God’s Tree

Argolaith stood near the edge of the pond as the frogs splashed playfully beneath the rising light of Elyrion's twin stars.

The blue one leapt high into the air, trailing a faint shimmer of mana behind it.

He watched them for a while, arms crossed, thoughts turning. Their magic was growing. Not wild yet, but unpredictable.

It wouldn't take much for a playful burst to turn dangerous.

He knelt and traced a shallow line in the soft earth with his fingertip.

A breath later, the cube hovered beside him, releasing a small thread of mana. Argolaith guided it carefully, weaving the beginnings of a rune array in a wide circle around the pond.

He used stabilizing runes first—ones that reacted to sudden magical flux.

Then came the pacifiers, subtle enchantments that absorbed stray mana before it could form a spell.

Lastly, he added a pulse anchor, a tiny gem infused with neutral mana to keep the whole formation humming gently, like a lullaby beneath the water.

As the final rune locked into place, a silver shimmer bloomed for a moment across the pond's border before fading.

Argolaith sat back and watched.

A frog tested the new boundary, magic flaring around its toes. But instead of rippling outward, the energy softened and dispersed like smoke in wind.

Perfect.

"You'll be safe now," he whispered to them.

The blue frog croaked softly and tilted its head as if in approval.

Argolaith smiled, then stood, brushing his hands off.

Now he could explore deeper into Elyrion.

He walked toward the edge of the trees, past glowing ferns and tall silver-petal stalks. The forest hummed with quiet energy, old and waiting.

He paused.

"I'll be back soon," he said aloud, glancing behind at the pond.

Then he stepped into the deeper parts of the realm.

Argolaith stood at the edge of the clearing, the soft sound of frogs echoing behind him. The rune array shimmered faintly in the grass around the pond, a gentle weave of protection and containment.

He gave the frogs one last look before turning toward the uncharted stretch of his realm.

The trees grew taller the further he walked, their canopies arching high above him like natural spires. Birds made from flickering strands of mana flew overhead, vanishing into glowing branches.

He hadn't placed them there—but Elyrion seemed to be evolving on its own.

Thick vines wrapped around some of the trees, pulsing with magic that reminded him of leylines. He ran a hand along one of them and felt a soft tug of mana respond to his touch. It hummed with a kind of life that felt new yet ancient.

Hours passed as he moved through the shifting woods, his boots brushing against fallen leaves that sparkled like crystal.

Occasionally, he'd stop to examine a strange flower or note the taste of magic in the air. The deeper he went, the more vivid the realm became.

He reached a clearing that overlooked a steep drop. The cliff edge was lined with sapphire-colored moss, and when he stepped to the edge, he gasped.

Below him stretched a continent of rolling hills, thick forests, rivers of light, and glimmering fields that stretched beyond the horizon.

It was more than he expected.

More than he thought possible.

"I made this?" he whispered, awe in his voice.

He sat at the cliff's edge, legs dangling freely, staring at the world he'd unknowingly let grow. The cube that held Elyrion's entrance pulsed gently in his storage ring. It hadn't just stored the realm—it had nurtured it.

A wind rolled up the cliff face, carrying with it the scent of wild herbs and magic-charged soil. He could hear distant sounds, too—echoes of unknown life deep in the valley below. Elyrion wasn't empty.

He descended using a trail of roots that had formed a natural staircase down the cliffside. Carefully, he made his way lower, taking in the changing plant life with every step. The trees at this depth were smaller but carried a luminous glow from within.

As he reached the base, the soil changed from dark loam to a glittering dust that clung to his boots. It didn't feel like normal dirt—it pulsed faintly like living magic. He knelt and scooped some into a small glass vial to analyze later.

Soon, he came across a quiet glade where grass swayed as if touched by a breeze, though there was none. The silence was heavier here, the kind that came not from emptiness but from unseen watchers. Argolaith's instincts tingled.

He drew his old sword—not in alarm, but in caution.

The trees surrounding the glade bore strange symbols etched into their trunks. They weren't runes he recognized. They looked organic, as if they had been carved by thought rather than hands.

