God's Tree-Chapter 181: Where Trees Whisper Not Their Own

The journey resumed beneath a sky brushed in pale ash and pearl.

No more talk of stars. No more forerunners. Only the rhythm of footsteps and the low, quiet hum of the root fragment resting in Argolaith's palm.

He carried it like something sacred, wrapping it in a cloth of dark weave and binding it at his belt, where it pulsed with a gentle glow only he could feel.

It didn't pull like the rune did.

It guided.

Softly.

Patiently.

The group moved southwest, crossing dry hills where the wind tasted of charcoal and stillness. Nothing lived here—not visibly. No birds flew overhead. No insects hummed beneath the dry roots. The land wasn't dead.

It was waiting.

By the second day, the hills gave way to trees—though none were green.

They entered a forest of ashen trunks and blackened bark, each tree twisted in agony, their limbs curling like the frozen hands of corpses reaching skyward. No leaves. No moss. Just silence, broken only by the crunch of brittle twigs beneath their boots.

"This place reeks of forgotten memory," Malakar said, his violet eyes scanning the canopy.

Kaelred kicked at a root that jutted from the ground like a broken spine. "You sure we're going the right way?"

Argolaith glanced at the root fragment.

It pulsed once. Then again.

Soft. Steady.

Still guiding.

"Yes."

Kaelred gave a half-hearted groan. "Wonderful."

Thae'Zirak circled overhead in silence. Even in his smaller form, his wings made no sound. Argolaith didn't miss the way the dragon refused to fly too low.

The trees didn't speak.

But they watched.

At first, it was faint.

A breath at the edge of hearing. Like someone exhaling from behind the bark. Argolaith stopped walking. Malakar froze instantly, hand on the hilt of his shadow-blade.

"Did you hear that?" Argolaith asked.

Kaelred raised a brow. "Hear what?"

And then—

"…You should have stayed…"

The voice was feminine. Soft. Wounded.

It came from the tree beside him.

Argolaith turned, eyes wide. The bark was cracked and smooth, no face in sight, no motion—but the presence was clear.

"Something's bound here," he said.

Malakar nodded once. "This forest is cursed."

"No," Thae'Zirak's voice rumbled from above. "Not cursed. Imprinted."

Argolaith looked up. "Imprinted?"

"Yes," the dragon said. "These trees are dead—but they hold memories. Not their own. They've been made to contain echoes."

The deeper they walked, the louder the voices became.

Each tree they passed whispered something different. Faint phrases. Regrets. Warnings.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this…"

"She said the fourth tree would burn…"

"We left the child behind…"

"He still dreams beneath the roots…"

Kaelred looked increasingly uncomfortable. "I feel like we're walking through a cemetery where the headstones talk back."

"These aren't ghosts," Malakar murmured. "They're thoughts. Stolen or preserved. Either way, they don't belong to the forest."

The fragment on Argolaith's belt began to glow brighter.

He unwrapped it, holding it in his palm.

It pulsed more frequently now, the light intensifying with every step forward. And as it brightened, the voices sharpened.

Now they began to say his name.

"Argolaith…"

"He holds the flame…"

"Not yet awakened… not yet broken…"

He stopped. "They know me."

Kaelred stared at the trees, wide-eyed. "I vote we burn this place down."

"That wouldn't kill it," Malakar said, eyes narrowing. "It would only anger it."

Near dusk, they reached a clearing.

At its center stood a single tree, larger than the others—twisted into a spiral, its bark darker than coal and laced with veins of glowing red. It pulsed faintly, the same rhythm as the root fragment in Argolaith's hand.

He stepped forward cautiously.

The other trees fell silent.

The large one breathed.

It was not alive.

And yet it waited.

Argolaith reached out with the fragment. The glow spilled across the base of the tree, and a ring of light appeared at its roots—ancient script winding into patterns that flickered like flames in water.

Kaelred squinted at it. "It's a map."

"No," Malakar corrected. "It's a vein. A blood vein. Part of Yuneith's root system."

Thae'Zirak landed behind them, shifting into his full draconic form with a thud.

"This is a mark," he said. "Left behind when the tree was uprooted. A scar that never healed."

Argolaith knelt and touched the light.

Instantly, the vision returned.

This time—

He saw the tree in its original grove. Glowing with silver light. A throne of vines. A great ring of stone surrounding it. Figures standing in a circle—hooded, chanting in a language he didn't understand.

And above them—something vast moved in the sky, blocking out the stars.

When he opened his eyes, he was on the ground, panting.

Kaelred helped him up. "That's the second time you've gone all blank and dramatic. Want to share with the class?"

Argolaith looked toward the dying tree.

"They moved it. They ripped it from its grove. But they didn't do it to hide it."

Malakar tilted his head. "Then why?"

"To control it," Argolaith said. "They want something from Yuneith. They think if they own it… they'll unlock something."

Kaelred muttered, "Gods help whoever's dumb enough to try and bend one of the Five."

They made camp just beyond the clearing. The trees were quieter now. The voices distant, as if watching instead of speaking.

Argolaith sat with the fragment in his lap, tracing its spiral bark with his fingers.

The rune on his arm pulsed in rhythm with it now.

They were aligned.

"We're close," he said. "It's still far. But we're close enough for the tree to know we're coming."

Kaelred stirred the fire, frowning. "Then it probably knows we're not the only ones."

Malakar looked up at the sky. "The further we go, the more the old protections will thin."

Thae'Zirak growled faintly. "And the ones who moved the tree may not like that you're still following its call."

Argolaith nodded slowly.

"Let them come."

He looked down at the fragment again.

"We'll be waiting."

They broke camp before the sun rose.

The dead forest behind them loomed like a memory best left unspoken. Though the trees had quieted during the night, Argolaith could still feel the whispers brushing the edge of his thoughts—like something had been listening too closely… and hadn't looked away.

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

The root fragment at his hip pulsed slowly now, as if it, too, was recovering from what it had revealed.

Argolaith led the way.

Kaelred walked beside him, chewing the last of their dried herbs with a frown.

Malakar trailed behind, silent but watchful, while Thae'Zirak glided above in a slow, low pattern, scanning the horizon like a sentinel.

The land was changing.

And they all felt it.