God’s Tree

The moment Kaelred's foot touched the center ring of the arena, the gravity snapped sideways.

His body twisted, feet skidding against stone as his balance was pulled toward a wall. But his instincts flared—he bent low, flipped, and rode the shifting pull as though he'd trained under this kind of pressure all his life.

Elder Arvail watched silently, one hand still lifted. She tilted her head slightly, adjusting the vectors again. This time, gravity bent upward. The floor beneath Kaelred cracked from the sudden shift.

He didn't hesitate.

He ran straight up into the air like it was a vertical road, kicking off invisible footholds formed by the pressure itself. He closed the distance in seconds.

Arvail blinked once, raising a finger. A ripple of dimensional folds lashed toward him.

Kaelred's blade slashed through the distortion.

Not cleanly, not easily—but the edge flickered with a pale red shimmer. It wasn't magic. It was will, raw and sharp. Arvail narrowed her eyes. She hadn't expected that.

Kaelred landed just feet from her, crouching low.

She didn't speak. Instead, she opened a dimensional pocket. Blades of compressed space shimmered into existence—floating like shards of broken mirrors.

Kaelred dashed again, this time weaving through the blades. One clipped his shoulder, slicing the fabric but missing flesh. He spun low, then swept up with his blade.

Arvail blocked with a sheet of warped gravity.

The force blasted Kaelred backward across the arena.

He flipped midair and landed in a crouch. His breath fogged slightly. The air had changed. She was increasing the ambient pressure—slowly boiling the mana itself.

He smiled.

"Is this how you welcome all new students?"

Her lips almost curved into a smile. "No. Just the dangerous ones."

Kaelred sprinted again, his boots carving shallow trenches in the floor. This time, he leapt, kicked off the side of a summoned barrier, and flipped behind Arvail. He slashed with the hilt—not the blade.

She vanished.

The space she'd occupied folded in, like a page turning.

Kaelred landed and skidded to a halt.

Arvail reappeared above, floating calmly with runes spinning around her.

"This is impressive," she said. "You fight like someone who's never relied on magic but never needed to."

"I didn't have a choice."

"Good."

She lowered her hand. The pressure vanished.

Silence returned to the dome.

"You pass."

Kaelred blinked, sweat rolling down his neck.

"That was it?"

"That was enough."

She turned and walked toward the far exit.

"Argolaith will be pleased," she added over her shoulder.

Kaelred stood still, his grip tightening on his blade. "He's the reason I'm here."

"I know."

Kaelred stepped out of the testing arena and into the Grand Magic Academy's east wing, where sunlight filtered through floating glass panels, each one refracting faint magical inscriptions.

His boots tapped quietly against the marble floor as he wandered deeper into the labyrinthine halls. The academy was vast—wider than any battlefield, taller than any tower he'd ever climbed.

He passed students in long coats embroidered with shimmering emblems. Some gave him curious glances, others nodded politely. A few stared for too long.

"Did you hear?" someone whispered behind him.

"That's the one Arvail tested. The blade prodigy."

Kaelred didn't stop walking. His sharp ears picked up every word.

"…Not even magic, and he still made it past Arvail. They say he's looking for Argolaith."

That name again.

He turned a corner and came to a large courtyard filled with flowering trees and floating lecture platforms. Students gathered in small groups, some casting spells in controlled bursts while others read aloud from thick tomes.

He paused, scanning their faces. Argolaith wasn't among them.

A girl nearby noticed his searching gaze.

"If you're looking for Argolaith," she said, brushing ink off her sleeve, "don't bother. No one knows where he is half the time."

Kaelred's expression didn't change. "What do you mean?"

"He vanishes for days. Sometimes weeks. Then suddenly reappears and causes chaos—destroys an arena, wipes out a beast meant for ten students, breaks a test."

"Sounds like him," Kaelred muttered.

"You know him?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he walked past the courtyard and headed toward the central tower. Maybe someone there could give him a clearer direction—or maybe he just needed to feel closer to Argolaith's trail.

Far away, in the hidden sanctuary of Elyrion, Argolaith sat beneath the shade of a tree.

He was watching the frogs leap into the shimmering pond, golden spores drifting lazily through the air.

His eyes opened slowly.

He had felt it.

A subtle pull in the weave of the realm. A thread brushing the edges of his senses—familiar and faint, like a melody half-remembered.

"Kaelred."

He didn't rise immediately.

Instead, he leaned back and exhaled. He would not rush to him.

Kaelred had chosen to come. That alone meant he was ready to walk the path on his own.

Argolaith closed his eyes again, listening to the faint hum of the realm. The frogs croaked softly, and time flowed gently around him.

In the distance, the realm's horizon shimmered with possibilities yet to unfold.

Kaelred made his way through the maze-like corridors until he found a polished wooden sign reading Student Support & Placement. Below it, a gently glowing help desk pulsed with mana.

A bored-looking attendant looked up from a glowing scroll. "Name?"

"Kaelred."

Her fingers moved fast over the sigil-etched tablet. "Ah, new placement. You'll need to pick six classes—any combination of electives, requireds, or specialties."

She slid a list across the desk. It shimmered with rotating glyphs.

Kaelred scanned the names, thoughtful. He circled Combat Arts – Dagger Specialization, Rune Enchantment Basics, Linguistic Forms of Ancient Script, Elemental Nature & Gravity Affinity, Tactical Combat and Decision Theory, and Beginner Smithing & Metal Theory.

The attendant gave an impressed whistle. "Bold combination. You'll be busy."

He just nodded.

A glowing token appeared in her palm. "Here's your dorm assignment. Tower Twelve, floor seven. You've been paired with another first-year. Name's Orren. Quiet type. You'll get along fine."

Kaelred took the token and left, weaving past other students until the tall spire of Tower Twelve rose before him.

He rode the sigil-lift to the seventh floor, following the runed hallway to a wooden door marked with his name and another.

The door creaked open with a whisper of magic.

The dorm was clean and simple. Two beds, two desks, a wardrobe, and a balcony. His roommate, a short boy with messy dark hair and round glasses, looked up from a pile of rune scrolls.

"You must be Kaelred," he said.

Kaelred gave a nod. "Orren?"

"Yeah. Welcome."

Kaelred placed his things quietly. This would be his home now.

Far away in Elyrion, Argolaith lounged at the edge of the pond. The frogs leapt lazily through shallow waters, shimmering with gentle mana ripples.

A breeze passed through the trees. He closed his eyes, resting one arm behind his head.

He had felt Kaelred enter the academy. The bond between them was faint but undeniable.

Still, there was no rush.

Kaelred would find his rhythm in this place on his own. And when the time came, Argolaith would greet him—not as a guide, but as someone watching his growth.

"Maybe I'll go in a few days," he murmured.

A frog landed on his knee and croaked.

Argolaith smiled, sinking deeper into the shade of the trees.

The realm was calm.

For now.