God’s Tree

The moment Argolaith's fingers closed around the hilt, the world shifted.

Not physically—no sound, no tremor, no outward sign of change.

But within—

Everything collapsed inward.

The sanctum vanished.

Argolaith found himself standing in a place without walls, without sky.

A void.

But not an empty void.

It was filled—not with light or shadow, but with something deeper.

Memories.

Echoes of battles long fought, of steel clashing against steel, of desperation and blood.

And then—

A voice.

Not a whisper.

Not a call.

A command.

"Who dares take up this blade?"

A figure emerged from the nothingness.

A man clad in armor of old, his form wrapped in flowing black and silver. His helm bore no face—only a void where eyes should be.

But his presence was undeniable.

The First Warden.

The original wielder of this blade.

And he was not pleased.

"Many have sought this sword," the Warden intoned, his voice resonating through the void like a bell.

"None were worthy."

Argolaith gritted his teeth. "Then let's see if I am."

The Warden raised his own blade.

A perfect mirror of the one Argolaith now held.

Then—

He attacked.

Steel met steel in a blinding clash—

Argolaith barely managed to parry, the force of the impact sending a shockwave through the void itself.

The Warden was fast.

Too fast.

His strikes were precise, each one flowing into the next without hesitation.

Argolaith had fought many warriors. He had faced beasts, bandits, and things that defied nature.

But this—

This was like fighting an inevitability.

Argolaith knew he couldn't overpower him.

Not directly.

He adjusted his grip, switching from raw force to technique.

He sidestepped the next attack—not blocking, but redirecting. His sword slid along the Warden's blade, guiding the momentum away instead of resisting it.

The Warden hesitated.

Only for a fraction of a second.

But it was enough.

Argolaith lunged.

His blade found its mark—cutting across the Warden's side.

And then—

The void shattered.

The moment snapped back violently.

The air was thick again, the weight of the sanctum's magic pressing against him.

His legs buckled, but he forced himself to remain standing.

The sword in his grip was no longer cold.

It was alive.

Pulsing.

As if it had chosen him.

The caravan leader stared at him.

His expression was unreadable.

Malakar studied the blade with his unnatural gaze. "You are still here."

Kaelred sighed. "That's a good thing, right?"

The leader exhaled. "We'll see."

Because while Argolaith had returned—

Something had changed.

The blade was no longer just a relic.

It was now his.

And that meant whatever power it held—

He had inherited it.

The sword felt different in Argolaith's hand.

Not just a weapon.

Not just steel.

It pulsed—as if it had a heartbeat.

And somehow, he knew: it was waiting.

For what?

That, he didn't know.

The air in the sanctum had grown heavy.

Kaelred, watching from a few steps away, frowned. "Alright, I'm just going to say it—does anyone else feel like something just happened?"

Malakar's violet eyes flickered. "It did."

The caravan leader exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. "I knew the sword was powerful, but I didn't expect it to choose you."

Argolaith tightened his grip on the hilt. "Neither did I."

Kaelred narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly does that mean?"

The leader studied Argolaith for a long moment. Then:

"That depends on whether or not he can survive it."

Malakar stepped forward, his gaze never leaving the blade. "This weapon is not simply enchanted. It is something else."

The caravan leader nodded. "The Blade of the First Warden was forged in the earliest days of Volcrest's rise. It was meant to be a weapon against the Hollowed—against things that should not exist."

Kaelred raised a brow. "And yet those things still exist. So either the sword failed, or someone decided it was too dangerous to use."

The leader gave him a sharp look. "It didn't fail."

Kaelred leaned back. "Well, that's somehow worse."

Argolaith frowned. "Then why was it locked away?"

The leader's expression darkened. "Because the more you wield it, the more it wields you."

Argolaith glanced down at the sword. The glow along its blackened steel edge had dimmed, but he could still feel it.

Not just power.

Something else.

Something inside.

Kaelred crossed his arms. "Let me guess. Anyone who uses it for too long goes insane, loses their soul, or turns into something horrible?"

The leader's jaw clenched.

"Yes."

Kaelred threw up his hands. "Of course! Of course that's what it is! Because why would anything ever be simple?!"

Malakar tilted his head slightly. "And yet, the sword has chosen him."

The leader studied Argolaith again, this time more cautiously. "That remains to be seen."

Argolaith remained quiet.

He could feel something shifting inside him.

It wasn't pain.

Not yet.

But something had changed.

He flexed his fingers around the hilt of the blade. His body felt lighter, sharper. As if his senses had been… extended.

Like he was aware of more than just the room around him.

Kaelred noticed. "Hey, you alright?"

Argolaith blinked. "I think so."

The caravan leader stepped back. "Then we'll see how long that lasts."

The silence in the sanctum stretched.

Then, finally, the leader spoke.

"You need rest," he said. "The sword has bonded to you, but you haven't felt the consequences yet."

Kaelred muttered, "For once, I agree with the guy in charge."

Malakar, ever unreadable, gave a small nod. "Rest. And then we see what comes next."

Argolaith exhaled.

He knew this wasn't over.

This was just the beginning.

The sanctum was silent, the weight of the moment settling over them like a heavy cloak.

The blade in Argolaith's hand had chosen him.

And yet—

There was no madness.

No whispering voices, no strange compulsions, no darkness creeping at the edge of his mind.

He was still himself.

The caravan leader, who had spent the last few minutes watching him carefully, exhaled.

"Well," he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "That's unexpected."

Kaelred arched a brow. "Unexpected how?"

The leader crossed his arms. "Every man who has held that sword since the First Warden has been… changed by it. Some lost their sanity. Others became something more—and less—than human. But you?"

He narrowed his gaze at Argolaith.

"You're still standing."

Argolaith glanced at the blade. Its dark runic inscriptions still pulsed faintly, but the presence within it—if there ever was one—was silent.

"I don't feel anything strange," he said.

The leader let out a slow breath. "That's what's strange."

Malakar studied him. "It means either the sword has changed… or you have."

Argolaith wasn't sure what that meant.

Kaelred rubbed his temples. "Alright, so let's go over the list. The cursed sword isn't messing with Argolaith. The Hollowed wanted it for some reason. And we just ran for days only to be handed more riddles."

He shot the leader a flat look. "Are we ever getting an actual answer?"

The leader smirked. "Depends. Are you finally ready to hear who I am?"

Argolaith narrowed his eyes. "Go on."

The leader adjusted his crimson cloak before speaking.

"My name is Veydris Kaelthorne," he said. "Third General of the Royal Guard of the Twin Thrones."

The words hung in the air.

Kaelred blinked. "Wait—what?"

Even Malakar seemed mildly intrigued.

Veydris smirked. "That's right. I serve directly under the Twin Thrones of the Empire. My job is to safeguard the most dangerous relics and greatest secrets of the royal family."

Argolaith frowned. "So the sword belongs to them?"

Veydris shook his head. "No. The sword belongs to Volcrest. But my duty was to retrieve it before it fell into the wrong hands."

Kaelred let out a sharp breath. "And let me guess—we're the wrong hands?"

Veydris studied Argolaith. "That depends."

The room fell into silence again.

Argolaith processed Veydris' words carefully. A Royal General. Not just a soldier, not just a commander—one of the highest-ranking warriors in the Empire.

And yet, here he was, standing before them like a simple caravan leader.

Why?

Before he could ask, Veydris turned toward the door. "I imagine you have questions. But for now, you should rest."

Kaelred sighed. "For once, I agree with the important people in charge."

Malakar simply nodded. "Rest. Then we see what comes next."

Argolaith exhaled, looking down at the sword once more.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

But for now—

He had time to think.