God’s Tree

Time passed slowly in the sky.

There was no sense of scale out here—no mountains to chart, no cities to break the horizon, only clouds and wind and the endless frozen world sprawling beneath them.

Argolaith sat near the front of Thae'Zirak's broad back, watching the bleak landscape scroll by. It was still cold, even through the layers of enchanted cloth they wore, and the silence had become something deeper. Meditative.

He focused inward often, reaching for the pull that had led him to his previous trees. But there was nothing yet. The second tree's lifeblood still pulsed softly in his ring—waiting. But the third remained silent.

Behind him, Kaelred groaned for what had to be the fiftieth time that hour.

"Can't we fly somewhere warm for once? I'm serious. I think my lungs have turned to snow. I'm not even breathing air anymore, just flavored frost."

Argolaith glanced back, unimpressed. "Your boots smell like basil. You'll live."

Kaelred tugged the hood of his cloak tighter and curled lower against the wind. "Basil doesn't stop my nose from freezing off."

Even Thae'Zirak, usually silent in flight, rumbled a dry chuckle through the wind.

Their stomachs reminded them they'd gone too long without food.

Argolaith felt it first—a dull ache beneath his ribs. Kaelred was already muttering about eating his own hands, and Malakar, while quiet, kept glancing at the sky with an expression that meant: land. Now.

So, they descended.

Thae'Zirak landed them in a flat basin rimmed with wind-smoothed stones. The ground here was firmer, a thin crust of permafrost over packed earth, and a few scraggly skeletal trees clawed up from the frozen soil like they'd forgotten how to die properly.

Kaelred dropped to the ground and stretched his arms dramatically. "Solid ground. Blessed be."

Argolaith was already unpacking his ingredients. "We need fire."

Malakar extended his hand. Shadows coiled from his fingertips, weaving into the woodpile Kaelred hastily gathered, sparking violet flame into a steady, heatless burn that at least offered light.

Argolaith worked in silence.

The old leather-bound recipe book Zolgrich had given him lay open on a stone.

Most of the ingredients it called for were obscure—"sun-fed vine marrow," "lightborn basil," and "crystal-barked onions"—but he substituted with the rare herbs and meats they'd gathered.

He began by searing slices of war beast flank, the meat dark and marbled with faint glowing veins. As it hit the hot stone griddle he laid over the flame, it sizzled with magical energy, letting out bursts of steam that shimmered with flecks of silver.

Into a second pot, he tossed in frostbane pods, which slowly released a numbing chill as they cooked. To balance the cold, he added crushed bloodroot bulbs, their spicy, bitter flavor cutting through the frost like fire.

From a pouch, he pulled dried hollowgrass and dropped just a pinch into the stew. It melted instantly, leaving behind a broth that tasted faintly of sorrow and smoke.

Lastly, he carved thin slivers of iron-bloom petals, setting them on a heated flatstone until they curled and hardened into edible, metallic crisps—sharp, savory, and oddly satisfying.

Kaelred sniffed the air. "Is that… crying herbs and magic bacon?"

Argolaith stirred the pot. "Roughly."

He ladled the thick stew into stone bowls formed by cutting flat war beast bone and handed them out. A cut of the seared flank on top, two iron-bloom crisps on the side.

Kaelred took one bite and nearly fell over. "Okay. This—this is incredible. Are you sure you weren't a royal chef before all this chosen by the trees stuff?"

Argolaith smirked faintly. "No royal kitchens in my village."

Even Malakar gave a single nod of approval as he tasted the broth.

After the food was finished, they set up camp with magical heat runes and wrapped themselves in enchanted cloths woven from beast hide and dreamwool.

Thae'Zirak curled nearby, eyes half-lidded, wings folded around his body like a cat too big for the world.

Argolaith lay back against a stone, his head tilted to the sky, thinking of nothing and everything. The stars were dull tonight—veiled by clouds—but he watched them all the same until sleep found him.

