God’s Tree

The newly revealed path twisted through narrow clusters of leaning trees, the forest closing in tighter with every step. The air was damp and rich with the scent of old bark, hanging vines, and moss that whispered underfoot with each step.

They walked in silence, boots crunching softly against the strange golden-veined roots that illuminated the trail like veins of buried starlight.

Argolaith led the way, his sword strapped at his back, his eyes sharp, not with fear—but memory.

The deeper they went, the more a strange unease settled over him.

Not danger.

Recognition.

Something in this part of the forest was familiar.

It wasn't until they passed beneath a canopy of ancient widowbranches—trees with long white leaves that looked like torn shrouds—that the path began to widen into a silent clearing.

And that's where it waited.

A figure.

Motionless.

Cloaked in shadows.

Its face was hidden beneath a hood, though there was no fabric—only darkness, as if light itself refused to enter. Its arms were long and thin, tipped with crooked, claw-like fingers. Its entire form rippled, shifting slightly like smoke trapped in the shape of a man.

The group stopped at once.

Kaelred tensed. "Okay. Nope. That's a cursed mannequin if I've ever seen one."

Malakar stepped forward slowly, hand drifting toward his blade. "It's watching."

Thae'Zirak let out a low growl, claws flexing.

But Argolaith…

Argolaith's breath caught.

"I know it."

Kaelred looked at him. "Excuse me?"

Argolaith stepped forward, jaw tight. "It attacked me."

"When?"

"When I first left Seminah. I had just crossed into the Forsaken Forest. I was fifteen. It came out of the trees. Fast. Silent. I only barely escaped."

His fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. "I thought it was just a beast. Something random. But it wasn't. It was this thing."

The shadowy figure tilted its head, the movement smooth, animal-like.

And then it spoke.

Not with a voice—but a soundless ripple that passed through the air like thought woven into wind.

"You return, Argolaith."

Everyone froze.

Kaelred blinked. "It knows your name?!"

Argolaith's hand didn't move from his sword. "You can speak now?"

"You were not worth speaking to then."

"You are… changed."

Malakar's eyes narrowed. "What are you?"

The figure's body flickered, its edges fraying slightly before reforming. The forest around them darkened, the canopy above thickening as if reacting to the creature's presence.

"I am a Warden of the Lost Roots."

"A remnant of the first time the forest bled."

Argolaith's breath slowed.

"You tried to kill me."

"I tested you."

Kaelred stepped forward, daggers in hand. "Oh, I see. We're doing that thing again where ancient horrors pretend they're wise. Want us to clap for your nonsense?"

The figure did not move.

"You ran, boy. Once. But not today."

It took a step forward.

The forest shivered.

Argolaith stepped forward too, placing himself between the creature and the others. His voice was low. Steady.

"I'm not that boy anymore."

The figure extended a hand—thin and clawed, but trembling ever so slightly. "Then show me."

Argolaith slowly drew his sword, the steel glinting faintly with etched runes, its edge sharp from dozens of battles since his first. He lowered into a ready stance.

But he didn't attack.

And neither did the figure.

They stared at each other in complete silence. The air between them was heavy with old memory and something unspoken—unfinished.

Then the shadow turned its hand palm-up.

"You remember.

You faced fear.

You returned."

The forest stirred. The shadows lifted slightly.

And the figure began to fade.

"Pass, Argolaith.

The roots remember you now."

Then it was gone.

No step. No sound.

Just absence.

Argolaith exhaled slowly and stood upright again.

Kaelred muttered, "What… the hell… was that?"

Malakar answered softly, "A remnant of a trial left unfinished. It waited for him. And now it lets him pass."

Thae'Zirak tilted his head. "It remembered his fear. And it wanted to know if he still carried it."

Argolaith looked around the clearing.

"I don't."

And with that, he stepped forward.

The forest opened.

They had walked for hours after the shadowy figure vanished, the forest feeling a little less heavy in its silence—less watchful, but no less strange.

