God’s Tree

The sanctum doors closed behind them, sealing the chamber in eerie silence.

The weight of the moment hadn't fully settled yet, but Argolaith knew—something had shifted.

Not just the revelation of Veydris' true identity.

Not just the knowledge that the Twin Thrones had a vested interest in this sword.

But the fact that the blade had chosen him—and he was still himself.

The supposed curse had not touched him.

And that meant one thing.

This sword wasn't done with him yet.

The halls of the upper city's sanctum were unlike the narrow, winding streets below. Here, the buildings were crafted with perfect precision, reinforced with dark runic stone and filled with a quiet hum of preserved magic.

Veydris led them to a chamber on the second level—a private space, walled in with blackened steel, with a single long table and resting areas set against the far wall.

Kaelred immediately collapsed onto one of the padded seats. "This place is way too comfortable. I don't trust it."

Malakar remained standing, his violet gaze flickering as he studied the room. "Magic lingers here. Not active, but woven into the foundation."

Veydris smirked. "Volcrest was built differently than most cities. It doesn't just stand—it endures."

Argolaith lowered himself onto a bench, setting the sword across his lap. The metal was cool beneath his fingers, yet not cold.

It was as if the weapon was waiting.

"Alright," Kaelred said, sitting up slightly. "Now that we're somewhere safe, let's talk about the real problem."

Argolaith raised a brow. "Which one?"

Kaelred gestured toward the sword. "That thing."

Argolaith glanced down at it.

It still hadn't spoken to him—not in whispers, not in visions, not in anything that could be described as a curse.

He felt it, yes. But there was no unnatural pull, no lingering madness clawing at his thoughts.

Nothing.

Veydris crossed his arms. "It should have taken hold of you by now."

Kaelred made a face. "What an absolutely terrifying sentence."

Veydris ignored him, watching Argolaith closely. "That blade has never left a wielder unchanged. The fact that you are sitting here, speaking to me like nothing is wrong… It's unprecedented."

Malakar tilted his head. "Then perhaps the blade was simply waiting for the right wielder."

Veydris scoffed. "Or it's simply waiting for something worse."

Argolaith flexed his fingers around the hilt. "There's only one way to know for sure."

Kaelred groaned. "Please don't say—"

"I need to test it."

Kaelred sighed loudly. "Yep. There it is."

Veydris studied him. "Test it where?"

Argolaith glanced toward the door. "You said Volcrest was built differently. That it endures."

Veydris nodded. "Yes."

Argolaith stood. "Then take me somewhere it can endure what this sword can do."

Veydris led them through several winding corridors, descending further into the heart of the upper district.

Eventually, they emerged into a massive underground chamber.

A training hall.

It was vast—twice the size of an open battlefield, its floor reinforced with runes that pulsed faintly along the stone. The walls stretched high, supported by massive pillar-like enchantments.

This wasn't just a place to train warriors.

It was a place to test things that should never be tested anywhere else.

Veydris gestured to the space. "No one will hear us down here. The walls are warded against explosive force, arcane bursts, and physical destruction."

Kaelred nodded slowly. "So… what you're saying is, this is where people come to do incredibly stupid things."

Veydris smirked. "Precisely."

Malakar stepped forward, his gaze never leaving Argolaith. "Then let us see what happens when the sword is drawn in battle."

Argolaith took a slow breath.

Then—

He drew the sword.

The chamber shifted.

Not literally. Not in a way that could be seen.

But in a way that could be felt.

The temperature dropped.

The air tightened.

Magic hummed through the steel, crackling along the edges in an invisible charge.

For a brief moment, everyone felt it.

Power.

Kaelred instinctively took a step back. "Yeah. No. I don't like that."

Malakar remained still. "The sword has awakened."

Argolaith turned the blade in his grip, adjusting his stance. The weight was… perfect. It was unlike any weapon he had ever wielded.

Lighter than it should have been.

Stronger than it had any right to be.

And yet—

Still silent.

Still waiting.

Argolaith moved.

Fast.

He swung the blade in a wide arc, intending only to test its reach.

Instead—

A crescent of pure force erupted from the steel.