They all slept soundly, protected by the runes, the fire, and the silent awareness of the dragon curled nearby.

Morning came in a slow fade of light. No brilliant sunrise—just the dull gold of sun filtered through high ice clouds.

Argolaith sat up before the others. The warmth of the stew still lingered faintly in his gut.

But something else stirred within him—

A thought. A whisper.

Home.

The word appeared in his mind like a breeze through an open window. He hadn't thought of it in a long time. But now, for some reason, it was there.

Return home.

Kaelred stirred beside him. "You're up early. Something wrong?"

Argolaith didn't answer right away. He looked at the distant horizon—southwest, where his village lay far beyond the icy ridges and mountain ranges.

"I think… I want to go home. Just for a little while."

Kaelred blinked. "Home, home? Like… your hometown? The one you never talk about?"

Argolaith stood, brushing frost from his cloak. "Yeah."

Thae'Zirak opened one eye, his deep voice rumbling. "Then we fly southwest."

No one argued. Not even Kaelred.

And soon, the wind carried them again—this time not toward a tree, nor a ruin, nor a trial.

But toward something older.

Something more personal.

Home.

Before departure, they had packed up their makeshift camp with practiced efficiency.

Argolaith wrapped the remaining herbs and plants in enchanted cloth, ensuring the magical properties would be preserved.

The war beast bones were cleaned and stowed—Kaelred had insisted on keeping a few for "emergency weapon crafting" and "impromptu bone flute concerts."

Malakar had silently marked the camp with a rune of warding, a faint pulse of magic that would conceal any trace they'd been there.

Now, with no current call from a tree to guide them, they flew southwest—toward the forgotten forest where few dared to tread.

The wind howled across the frozen expanse as Thae'Zirak soared through the sky, wings spread wide against the icy air.

The basin where they had camped faded into the distance behind them, swallowed by snow and silence. Above, the pale morning sun filtered through high clouds, casting long, cold shadows across the land.

Argolaith sat near the front of the dragon hybrid's back, his cloak billowing behind him, one hand gripping the edge of the harness.

He stared out over the endless white, his blue eyes sharp and focused, though a part of his mind was far from the frost-covered plains below.

The thought had not left him since he woke.

Seminah.

It wasn't a name spoken often. It wasn't a place people went to unless they had to. And even fewer left.

Behind him, Kaelred leaned forward, pulling his hood tighter against the wind. "So… are you going to tell us about this town of yours, or are we just flying blind toward mystery-ville?"

Thae'Zirak's low voice rumbled through the wind. "What is its name?"

Argolaith spoke without looking back. "Seminah."

There was a brief pause.

"Seminah," Thae'Zirak repeated, the name curling strangely through his ancient tongue. "Then to Seminah we go."

Kaelred's voice broke the wind once more, quieter this time. "You told me once… that your hometown wasn't on any map."

Argolaith nodded. "It's not."

"I also remember you saying it was built in a place surrounded by strong creatures."

"It was."

Kaelred fell silent for a moment, then gave a soft chuckle. "Gods, I thought you were exaggerating. Now I know better."

Argolaith allowed himself the hint of a smile.

Seminah.

A town hidden at the very edge of the Forsaken Forest, a place most had never heard of.

Those who had avoided it. Traders passed near it but never through it. The forest was cursed, they said. The people strange. The land wrong.

And yet… it was home.

Kaelred leaned back and muttered, "This should be good."

The land beneath them began to shift.

The frozen plains gave way to craggy hills, then to broken tundra, littered with ruined structures—remnants of long-forgotten roads and shattered outposts.

Sparse vegetation clung to life here: gray grass, frost-black moss, and the occasional twisting tree, branches clawing at the sky.

Despite the change in terrain, they remained nowhere close to Seminah.

They would still need days—perhaps weeks—to reach the edge of the Forsaken Forest, let alone the isolated town nestled at its border.

But none of them complained. Not even Kaelred—though he did shiver dramatically now and then for effect.