God's Tree-Chapter 182: Shadows That Travel Faster Than Feet

The sky overhead had taken on a peculiar hue—neither dawn nor dusk. A dull bronze tint lined the clouds, casting a strange amber glow across the fields.

The ground here was cracked in long lines, like veins through pale stone, as though the earth had been scorched and healed poorly.

Argolaith looked to the horizon. "The air's too still."

Malakar nodded. "We are nearing an old fracture. A place where time and energy were once split. The terrain remembers."

Kaelred frowned. "Wonderful. Another 'time might break here' zone. Can we go around?"

"We could," Malakar said. "But the root fragment pulls through it."

Argolaith adjusted his belt. "Then we go through."

Thae'Zirak's voice echoed from above. "Something moves ahead. Three miles out. Too far to identify."

"More beasts?" Kaelred asked.

"No," the dragon said. "Too organized."

They found the remnants of a camp an hour later.

Fresh ashes still smoldered. The scent of roasted meat lingered, though none remained. The footprints were many—perhaps a dozen. Heavy, armored. Too precise to be wild.

Kaelred crouched near the firepit, running a finger through the soot. "Not mercenaries. Trained. They cleaned up before leaving, but not perfectly."

Argolaith crouched beside him. "Then someone doesn't care if we find the trail."

"They want us to follow," Malakar murmured from the shadow of a shattered pillar. "Or they want us to think we are catching up."

Thae'Zirak landed with a soft thud, wings folding. "Their pace is faster than expected. They may have faster mounts, or…"

He glanced at Argolaith.

"They may have found a way to track Yuneith as well."

Argolaith felt the root fragment throb once, faintly agitated.

He touched it gently.

"I don't think it wants them to find it."

They walked faster now, the sky growing stranger by the hour. Thin clouds gathered, not above, but along the ground, drifting like mist that had forgotten to rise.

Shadows shifted too easily across the broken path, and more than once, Kaelred swore he saw someone walking just out of view—only for it to vanish.

Eventually, they saw the silhouette of an obelisk rising ahead—half-buried in the soil, etched with ancient runes. It stood alone, untouched by moss or time.

Malakar stopped dead.

"What is it?" Argolaith asked.

"That," the lich said carefully, "is a marker. For watchers."

Kaelred squinted. "You mean gods?"

"No," Malakar said. "Older."

Argolaith stepped toward it slowly. As he drew near, the root fragment flared hot, brighter than ever before.

And then—

The stone cracked open.

A fissure split its front, and from within the hollow stone, a pair of eyes opened—not eyes made of flesh, but swirling vortexes of light, spinning in patterns too complex to understand.

The being spoke no words.

But everyone felt it:

"You are being followed."

Thae'Zirak backed away, his scales flaring with silver light.

Argolaith clenched his jaw. "Who's following us?"

The stone did not respond.

Instead, a vision washed over them—

A group of riders, cloaked in blackened armor, their faces hidden behind mirrored helms. Each bore a banner with a silver sigil—not of the gods, but of something older, jagged and looping, shaped like a chain broken at both ends.

Their leader rode ahead, a woman with hair of burning white, wielding a staff tipped with twisted iron.

They moved with purpose.

And in the vision, the sky behind them burned red.

Then the image faded.

The obelisk went dark.

And the stone crumbled to dust.

Kaelred exhaled. "I miss the days when our enemies were just giant bugs and monsters. Now we've got vision-sending statue ghosts."

Malakar turned slowly toward Argolaith. "The fourth tree is being hunted. Not just moved… but pursued. And whoever leads them…"

"They know I'm coming," Argolaith finished.

They made camp earlier than usual, beneath a jagged cliff that bent like a blade. The fire was kept low, its embers red and quiet. The sky never darkened properly—still painted that same dull amber, refusing to turn to night.

Argolaith sat at the edge of the firelight, the root fragment resting in his lap. It had dimmed now, as if exhausted.

Thae'Zirak coiled nearby in his small form, wings tucked and alert. Kaelred leaned back against a rock, cleaning his blades with absent movements.

Malakar stood motionless, staring out across the land.

"So," Kaelred said quietly, "what happens when you get to the tree?"

Argolaith didn't answer right away.

Then, softly: "I think I'll be tested. Not by a guardian. Not by magic. But by the tree itself."

Kaelred nodded. "Think it'll like you?"

Argolaith smiled faintly. "I'm not sure it matters."

A pause.

Then Kaelred added, "Just don't let that woman with the white hair get there first."

Argolaith's grip on the fragment tightened slightly.

"She won't."

The fire crackled softly, casting shifting light across the rocks and the worn lines of Argolaith's face.

Everyone had settled into the quiet of the camp.

Thae'Zirak coiled protectively near the edge of the cliff, eyes closed but far from asleep.

Kaelred had finally stopped sharpening his daggers and leaned back against a slope of stone, one leg bouncing as if unable to relax.

Malakar, silent and vigilant, had positioned himself beyond the firelight—barely visible, a silhouette among shadows.

But Argolaith couldn't sleep.

The root fragment rested in his palm, pulsing gently. Its warmth was faint, like a memory trying to survive the cold. He stared at it for a long time, his thoughts silent—until they weren't.

Why would anyone pursue this tree?

That was the thought he couldn't shake.

Why now? Why Yuneith?

The trees had called to him. Chosen him. Not by force, but by resonance. He could feel it—every beat of the rune on his arm, every echo in the root fragment, every flicker in the air as he neared each sacred place. The connection was personal.

Singular.

These trees did not call to armies.

They called to one.

And yet… someone else was coming.

Someone with speed. Purpose. Power.

Argolaith closed his fingers around the root. The pulse slowed.

They're not after the lifeblood, he thought. They can't be. The tree wouldn't offer it.

He had seen what it meant to be chosen. The struggle, the trials, the bond. The tree would not give its blood to those it hadn't called. Even if someone reached it… they'd find nothing.

Unless—

He froze.

Unless it wasn't the lifeblood they wanted at all.

The root fragment glowed faintly brighter for a heartbeat, and Argolaith's jaw tightened.

It made sense. A terrifying kind of sense.

Someone had moved Yuneith. That alone was nearly unthinkable. These trees were ancient, older than nations, rooted in the bedrock of the world. Yet someone had torn one from its grove—and now others were racing to find it again.

That level of effort couldn't be for something they couldn't take.

So what if…

What if there was something else within the tree?

Something not tied to a chosen bearer.

Something anyone powerful enough could reach.

A sealed secret, a hidden gate. A power the Forerunners buried inside.

He remembered what the Forerunner said:

"When you reach Yuneith, do not enter its roots alone."

He had thought it was a warning about danger. A guardian. A trap.

But now, another possibility gripped him.

Maybe it wasn't about protection.

Maybe it was about what might be unsealed.

Kaelred stirred in his sleep, muttering something incoherent before rolling over. Argolaith barely noticed.

His mind was racing.

He remembered the projection the Forerunner had shown them: five glowing seeds, a woman of light, a vast tree of stars. What if those were more than symbols?

What if each sacred tree held something buried at its heart—something the gods didn't want found? Something the Forerunners left behind not as a gift, but as a warning?

And what if Yuneith was more than a source of lifeblood?

What if it was a lock?

A gate to something not meant to wake?

Argolaith rubbed his thumb over the fragment. Its light calmed at his touch, like it knew he was close to understanding.

He glanced toward his companions—toward the small, steady fire that still burned in defiance of the chill.

"We're not just in a race," he whispered. "We're standing between them and something they shouldn't find."

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The next trial wouldn't be to take the lifeblood.

It would be to protect the tree.