He took out a notebook and sketched them quickly, just in case they matched anything in the academy archives. The glade felt sacred, like a place left behind by something far older than himself.

Further along, he found a stream. The water was almost too clear, flowing over smooth stones that shimmered like moonlight. He knelt and cupped his hands, tasting it—it was crisp, charged with faint restorative mana.

He stored a few stones in his ring, already thinking how they might be used to purify potions or for rune-infused architecture.

Time blurred as he continued walking.

Every hour brought something new—a patch of floating lilies that hovered inches above a pond, vines that coiled into perfect spirals on their own, and even glowing insects that zipped around like they were part of a pattern too complex to grasp.

The creatures here didn't fear him.

They watched him.

Some simply observed from the shadows, others walked beside him for a while, only to vanish into the brush. He didn't try to tame or scare them. He didn't need to.

They knew this was his realm.

The sun shifted overhead—or rather, one of the stars above moved slightly, casting a golden hue across the distant mountains. Argolaith looked up at the twin stars and the sun that lit Elyrion. None of it made sense. Not logically.

But it worked.

He stopped at a field filled with stalks of translucent wheat that shifted colors with each breeze. He bent down and plucked a single stalk. It hummed softly in his hand, vibrating with faint magic. Another sample for later study.

Eventually, he reached another cliff—this one smaller, with a soft slope leading down into a grove of red-leafed trees. Unlike the ones before, these trees pulsed slowly, as if they were breathing.

The air was warmer here, and Argolaith felt his magic stir in response. The cube in his ring gave off a slow thrum, sensing something about this area. Perhaps it was attuned to the growth in Elyrion. Or perhaps the land was calling to him.

He decided to camp here for the night.

Using a flat patch beneath one of the trees, he set down his bag and pulled out a simple blanket. He didn't need much. The warmth from the ground and the low glow from the leaves gave more than enough comfort.

Before resting, he set down a small rune ward around the grove. Just in case. He didn't expect anything to harm him here, but habits were habits.

As he lay back and watched the stars in Elyrion's sky shift ever so slowly, he wondered if the realm would ever stop expanding. Or if it would eventually reflect something inside him—growing and adapting as he did.

He smiled.

This was going to be one very long, very strange adventure.

And he couldn't wait to see what waited deeper inside.

Argolaith woke beneath the red-leafed tree, its softly glowing canopy casting a warm, dim light over his face.

The grove still pulsed gently, a rhythmic hum flowing from the roots into the air. For a few long seconds, he simply breathed, listening to the quiet magic of Elyrion.

He stood and stretched, brushing away dew from his clothes. The ground remained warm under his boots, and as he packed his blanket into his storage ring, he felt something watching him. Not hostile. Just… aware.

The leaves above rustled without wind.

He stepped deeper into the grove. The air grew thicker with mana the further he walked. He passed red trees with bark that shimmered, and vines that coiled like veins of light, pulsing to a beat just slower than his own heart.

Then he saw it.

Tucked between two glowing tree trunks was a stone arch.

It wasn't carved—at least not recently. Covered in moss and ancient runes, the arch stood silent and half-buried in the grove's soil. It hadn't been made by him. Of that, he was certain.

He approached slowly, fingertips grazing one of the runes. The stone felt alive, humming like it recognized his magic. The cube in his ring stirred slightly, reacting to the presence of the arch.

Argolaith crouched and brushed moss from the base of the structure. More runes. Most of them he didn't recognize, but a few looked like older variations of Elyrion's core glyphs.

A portal frame, maybe.

But where did it lead?

He didn't activate it—yet. Instead, he marked the arch's coordinates in his notes and etched a small protective rune into the soil nearby, concealing the arch in a weave of illusions. Best to study it more before stepping through.

He left the grove and followed a narrow animal trail deeper into Elyrion. As he moved, the trees began to thin, giving way to soft hills blanketed in silvery grass.

The realm's light shifted—more moonlit than before, even though the sun above hadn't moved.

He spotted movement ahead.

A beast.

But not like any he'd seen.