The golden-veined roots that had revealed the time-loop path had thinned out. In their place came groves of spindling trees with translucent bark, their interiors glowing faintly as if lit by fireflies trapped within. Fungi dotted the forest floor in clusters, casting a soft luminescence over every step.

Though the path ahead was still long—thousands of miles remained before Seminah—the group found a moment of stillness beneath the hanging boughs of a twisted tree shaped like an archway. Beyond it lay a small clearing, mossy and circular, where the forest seemed content to watch without interrupting.

Argolaith halted, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

"We'll stop here," he said. "I want to make something to eat."

Kaelred immediately dropped onto a patch of moss with a groan. "Praise the gods. If I had to eat one more pocket-stew ration, I was going to chew bark and pretend it was steak."

Malakar simply nodded and began drawing protective runes around the perimeter.

Thae'Zirak crouched down in his humanoid-draconic form, golden eyes watching the canopy. "This place is quiet. Cook fast, but well."

Argolaith gave a slight smirk. "Wouldn't dream of rushing it."

Argolaith knelt and summoned his cooking tools from his storage ring—a small, rune-etched skillet forged from heat-dispersing blacksteel, a compact fire crystal, a series of dried herbs sealed in glass tubes, and a selection of preserved magical greens.

And then he pulled it out.

A slab of Saint Beast steak, wrapped in enchanted cloth. The meat shimmered faintly even raw—rich in magical muscle-fiber, marbled with silver lines of divine essence that pulsed ever so slightly. It radiated heat, not from decay, but from raw life-force still clinging to it.

Kaelred sat up straighter. "Wait. That's… is that Saint Beast meat?"

Argolaith nodded, already grinding a mix of shadowpepper and glimmer-salt between his fingers. "Took a chunk from the shoulder before the forest reclaimed the rest."

"Are we allowed to eat things that killed us for fun?"

"It tried," Argolaith said with a shrug. "But we killed it first. So I'm cooking it."

He seared the steak over a clean flame drawn from the fire crystal—its heat steady and blue, perfect for drawing out the magic without burning it. The scent that rose from the pan was thick and heady, like roasted spice and smoked metal, underscored by something wild and primal.

While the meat cooked, Argolaith tossed together a quick salad from the enchanted plants he'd harvested: crisp thunderleaf for crunch, sunroot shavings for a hint of sweetness, and chilled dewfronds that exhaled a mist with every bite.

He sprinkled crushed frostbloom petals on top for color and trace magic properties that cooled the palate—a perfect contrast to the rich meat.

When the steak was done, he sliced it thin, each cut releasing a soft trail of silver steam that carried the scent of divine energy and roasted perfection. He plated everything on flat bark-trays lined with edible lightmoss.

He handed Kaelred a tray.

The rogue stared at it like it might float away. "I take back every complaint I've ever made about you dragging us into death-traps."

"Eat," Argolaith said, already working on his own.

Kaelred took a bite.

And nearly passed out.

"This is…" he mumbled through a mouthful, "…better than that gold-tier restaurant in the capital. What even is this flavor?"

"Saint Beast," Argolaith said. "It's not just meat. It's condensed force. The magic alters its taste depending on how it was killed."

Malakar paused mid-bite. "Then this beast tasted its own arrogance."

Thae'Zirak let out a pleased rumble. "And now we consume its strength."

Argolaith didn't say anything. He simply ate quietly, savoring the contrast of heat and cool, the balance of flavor and resilience. The food energized him—not just in body, but in spirit.

It reminded him that even in this cursed forest, they could make something beautiful.

Even here… there could be warmth.

As they finished eating, the forest began to shift again.

The soft wind returned. Distant calls echoed faintly from deeper within. The moss stirred with unseen motion.

Kaelred looked up, face half-lidded from satisfaction. "Still thousands of miles left, huh?"

Argolaith stood and packed up his tools. "Yeah. But we walk it fed. We walk it together."

He glanced toward the horizon—toward the deep forest.

Toward Seminah.

And they walked.