God’s Tree

When Argolaith emerged from the ruins, the sky above the mountain had changed.

Dark clouds coiled overhead, heavy and unmoving—not with rain, but with tension. Lightning flickered silently behind the veil, tracing jagged, slow-moving lines across the heavens.

The others were already on their feet, their gear packed, eyes fixed on the churning sky.

Kaelred was the first to speak. "That storm wasn't there yesterday."

"It wasn't there an hour ago," Thae'Zirak added, voice low.

Argolaith didn't hesitate. "It's over Seminah."

All heads turned. The storm sat far to the south, just above the horizon—barely visible through the forest, but unmistakable now that they knew where to look. It wasn't moving with the wind. It wasn't spreading. It had formed, fully grown, like it had been summoned.

Malakar narrowed his violet eyes. "The land is reacting to something. Or someone."

"Maybe the god Naruul mentioned," Kaelred muttered. "Maybe it knows we're coming."

Naruul, quiet since Argolaith's return, stepped closer and said, "No storm touches Seminah unless it's allowed."

Argolaith looked to the peak towering above them.

"We need to get over this mountain."

They started up the slope shortly after midday. The incline was steep but manageable, at least in the beginning. Cracks in the stone opened up like old scars, and twisted trees with silver-veined bark clung to narrow ledges as they ascended.

The mountain did not fight them—but it watched.

Every gust of wind carried voices just on the edge of hearing. Not words, not commands—just pressure. Like the land itself was waiting for them to falter.

Kaelred kicked a loose rock from the trail. "Feels like this thing wants to see if we'll fall before we make it to the top."

"Then we won't," Argolaith said.

And they climbed.

As the path narrowed, they passed through a narrow crevice flanked by twin rock faces etched with ancient carvings—worn by time, but still faintly glowing with residual energy.

Argolaith paused to touch one.

It pulsed under his fingers.

Like the veins of the mountain were still carrying its buried power—just not for him.

"Are we being led again?" Kaelred asked.

"No," Malakar answered. "This part of the mountain doesn't lead. It observes."

Argolaith lowered his hand. "Then let it watch."

By nightfall, they reached a narrow ridge near the summit.

From here, they could see it all—the winding path behind them, the sweeping, endless stretch of the Forsaken Forest… and far, far beyond it, Seminah.

It was only a tiny cluster of shapes on the horizon, but it was there.

And above it—

The storm still churned.

Unnatural. Unyielding. Alive.

They made camp under an overhang of stone. Thae'Zirak curled into the shadowed side of the cliff while Naruul perched like a statue, unmoving, eyes fixed on the distant storm.

Argolaith sat at the edge, overlooking the land.

Kaelred joined him, chewing a strip of dried meat. "So. Did the mountain try to possess you, or eat you?"

Argolaith gave a faint smirk. "Both."

"Let me guess. You told it to shut up and leave you alone."

"Something like that."

Kaelred leaned back, letting out a breath. "I forget sometimes that all this—" he waved at the storm, the mountain, the impossible forest, "—started because we both happened to show up at the wrong ruin."

Argolaith shook his head. "No. We were always supposed to meet there."

"Right. Fate and all that."

"No. Just… necessary."

Malakar joined them before the fire. "We finish the climb tomorrow. Then descend the southern slope. It'll take a few more days to reach Seminah."

"If the forest lets us," Kaelred said.

Argolaith stared toward the lightning in the sky.

"It will."

Because it wasn't the forest they needed to worry about now.

It was what waited at the heart of his home.

The final stretch of the climb was silent.

No birds.

No breeze.

Only the soft crunch of boots against ancient stone, and the distant crackle of thunder echoing off jagged peaks.

Argolaith reached the summit first.

The world opened before him.

From the mountain's peak, the vastness of the Forsaken Forest sprawled behind them like a sea of silver-green shadow. To the south, beyond the winding rivers and scattered hills, lay a sight that stopped him cold.

Seminah.

It rested just as he remembered—small, quiet, untouched by age or war. Smoke from distant chimneys drifted lazily into the sky. No panic. No flames. No blood.

He exhaled, and for the first time in weeks, relief spread through his chest like warmth from a hearth.

Kaelred stepped up beside him, squinting into the distance. "That little patch of boring buildings down there? That's it?"

Argolaith nodded, eyes still locked on the horizon. "That's home."

But then—

The sky cracked.

A bolt of lightning thicker than a tree trunk split the clouds twenty miles to the east—across a vast, open field nestled between two hills. It didn't fall.

It tore.

The sound didn't echo.

It rippled.

The earth trembled beneath their feet, and for a brief moment, the clouds above the strike turned white-hot—then black, folding in on themselves like ink swirling in water.

Everyone froze.

Even Thae'Zirak took a step back, wings flinching.

Malakar was the one who spoke.

"Someone's refining."

Argolaith turned to him. "Refining?"

The lich's violet flames flared brighter. "That wasn't a natural storm. That wasn't weather. That was a release of divine energy."

He looked toward the blast site with grim clarity.

"Someone down there is crafting a semi-divine pill."

Kaelred let out a slow whistle. "I'm not up on alchemy theory, but I'm guessing that's the kind of pill that turns people into walking disasters?"

"No," Malakar said, voice level. "That's the kind that lets a mortal touch divinity. Momentarily. Briefly. But enough to make the world remember their name."

Argolaith stared at the distant storm. The clouds above the blast site hadn't dispersed—they were spiraling faster now, feeding on surrounding wind and pulling heat from the sky. A low hum spread across the land, vibrating through his boots.

"It's not in the town," he said. "It's near it. Twenty miles east. The field beyond the shallow hills."

Thae'Zirak's eyes narrowed. "Who would dare refine such a pill so close to where a god may sleep?"

Kaelred crossed his arms. "That's the real question, isn't it? Is it some rogue alchemist? Or someone who knows exactly what they're doing?"

Malakar didn't answer immediately.

Then, softly: "No one crafts a semi-divine pill by accident."

From the summit, they could now see the blackened patch of land where the bolt had struck. The ground still smoked. Trees around it were either flattened or stripped bare. The grass had vanished—burned away by pure magic.

And something was still glowing at the center.

A single point of pale blue light. Flickering like a star trapped in a jar.

Argolaith narrowed his eyes. "We go there first."

Kaelred raised a brow. "What about Seminah?"

"It's untouched. For now." He clenched his fist. "Whatever that is—it's too close. And anything powerful enough to shake the mountain has to be checked."

Thae'Zirak unfurled his wings. "I can carry two. The rest will fly under shadow."

Malakar nodded. "I will cloak us. The one who refined that pill will not be pleased to see us approach."

Naruul's many eyes shifted toward the horizon. "Something is watching the light."