God’s Tree

The town remained quiet as Argolaith and the others passed through it. Doors creaked slightly behind them. Curtains shifted. But no one came out to greet him—not a single old face, not even the familiar shopkeepers he had known as a child.

Seminah wasn't afraid of him.

They were afraid of what followed him.

Still, Argolaith didn't hesitate. He led them through the narrow stone path behind the market square, past the ancient cedar tree that leaned just slightly toward the sun, and onward toward the far edge of town.

To where the woods began again.

To where his cabin still stood.

The cabin looked exactly as he remembered.

Weathered wood. Moss creeping up the corners. A rusted lantern hanging by the window. The wooden steps still creaked in the same places when he climbed them. The door didn't lock—it never had. The handle was worn smooth from use.

He stepped inside.

Kaelred lingered on the threshold, peeking in. "So this is where you grew up."

Argolaith nodded, taking in the dusty air. "More or less."

Inside, the room was small but clean. A simple bed, a shelf stacked with dry herbs, a stone hearth that hadn't been lit in years. Everything sat exactly where he left it—no sign of intrusion, no sign of time eroding the space.

Malakar entered behind him. "There's a ward placed here. A subtle one. The god did not want this place disturbed."

Argolaith said nothing.

His feet moved on instinct, carrying him to the far corner of the cabin, where a loose floorboard had always creaked differently than the others. He knelt, pried it up, and saw the dustless space beneath.

A wooden compartment.

Sealed shut with a small rune-burned lid.

He hadn't known it was there.

But someone had made sure he would find it when the time was right.

He lifted the lid.

Inside sat a small, leather-wrapped bundle. No markings. No metal clasp. Just soft brown hide, tied with thin black cord. When Argolaith unwrapped it, he found three items inside.

The first was a folded page—torn from a much older tome, its edges frayed. It was covered in script he didn't recognize… until the letters shimmered and twisted into a language he suddenly understood.

"When the third tree awakens, you will be ready to carry more than your own will."

"Do not forget the roots beneath your steps."

The second item was a ring.

Not magical. Not glowing.

Just a simple silver band etched with faint runes. It was sized for his finger—worn, but unbroken.

The third was a sealed vial, black glass wrapped in copper wire, humming faintly with dormant energy.

Malakar moved closer. "Let me see that."

Argolaith handed him the vial.

The lich's eyes flared as he examined it. "This… is not from this realm. It's bound to your lifeblood."

Kaelred raised a brow. "You mean his five tree lifeblood?"

"No," Malakar replied. "His true blood."

Argolaith narrowed his eyes. "You mean—"

Malakar nodded. "Your birthright."

The fireless hearth shuddered. A single gust of wind pushed through the shuttered windows.

And then…

A whisper, low and gentle, echoed through the cabin.

"You were never alone."

Argolaith froze.

Kaelred looked around, hand on his dagger. "Did you hear—"

"Yes," Argolaith whispered.

He stared down at the ring, then to the note.

Athos had left this.

Maybe years ago. Maybe longer.

But it wasn't just Athos.

It was the god's will.

Something had always been watching this place—protecting it, shielding it, even from Argolaith himself.

Until now.

The vial pulsed faintly in Malakar's bony fingers—its black glass gleaming dully in the filtered light of the cabin.

Copper filaments wrapped tightly around it like a cage, and inside, the dark liquid shimmered with hues that didn't belong to this world.

Not red.

Not gold.

Something in between.

A color that didn't exist in the mortal palette.

The blood of the upper realms.

Argolaith sat at the small wooden table in the center of the room. The same table he had eaten at as a boy. The same table he had cleaned alone every morning. Now it held the truths of his birth like offerings to an altar.

Kaelred leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. Thae'Zirak remained outside, watching the treeline. Naruul prowled the shadows, his presence soft, silent, protective.

Malakar finally spoke.

"This blood… it's not from the elemental planes. Not infernal, celestial, or draconic."

He turned the vial slowly.

"It doesn't match the alchemical resonance of the middle realms either. Which means one thing."

Argolaith's gaze remained fixed on the ring beside it.

"I was born to something greater."

Kaelred stepped forward. "We already knew your parents were from the upper realms. But this…" He gestured to the vial. "This isn't just proof. This is invitation."

Malakar nodded. "Whoever left this behind didn't intend to hide it from you forever. They were waiting for your blood to awaken—your journey to begin. And now that you've claimed the lifeblood of three trees…"

He held the vial closer to Argolaith.

"…the rest is beginning to stir."

Argolaith reached out and took the vial, feeling the cold glass in his palm. It vibrated faintly—responding not just to his presence, but to his blood.

He remembered the whisper in the cabin.

You were never alone.

And he knew.

Athos had been watching over him not as a guardian of a town.

But as the keeper of a secret far beyond the world of Morgoth.

"I think," Argolaith said slowly, "whoever my parents are… they didn't leave me here to protect me from the world."

He looked up at Malakar and Kaelred.

"They left me here to protect the world from me."

Kaelred raised an eyebrow. "That's dramatic. Even for you."

Argolaith gave a tired smile. "Not wrong, though."

Malakar tapped the ring. "This was crafted in the style of High Concordant Smiths. They forge only for bloodlines of the noble divine. Meaning at least one of your parents was…"

He trailed off, letting the weight settle.

Argolaith whispered the rest. "A god."

The cabin was silent again.

No wind.

No sound from the trees.

Just the knowledge that had always been waiting.

Kaelred finally broke the silence. "So, what now?"

Argolaith slid the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly.

"I keep walking."

He pocketed the vial, carefully placing it into a runic pouch.

"I keep collecting the lifeblood. I finish the path I started."

Kaelred gave a slow nod. "And after that?"

Argolaith's eyes met his, steady and unshaken.

"Then I find out who I really am."