The air shattered, a wave of invisible energy crashing into the far wall like a storm surge.

The runes flared—barely holding—as the impact sent ripples through the reinforced stone.

For a moment—just a moment—the entire chamber trembled.

Then the silence returned.

Argolaith stared at the blade.

He had not summoned that power.

He had not called on anything unnatural.

It had simply… responded.

Kaelred was still staring at the impact site. "So… that was just a swing?"

Argolaith nodded slowly. "I didn't even try to push it."

Veydris let out a breath. "Now I understand."

Argolaith glanced at him. "Understand what?"

Veydris met his gaze. "Why the sword chose you."

The training chamber remained eerily silent.

The runes on the walls still flickered, absorbing the remnants of what the sword had done.

Argolaith exhaled.

This wasn't just a weapon.

This was something more.

Something that had been waiting for him all along.

Kaelred sighed heavily. "You're going to make us regret this, aren't you?"

Malakar smirked. "That remains to be seen."

Argolaith lifted the blade, studying its edge.

Then he sheathed it.

The shockwave had faded, but its presence lingered.

Argolaith stood at the center of the training chamber, the blade still in his grip, his heartbeat steady despite what had just happened. The walls still trembled faintly, the air thick with residual energy.

The sword had not just cut.

It had unleashed something.

And yet—

It had felt natural.

Like the weapon had simply been waiting for a wielder to use it properly.

Veydris Kaelthorne, Third General of the Royal Guard, let out a long breath, his gaze locked onto the blade.

"That sword," he muttered, "was never meant to be held by someone like you."

Kaelred snorted. "That's a weird way of saying he just did something terrifying."

Veydris ignored him. "Every man who has ever wielded it tried to control it. They tried to master its strength, force its power to bend to their will."

His gaze flicked to Argolaith.

"But you didn't force it."

Argolaith met his stare. "It responded on its own."

Veydris nodded. "Exactly."

Malakar stepped forward, his violet-flamed eyes studying the sword carefully. "Then the weapon is not cursed."

Veydris hesitated. "Not in the way we thought, no."

Kaelred leaned back. "Great. So it's just an overpowered weapon with no horrible side effects? That's a first."

Argolaith tightened his grip on the hilt.

The power he had felt—it hadn't been unnatural. It hadn't tried to overwhelm him or corrupt him.

It had simply been there.

Waiting.

But for what?

He looked to Veydris. "You said the sword was forged to fight the Hollowed."

Veydris nodded. "Yes. It was meant to be the ultimate weapon against them. The only weapon capable of truly cutting through the corruption that fuels them."

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

Veydris hesitated.

Then: "Because the Hollowed weren't the only things afraid of it."

A cold silence filled the chamber.

Malakar folded his arms. "Explain."

Veydris let out a slow breath. "The Hollowed are not just monsters. They are the result of something older, something deeper. The forces that created them are not mindless."

His gaze darkened. "And they fear this sword."

Kaelred raised a brow. "So you're saying this thing was so dangerous that even the things that kill entire cities without blinking didn't want to mess with it?"

Veydris gave a sharp nod. "Exactly."

Malakar studied the sword once more. "Then that explains why the Hollowed attacked the caravan. They were not just trying to reclaim the blade." His voice dropped slightly. "They were trying to prevent it from being wielded."

Argolaith exhaled. The weight of the sword suddenly felt different.

This wasn't just a powerful weapon.

This was a keystone in a much larger war.

Something that the enemy feared.

Kaelred, finally processing what this meant, groaned. "Let me guess—we're now involved in something way bigger than we wanted to be?"

Argolaith smirked. "That's usually how it works."

Kaelred dragged a hand down his face. "Why can't we ever just find something normal?"

Veydris turned to Argolaith. "The sword has chosen you. That means you're now part of this war—whether you want to be or not."

Argolaith met his gaze. "I was already in it."

Veydris studied him, then smirked. "Good answer."

Malakar nodded once. "Then we should prepare. The Hollowed will not stop."

Kaelred groaned. "And here I thought Volcrest was going to be a break."

Argolaith sheathed the sword.

A new battle was coming.