God’s Tree

For the first time in what felt like years, Argolaith stood still.

Truly still.

The forest was no longer calling him forward. No monstrous beasts stalked the edges of his thoughts. No trials loomed in waiting. The god of knowledge, though unseen, had left his message. And now, the journey paused—not ended, not forgotten, but simply set aside.

Seminah's quiet stillness had not faded. But it no longer pressed against them like a veil. It simply was.

As Argolaith stared out from the small porch of his childhood cabin, he finally spoke.

"I want to stay here," he said softly. "For a week. Maybe two."

Kaelred raised an eyebrow as he leaned in the doorway. "Seriously? You? The 'press onward or die trying' guy?"

Argolaith gave him a faint smile. "Even I need air."

Malakar stood beside the hearth inside, inspecting the woodgrain of the walls. "You've earned a pause. The forest will wait."

Thae'Zirak, curled up in his smaller form beneath the shade of the cabin's trees, rumbled with contentment. Naruul had already disappeared into the woods behind the house, content to explore alone—though Argolaith knew the Saint Beast would remain close.

Kaelred tilted his head. "So. If we're sticking around… where exactly are me and the skeleton supposed to sleep?"

Argolaith chuckled. "Right here."

Kaelred blinked. "You mean in your cabin?"

"Why not?" Argolaith gestured to the open space. "I've only ever used one side of the room. There's a hearth, a table, shelves. We'll figure it out."

Malakar gave a single approving nod. "Efficient."

Kaelred sighed dramatically. "Right. I suppose it's better than being eaten alive by ghost-possessed trees or freezing to death on a cursed mountain. Barely."

Argolaith leaned back against the railing, arms crossed. "You'll live."

"I always do," Kaelred muttered with a grin.

They spent the rest of the day restoring the cabin. Not out of necessity—it was still perfectly intact—but out of motionless habit. The kind that filled time with purpose.

Kaelred cleared the dust from the corners, muttering the entire time about "small towns and their love for spiderwebs." Malakar reinforced the cabin's threshold with a silent spell, a soft violet glow wrapping around the doorframe before vanishing.

Argolaith re-lit the old lanterns and repacked the old fireplace with fresh wood. He hadn't thought about this place in years—not really. But now, as dusk rolled in, he found himself looking at it with strange fondness.

The walls weren't narrow.

They were familiar.

The silence wasn't lonely.

It was earned.

That night, they sat together near the hearth, a modest fire crackling in the stone recess. Argolaith cooked—a simple meal of sautéed war beast strips with crushed nightbloom herbs and roasted rootfruit. Kaelred added a few strips of sun-dried fruit from his pouch, claiming it was "for balance."

Malakar simply nodded after tasting it once. "Acceptable."

Kaelred leaned back, stretching. "You sure your neighbors aren't going to riot? You've got a Saint Beast, a shadow dragon, and a lich camping in your house."

Argolaith smiled faintly. "This town has survived worse."

"Worse than you?" Kaelred smirked. "Impossible."

They all chuckled quietly, and for a moment…

There was no prophecy.

No divine pills.

No mysterious bloodlines.

Just old wood, warm food, and firelight.

Morning arrived gently in Seminah.

The clouds above the village glowed soft and gold, filtering warm light across dew-soaked rooftops and weathered cobblestone. Birds chirped from the trees, their songs echoing through narrow alleyways that hadn't heard laughter in weeks.

Argolaith stepped out of his cabin with purpose in his stride and a cloth-wrapped bundle tucked under his arm. He wore a clean tunic for once—nothing ceremonial, just familiar. Atop his shoulder perched Thae'Zirak in his miniature form, barely larger than a cat, tail curled around Argolaith's neck like a living scarf. The little dragon sniffed the breeze, eyes narrowing at every motion.

"Do you have to sit there?" Kaelred asked as they caught up beside him. "It's unsettling. Like someone stuck a demon lizard on a statue."

Thae'Zirak huffed, tiny wings twitching. "I am far more refined than a demon lizard."

Malakar followed behind them, his presence quieter than usual. Naruul remained hidden within Malakar's shadow realm for now—an unspoken compromise. The last thing they needed was panic in the streets.

"The townspeople wouldn't understand," Malakar had said earlier.

Argolaith agreed.

Even if they were being watched by a god, there was no need to invite unnecessary fear.

Today wasn't for grand entrances or divine omens.

Today was for tea.

And Athos.

The walk to the center of town was easy.

Familiar.

They passed a few villagers who stared curiously from windows but said nothing. A small boy peeked out from behind a rain barrel and whispered something to his older sister, who quickly tugged him back inside. A baker sweeping her stoop gave them a long look, then nodded once before returning to her work.

Seminah didn't question Argolaith's return.

It simply made room for him.

At the heart of the town stood the circular stone building that housed the library—an old structure with moss-stained walls, arched windows, and a great oak door carved with dozens of ancient runes. It was unchanged. Eternal.

Argolaith paused before it.

He smiled.

Then knocked.

The door opened with a familiar creak.

Inside, the scent of aged paper and dried herbs drifted through the air. Tall wooden shelves spiraled toward a domed ceiling, and rays of morning light filtered through glass panes etched with symbols of wisdom, balance, and memory.

And there, at the central desk surrounded by scrolls and loose-bound tomes, sat Athos.

Older than Argolaith remembered, perhaps—but not diminished.

His long gray beard hung down in soft strands, and his robes were patched in places from years of wear. His eyes—bright, sharp, impossibly aware—lifted from the book he was reading.

He smiled faintly.

"You always did like the quiet mornings best."

Argolaith stepped inside, the bundle of cloth held gently in his hands. "I thought I'd bring something this time."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Tea?"

Argolaith nodded. "Made from plants I've only found in the most dangerous, ridiculous places. There's emberleaf, nightroot blossom, even a sliver of silverwilt."

Kaelred muttered behind him, "He nearly died five times collecting those. No big deal."

Athos stood slowly, hands behind his back, and walked over. He placed a hand on Argolaith's shoulder—not in greeting, not in farewell, but in something deeper.

"I knew you'd find your way back," Athos said softly. "And I knew… you'd bring stories with you."

Argolaith smiled. "More than you might be ready for."

Thae'Zirak flared his wings slightly. "I assure you, some stories are better steeped in tea."

Athos chuckled, eyeing the tiny dragon. "And you've made some peculiar friends, I see."

They sat together in the reading alcove, where Athos had set out his old clay kettle and three wide-mouthed cups. Argolaith carefully prepared the mixture from the rare leaves he had collected—each crushed by hand, measured with precision, then steeped in near-boiling water conjured by Malakar's controlled flame.

The aroma was like nothing the library had ever known—earthy and sweet, with a strange cooling undertone that lingered at the edges of perception.

Athos took a sip and sighed. "You always did know how to surprise me."

"I had a good teacher."

The moment settled into silence.

No prophecy.

No bloodlines.

Just tea and dust, and the quiet peace of a library that had never stopped keeping watch.