God’s Tree

A tall elf stood at the base of one of the great trees.

Her robes were woven from fibers that shimmered softly, like leaves catching moonlight.

She said nothing, but inclined her head slowly as he approached.

Argolaith stopped a few steps away.

He nodded politely, unsure if she would speak first.

She didn't—not with words.

Instead, she extended a hand, palm up, and magic shimmered faintly in the air between them.

It wasn't a spell, just a presence.

A silent invitation.

He reached out and let his fingers brush hers—just enough to feel the magic.

It was calm. Observant. Testing him, but not threatening.

After a few breaths, it faded, and the elf stepped aside.

He understood. He was allowed to enter.

Not as one of them. Not yet. But as someone who had been seen.

That was enough.

He wandered slowly through the heart of the village.

Some of the homes above had figures now—slim shapes moving through walkways of bark and vine.

They watched him with soft eyes. None spoke.

He reached a platform where a shallow bowl of clear water reflected the glowing canopy above.

Around it, small clusters of flowers grew in perfect circles, untouched.

He sat beside it.

From his ring, he pulled one of the glowing mushrooms he had taken earlier.

He turned it over in his hand, studying the light it emitted.

Here, it pulsed brighter—almost like it recognized the earth.

He set it down by the water's edge.

Watched as its glow steadied, then slowly dimmed until it matched the rhythm of the trees around it.

It was adjusting. Accepting.

Argolaith leaned back and rested his eyes.

Just for a moment.

Not to sleep—but to listen.

In the quiet, he could almost hear the roots speaking to one another.

Not in words.

In movement. In rhythm.

He wondered if the elves ever left this place.

Or if, once seen by the dragon, they chose to remain.

Not out of fear, but purpose.

After a while, he stood again.

He walked slowly to the edge of the village and looked up at the tunnel high above.

It felt even further now, like it belonged to a different world.

Still, he had things to do.

A sword to build. A realm to shape.

Knowledge to share.

He found the path that led upward, a winding stone incline tangled in vines.

It took time, but he didn't rush.

Each step was a goodbye, in a way.

When he reached the top, he glanced once more into the expanse below.

The dragon still slept.

The village shimmered faintly.

Everything was exactly as it should be.

Argolaith whispered softly, more to the sanctuary than himself.

"Thank you."

And then he turned and stepped back into the tunnel.

The warmth of the underground faded slowly behind him.

Replaced by the colder stone and the silence of the upper caves.

Still, something lingered in his chest.

Not magic.

Not even awe.

Just a sense of belonging.

He emerged from the cave hours later.

The sun above Morgoth had shifted—still bright, but lower.

It had only been a day.

Argolaith reached into his ring and pulled out a small cube—the one that stored the entrance to Elyrion.

He held it in his palm for a moment.

Then tucked it away again.

"I'll return soon," he said.

Then, with steady steps, he made his way back to the Grand Magic Academy.

Argolaith had only walked for an hour before he stopped.

A quiet thought tugged at the edge of his mind.

The ore in the ceiling of the sanctuary… he had forgotten.

He turned around.

Retraced his steps through the winding stone tunnel.

It was strange how quickly the world changed when you moved backward through it.

Soon, the moss returned underfoot.

The soft hum of the magical trees filled the air again.

The dragon still slumbered—undisturbed, eternal.

Argolaith walked to the center of the sanctuary and looked up.

The ceiling shimmered with glowing veins of ore—woven between crystal and ancient stone.

It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat of its own.

With a leap and a touch of mana under his boots, he soared up.

A soft impact on the stone. No noise.

He reached forward, choosing a vein that wasn't too large.

With a careful spell and a short blade, he cut a smooth section from the rock.

The ore broke away cleanly, falling into his hand.

It felt warm. Heavy with power.

He stored it in his ring without a word.

Then, glancing back across the sanctuary one last time, he made his way down.

But not before one final task.

From the outer grove, he gathered three of the frogs.

They looked at him with calm, glowing eyes.

He smiled softly. "Let's go."

When he returned to Elyrion, he placed them near the lake.

The frogs didn't scatter—they simply blinked, then hopped peacefully into the water.

They belonged here now.

He watched them for a while.

Then stored the entrance to Elyrion again in the cube.

It shimmered once before vanishing into his ring.

The journey back through the cave took half a day.

Stone turned to slope, slope to passage, until finally sunlight touched his face again.

It felt harsher than he remembered.

His cloak pulled tight, Argolaith set off.

He didn't use magic to travel.

Not this time.

He walked.

Days passed beneath shifting skies.

He crossed a ridge where wind screamed between jagged rocks.

He drank from clear streams and slept beside dying campfires.

At night, he studied the ore by firelight.

Its surface shimmered with starlight patterns that shifted when touched.

He took notes. Silent. Focused.

By the fourth day, he reached the valley where the teleportation gate was hidden.

Tall stones formed a circle in the clearing—ancient and cracked.

Moss grew thick between them.

He stepped to the center.

Placed his hand on the central stone.

Mana flowed quietly from his core, awakening the old magic within.

With a soft hum, the circle began to glow.

The air twisted—folding inward.

And in a flash of light, Argolaith vanished.

The familiar halls of the Grand Magic Academy greeted him.

Quiet. Towering. Watching.

He had returned.

His steps echoed as he walked through the arched stone corridor.

He didn't stop to rest.

He had work to do.

First, he would study the ore again.

Then he'd test it—shape it.

Find out if it was worthy of being part of the blade.

But more than that, he'd prepare the realm.

And the forge.

For the sword that would not break.