God’s Tree

The morning after the battle dawned slowly.

Not with sunlight—none reached the floor of the Forsaken Forest—but with the dim glow of silver leaves fluttering high above, catching what little light could break through the ancient canopy. Mist clung low to the ground, curling between roots and rocks like a living thing.

The corpse of the Saint Beast lay still in the center of their makeshift camp, its massive form already being overtaken by moss and curling vines. The forest had begun reclaiming it within hours, as if acknowledging the battle, accepting the outcome… and moving on.

Argolaith stood beside it, arms crossed, silent.

Not in mourning. Not in pride.

In focus.

Kaelred limped over, a half-eaten ration in hand. "You're thinking about cutting it open, aren't you?"

Argolaith didn't look at him. "The marrow is divine-touched. If we can preserve it, we might be able to extract it later. Could be useful."

"You nearly died getting those magic plants yesterday," Kaelred muttered. "Maybe don't go elbow-deep in cursed beast guts today?"

Argolaith's lips quirked. "I'll think about it."

Kaelred shook his head, already biting back a grin.

They spent the morning healing and cleaning up.

Malakar summoned a net of shadow to suspend the beast's body in the air for later harvesting. Thae'Zirak drew glowing sigils across the clearing to keep other predators away.

Argolaith brewed a light medicinal broth using some of the rarer herbs he'd foraged, handing it to Kaelred and Malakar to replenish their energy.

Kaelred sipped it and wrinkled his nose. "Tastes like burnt moss."

"Better than bleeding to death," Argolaith replied, not missing a beat.

Thae'Zirak, still in his smaller form, curled beside the remains of a broken tree, his tail flicking lazily. "You move with confidence, Argolaith. But the forest is watching you more closely now."

Argolaith looked over. "You feel it too?"

The dragon hybrid nodded. "It saw you kill the beast. Now it wants to know why."

Malakar, seated on a flat rock, cleaning his blade, added, "The Forsaken Forest does not forget. And it does not ignore those who survive its trials."

Argolaith gazed into the trees.

The forest was quiet again—but no longer still.

Branches shifted when they weren't looking. Vines twitched subtly in response to their steps. And every now and then, something moved just beyond the edge of sight, never attacking, never fleeing.

Watching.

By midday, they were moving again.

The path was nonexistent now, just a sense of direction, south by southeast.

They passed beneath arching roots, over fallen logs larger than houses, and through fields of glowing white grass that chimed faintly when disturbed. Strange creatures rustled in the underbrush—none large enough to challenge them, but none afraid, either.

Everything here was unafraid.

The Forsaken Forest wasn't a place ruled by fear. It was a place ruled by balance.

Predators didn't stalk prey. They waited for it to deserve its fate.

Late in the afternoon, they came across something unusual.

Carved into the side of a moss-covered stone were a series of symbols—spirals, eyes, and tree-branch shapes. They were deep, sharp, and far too old to have been made by modern tools.

Argolaith knelt beside them. "These weren't made by beasts."

"Humans?" Kaelred asked.

"Maybe. Or something close."

Malakar ran his fingers over the carvings. "Markers. A warning… or a map."

Thae'Zirak sniffed the air, scales tightening. "There is ancient magic on this stone. Not hostile. But heavy."

Argolaith stood slowly. "We're not alone here."

Kaelred gave a humorless laugh. "That's the first smart thing anyone's said today."

They made camp early that evening, choosing a raised ridge between two hills blanketed with luminous moss. From here, the forest spread out in all directions like a sea of darkness and silver, alive but silent.

The air felt charged.

Not with danger.

With intention.

As Argolaith stared into the fire, he didn't feel the trees watching anymore. He felt something beneath them. Deeper. Older. A thought not quite formed. A dream trying to remember itself.

He glanced down at the three vials of lifeblood secured within his storage ring. Three earned. Two to go.

But before that…

Home.

Seminah waited at the far edge of this forest, and with every step, he felt it calling more clearly. Not as a memory—but as something unfinished.

The Forsaken Forest had no roads. No trails. Only direction and instinct.

By the fourth day of their journey deeper into its heart, the landscape had grown increasingly unnatural.

The trees leaned at odd angles, their branches twisting into shapes that resembled hands or claws. The ground was soft and uneven, with clusters of glowing spores pulsing gently beneath the mossy earth like slow heartbeats.

But it wasn't until midmorning that they noticed something was… wrong.

Argolaith was the first to speak.

"We've been walking for an hour."

Kaelred raised an eyebrow. "More like five."

"No," Argolaith said firmly. "Exactly one. I checked when we broke camp."

They all stopped in the middle of a winding glade, where silver-blossomed trees hung their flowers low, trailing vines that shimmered faintly as if covered in dew.

Malakar turned his head slowly, violet flame flickering in his empty sockets. "The light hasn't changed."

They looked up.

The same filtered sunlight through the canopy. The same shadows on the ground. Even the moss they'd passed an hour ago looked… identical.

Kaelred walked back the way they'd come, boots silent on the soft earth. He returned less than a minute later, face tight.

"Yeah. Uh. Pretty sure we passed that boulder with the weird split in it three times now."

Argolaith crouched near the ground and placed his hand on the soil.

It was warm. And buzzing—not like an insect, but like something beneath the surface was humming. A resonance, deep and slow.

"This place isn't holding us back," he said quietly. "It's looping us."

Malakar nodded. "Time is not behaving as it should."

They tested it.

Kaelred tied a strip of cloth around a low-hanging branch. They walked for fifteen minutes. Twenty. Circled wide. Headed back on a separate angle.

And there the cloth was again.

Thae'Zirak growled low in his throat. "I have flown over such anomalies before. They are ancient. Born not of magic alone, but of the forest's will."

"It doesn't want us to pass," Argolaith murmured.

Kaelred threw up his hands. "Fantastic. It's not enough we've fought death beasts and stared down whispering trees. Now we're arguing with time itself."

Argolaith stood. His voice was calm.

"No. It's not arguing."

"It's testing."

They set up camp despite not feeling tired. Firelight didn't flicker here. It bent. Moved oddly. Shadows drifted against the trees in patterns that didn't match the flames. But the air was not hostile. Merely watchful.

Argolaith sat alone for a time, staring into the stillness.

Then he stood, walked to the center of the glade, and closed his eyes.

He thought of the cabin. Of Seminah. Of Athos, and the small fire that had once lit his long winter nights. The feeling of time stretching endlessly in silence. Of a life trapped.

And then he spoke—not loudly, but with clarity.

"I've seen what stillness is," he said. "I've lived it."

"But I'm not that boy anymore."

He opened his eyes.

"I don't fear repetition. I grow through it."

The air shifted.

The vines swayed gently.

The buzz beneath the earth quieted.

And then—

The wind blew.

For the first time in hours.

And the moss shifted beneath their feet, revealing a narrow path they hadn't seen before—winding between the trees, marked by roots that glowed faintly with golden veins.

Malakar stood. "You passed the test."

Argolaith nodded once. "Let's move."