped.