God’s Tree

The caravan thundered forward, the magically enhanced horses keeping their relentless pace across the cracked stone road.

Dust and gravel kicked up in their wake, swirling into the morning air like remnants of a storm.

Argolaith maintained his speed effortlessly, his breath even, his blue eyes locked ahead.

Malakar moved with unshaken precision, his skeletal frame untouched by exhaustion.

Kaelred, however, was fighting for his life.

Every step was a battle, every breath a desperate attempt to keep his body from collapsing under the strain. But despite the overwhelming burn in his muscles, he refused to stop.

The caravan leader, his crimson cloak billowing behind him, glanced back once more. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something behind his dark eyes.

Acknowledgment.

But also suspicion.

With a flick of his reins, the leader slowed his horse just enough to align himself with Argolaith.

His tone was casual, but there was a sharpness beneath it. "You've been keeping up longer than anyone should be able to."

Argolaith didn't falter. "So have you."

The leader smirked. "Difference is, I'm on a horse."

Argolaith shrugged. "Maybe you should run instead. See if you can keep up."

One of the nearby caravan guards let out a short laugh, but the leader simply studied Argolaith for a long moment.

Then he asked the question he had been leading to all along.

"What exactly are you?"

Kaelred, still gasping for air, somehow found the energy to interrupt.

"We're just really, really stupid. That's the only explanation."

The leader chuckled. "That, I believe."

Malakar finally spoke, his voice smooth and distant. "You have yet to answer the same question yourself."

The leader's gaze flicked to him. "You mean who we are?"

Malakar's violet eyes gleamed. "And why your wagons move with the speed of a war chariot."

The leader smiled, but it wasn't exactly friendly. "We're just traders."

Malakar tilted his head slightly. "A trader would not enhance their entire caravan for speed."

Kaelred muttered, "Great. We're running next to smugglers."

The leader didn't confirm or deny it.

Instead, he kept his gaze locked on Argolaith.

"I still don't know if you're running with us, or after us."

Argolaith smirked. "If we wanted trouble, we wouldn't be running beside you. We'd be in front of you."

The leader chuckled. "Cocky."

Kaelred, still struggling for breath, waved a hand weakly. "I hate to break up this tension-filled exchange, but can we please find a way for me to not run anymore?"

The leader raised a brow. "You want a ride?"

Kaelred shot him a desperate look. "Yes. Yes, I do."

The leader shrugged. "I don't know. Seems like you're building character."

Kaelred groaned. "I don't need more character. I need my legs to not explode."

Argolaith sighed. "Just let him ride before he collapses."

The leader gave a short nod to one of the guards, who slowed their horse long enough for Kaelred to grab hold. He practically threw himself into the saddle, letting out a strangled, relieved laugh.

"Oh gods, this is amazing."

Argolaith smirked. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

The caravan pressed on, moving across the road at speeds no ordinary convoy should be capable of.

Argolaith could feel it now—a charged presence in the air.

Something hidden within those wagons.

Something important.

Malakar felt it too. His expression remained blank, but Argolaith had traveled with him long enough to recognize when he was calculating.

They weren't just traveling with merchants.

And whatever was in those wagons…

Someone didn't want it reaching Volcrest.

Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, bathing the landscape in harsh golden light. The further they traveled, the less natural the land became.

The trees twisted unnaturally, their branches curling like claws. Strange formations of blackened stone jutted from the ground in unnatural spirals. The air grew thicker, heavy with an unseen weight.

Argolaith's instincts flared.

Something was coming.

The leader pulled his horse slightly ahead, his posture shifting as he reached for his sword.

"Stay sharp," he muttered.

Kaelred, still recovering in the saddle, groaned. "Oh, come on. Can we not get attacked for once?"

Argolaith unsheathed his blade. "You wanted to ride instead of run. Now you get to fight instead."

Kaelred sighed. "I hate this journey."

Malakar smirked. "Then it will only get worse."

Argolaith grinned.

And ahead of them—the darkness waited.

The air had changed.

Argolaith felt it first—the subtle shift in pressure, the unnatural stillness creeping into the landscape.

The trees that lined the broken road weren't just twisted; their branches swayed without wind. The jagged stone formations ahead looked less like natural structures and more like something had grown them.

The sun was still high in the sky, but the sky grew dimmer.

Kaelred, perched uncomfortably on the back of a warhorse, noticed it too. He glanced around, uneasy. "Tell me I'm imagining this."

Malakar didn't answer.

Argolaith tightened his grip on his sword. "Something's coming."

The caravan leader—still keeping pace on his enhanced horse—must have felt it too, because he raised a single hand in a sharp gesture.

The entire caravan slowed.

Weapons were drawn.

The guards, who had been relaxed only moments ago, now moved with tense precision.

They weren't surprised.

They were expecting this.

Then—

The ground cracked.

A thick, blackened vine erupted from beneath the stone road, curling like a serpent before lashing toward one of the riders.

The guard barely had time to react before the vine impaled him straight through the chest.

His scream was brief.

His body shriveled instantly—flesh drained of all vitality, leaving nothing but a husk of brittle skin and dry bone.

Then—

More vines.

They exploded from the earth, wrapping around the wheels of one of the wagons, shattering wood and sending it toppling sideways.

The driver barely managed to leap clear before the black vines consumed the entire wreckage.

Something screeched in the distance—an inhuman, guttural cry that rattled the very bones in Argolaith's chest.

Then—

From the twisted trees ahead, figures emerged.

Dozens of them.

Humanoid in shape, but wrong. Their skin was cracked, covered in pulsing, blackened veins. Their eyes glowed a sickly green, and their mouths—if they even had them—split open too wide.

They were not alive.

But they were moving.

"Defensive formation!" the caravan leader barked, drawing his sword. The guards moved immediately, circling the remaining wagons and bracing for the attack.

Argolaith was already in motion.

The first creature lunged at him with inhuman speed—its claws elongating mid-swipe.

Argolaith ducked low, twisting his sword in a tight arc before severing its legs at the knees.

The thing didn't scream.

It just kept crawling.

Malakar moved like a specter of death. His blade whispered through the air, cleaving through three of the creatures in a single stroke. Their bodies withered instantly, as if the very presence of his magic devoured them.

Kaelred leapt from the horse, daggers flashing. He landed hard, rolling into a crouch before driving both blades into the spine of an attacker.

It convulsed—but didn't die.

Instead, its veins pulsed, and it let out a sound that wasn't human.

Kaelred ripped his blades free and jumped back. "What the hell are these things?!"

The caravan leader cut down two more creatures with ruthless efficiency. "They're called Hollowed. Don't let them touch you."

Kaelred swore. "Great warning! Maybe lead with that next time!"

Argolaith didn't stop moving.

His blade cut through another Hollowed, but for every one that fell, more came crawling from the woods.

The ground was shifting—the black vines moving like living things, reaching for anything with heat, anything with life.

Malakar hissed sharply, his skeletal form radiating a burst of necrotic magic that sent the vines retreating. "They are feeding on something beneath us."

The caravan leader growled. "They're feeding on the road itself."

Argolaith's mind raced. That wasn't normal. Even corrupted creatures like this shouldn't be this coordinated.

Something was controlling them.

Something worse was coming.

One of the creatures reached a wagon.

The guards tried to stop it, but the Hollowed slammed its clawed hands onto the wooden frame.

The entire wagon imploded in an instant, as if the very life was being drained from the materials. The wood cracked, then rotted to dust.

For the briefest moment, Argolaith caught a glimpse of what was inside.

A sealed chest—covered in runic inscriptions, pulsing with faint red energy.

A guard hurriedly grabbed the chest, leaping free of the crumbling wreckage before sprinting toward another wagon.

Argolaith's eyes narrowed.

That's what they're after.

"We need to keep moving!" the caravan leader shouted, his blade dripping with dark ichor.

Malakar turned, his voice cold. "These creatures are drawn to whatever you are carrying. If you stay in one place, you will be buried."

The leader clenched his jaw. "You think I don't know that?"

Kaelred swiped his daggers across another creature's throat, only to curse when it didn't go down immediately. "Okay, so what's the plan? Because we can't kill all of them."

Argolaith's mind moved fast.

They couldn't stay here.

But the Hollowed weren't just attacking them randomly. They were drawn to the cargo.

That meant…

"We split up," Argolaith said. "Leave one wagon as a decoy and make the others move."

The caravan leader stared at him.

Then, after a brief hesitation, he barked an order to his men.

"Do it."

One of the wagons—the most damaged—was quickly rigged to roll on its own.

With a sharp slap to the horses, it was sent down the road in the opposite direction.

The Hollowed reacted immediately.

Half of them turned sharply, abandoning their attack to chase the decoy.

It wasn't all of them.

But it was enough.

The rest of the caravan surged forward.

Argolaith ran alongside them, sword still drawn.

The battle wasn't over.

The danger wasn't gone.

But now?

Now they had a chance.