God's Tree-Chapter 186: The Chainbearer’s Arrival

The fire in the temple was low, its embers casting flickering shadows across the ancient walls. The silence of the sanctum had returned, but it no longer felt calm—it was filled with anticipation. With warning.

Argolaith sat near the edge of the Rootheart chamber, the dagger he'd found lying across his knees. The weapon no longer hummed, but the memory it had shown him pulsed fresh in his thoughts—like an echo still caught between the cracks of time.

He looked up at the others.

"I saw how they moved the tree," he said.

Kaelred looked up from his spot near the cooking pit. Malakar paused mid-sentence, his bony hand hovering over a page of weathered runes. Thae'Zirak turned one golden eye toward him, but did not speak.

Argolaith continued. "They didn't lift it, or teleport it. They didn't even sever its roots. They used an artifact—dark stone, shaped like a clawed hand—and chained it to the base of Yuneith's heart. Then they pulled it… through something else. Not space. Not magic. Something deeper."

Kaelred frowned. "Deeper than magic? That's comforting."

"It was like dragging it across the spine of the world," Argolaith said quietly. "And the memory—it wasn't just a vision. It was a real moment. A battle."

"Who fought?" Malakar asked, voice hollow.

Argolaith touched the dagger again. "A guardian. A serpent made of bark and silver flame. It tried to stop them, but it wasn't enough. This place—it didn't fall in battle. It was abandoned, the moment the tree was stolen."

Malakar stood slowly, crossing to one of the far walls.

"I've seen that serpent in ancient lore," he murmured, brushing dust from a cracked mural. "It was called Za'reth. One of the root-bound protectors—creatures formed by the will of the sacred trees themselves. They do not live outside their sanctums."

Argolaith stood and joined him.

The wall bore faint carvings: a great serpent coiled around the base of a glowing tree, stars circling its form. Beneath it, a single line of runes, long faded but still intact.

Malakar traced them slowly.

"When the roots are bound and stolen from the stars, the hand of Nelrith is to blame."

Kaelred blinked. "What the hell is Nelrith?"

Malakar stepped back, expression dark. "A relic of the old world. A chain-caller. Said to enslave gods and unmake divine bonds. No record of its destruction has ever been confirmed."

Thae'Zirak rumbled softly. "Then someone has reclaimed it."

Argolaith turned toward the temple stairs.

And froze.

Because he felt them.

Not whispers.

Not beasts.

People.

Moving with precision. Power.

Kaelred unslung his daggers. "Company?"

Argolaith nodded. "They're here."

Outside the main hall, stone cracked under armored boots.

A group moved through the overgrown clearing where the obelisks once stood proud. At their head was a tall woman clad in bone-white armor, her cloak trailing behind her like a torn banner. Her hair was long and snow-pale, braided with thin silver chains that shimmered even in the low light.

In her right hand, she carried a staff—twisted iron and void crystal, its end pulsing with soft, violet flame.

She paused before the broken archway and tilted her head slightly.

"The temple breathes again," she said.

Behind her, a cloaked figure—face hidden behind a reflective mask—stepped forward.

"The target is inside."

The woman smiled.

"Then let us greet him."

Argolaith stood in the center of the Rootheart chamber, hands clenched, the dagger still held at his side. The Rootheart pulsed behind him, brighter now than it had ever been.

"She's here," he said.

Malakar nodded once. "Then we defend the tree."

Thae'Zirak expanded to his full size, wings unfolding with a gust of wind. "They will not pass easily."

Kaelred checked the edge of his blade and cracked his neck. "I'm getting real tired of masked lunatics showing up where we're supposed to be alone."

Argolaith stepped toward the Rootheart, feeling its pulse align with the rune on his arm.

"They're not just here for the tree," he said. "They're here for the artifact. The Hand of Nelrith. They think they can use it again."

Malakar's flames burned higher.

"Then we show them what happens when they try to chain the roots of the world."

Argolaith nodded.

And the pulse of Yuneith echoed through the chamber like a war drum.

The stone floor trembled with approaching footsteps.

From the depths of the temple's entrance, a faint echo reached the heart of the sanctum—slow, deliberate, armored. The torch flames along the ancient walls shivered, and even the ever-pulsing light of the Rootheart dimmed slightly, as though the temple itself was holding its breath.

Argolaith stood near the edge of the chamber, sword at his back and the root fragment pulsing on his belt. Beside him, Kaelred shifted into a ready stance, twin daggers glinting faintly in the green light.

Malakar did not move.

He stood perfectly still, as though he already knew who was coming.

Thae'Zirak's wings curled inward slightly, his eyes narrowed and focused on the hallway entrance.

Then—

they arrived.

The white-haired woman stepped into the chamber without hesitation, flanked by five figures cloaked in black steel and wrapped in layered enchantments that shimmered like oil on water. Her staff tapped once against the floor as she halted near the edge of the stone platform where the Rootheart pulsed.

She didn't look at the Rootheart.

She looked at Malakar.

And smiled.

"You've aged," she said.

Malakar's violet eyes glowed faintly, but his voice was flat. "I don't remember your face."

"You wouldn't," she replied. "Not after what you did."

Argolaith stepped forward. "You're after the tree. Aren't you?"

The woman barely glanced his way. "Not this time."

Kaelred blinked. "Wait, seriously? You've been tailing us across a continent and through a death-infested forest… not for the tree?"

She gestured at Malakar. "We came for him."

Argolaith turned slowly. "Why?"

Malakar said nothing.

So she spoke for him.

"He wasn't always like this," she said. "You know that, don't you? He had a body. A heart. A mind not torn in two by centuries of death magic."

Her tone was calm, but not cruel. Not yet.

"He once stood in the greater realms, beneath banners carved in star-metal. And he betrayed them."

Malakar finally raised his voice. "I preserved what they would have destroyed."

"You corrupted it," she snapped, eyes flashing. "You twisted knowledge that was never meant to be yours—never meant to be anyone's. The gods named you a defiler."

Kaelred looked between them, brows raised. "Okay, am I the only one who didn't know Malakar was a war criminal?"

"I was never part of their wars," Malakar said. "Only their libraries."

Argolaith kept his eyes on the woman. "You're with the ones who stole Yuneith, aren't you? Or at least allied with them."

She turned her gaze back to him. "I don't follow anyone. I hunt. The Reclaimer Order tasked me with eliminating those who tamper with the roots of divinity. He"—she nodded at Malakar—"was at the center of it long before you were born."

"So this isn't about stopping the trees from choosing us," Argolaith said carefully.

"No," she replied. "It's about ensuring that he never has access to them again."

Malakar's voice was cold now. "You fear I would bend the trees to undeath?"

The woman's grip tightened on her staff. "I fear what you did with a fraction of truth. I won't allow you near something whole."

Argolaith stepped between them. "Then you're too late. He's already helped us find two. He's not our enemy."

Kaelred added, "If he was going to twist the world into bone and ash, he's had plenty of chances."

The white-haired woman shook her head. "That may be your truth. But justice doesn't forget."

She raised her staff. The flame at its tip flickered to life—a soft violet blaze that made the shadows quake.

Malakar did not move.

"I have no regrets," he said simply.

"I know," she replied. "That's what makes you dangerous."

Argolaith stepped forward, sword now in hand.

"You're not taking him."

The woman looked at him for a long moment.

Then exhaled. "Then we begin."