By midday, the root fragnt flared hot against Argolaith's hip.
It pulsed with a steady rhythm, faster than before, guiding him through the shattered valley and over a ridge of pale rock that jutted like broken teeth from the earth. As they crested the final rise, Kaelred shielded his eyes and let out a low whistle.
"Well. That looks… sacred."
Below them stood a tree.
It rose from the center of a wide, sunken grove, its trunk thick and pale-silver, branches sprawling like fingers stretched skyward. Wisps of golden mist curled around its roots, and glowing runes shimred along its bark in slow, spiraling patterns. The air around it shimred faintly, like heat rising off stone.
"It looks exactly like the first vision I saw," Argolaith said, breath shallow.
Even Thae'Zirak was quiet, perched on a boulder, eyes narrow.
But Malakar's voice was cold. "Too perfect."
Kaelred turned to him. "What do you an?"
Malakar raised a hand. "Look at the ground. No damage from its removal. No disturbance to the earth. It wasn't moved here… it was placed here."
Argolaith unhooked the fragnt.
It pulsed once, then dimd.
Then again. Dimr still.
And with that flicker, a cold knot ford in his stomach.
"This isn't Yuneith," he whispered. "It's sothing made to look like it."
They descended carefully, weapons drawn.
As they approached the tree, the air grew too still, the mist coiling unnaturally around their boots. No wind stirred the leaves. No insects buzzed. There was only the soft glow of the tree and the weight of sothing unseen, pressing down like invisible fingers on the back of the neck.
Kaelred stopped beside Argolaith. "You sure we shouldn't just set it on fire?"
Argolaith shook his head. "Not yet."
He stepped toward the tree.
And the mont his foot touched the soil beneath its roots—
The world shifted.
He blinked—
And stood in Seminah.
Whole. Untouched. Birds in the trees. A breeze in his hair.
Athos was waving to him from the library steps, smiling like he hadn't aged a day.
"Argolaith! Co on, you're late!"
He looked down.
No armor.
No weapons.
No rune on his arm.
"Don't go," a voice said from behind him.
He turned.
Kaelred was there, laughing, barefoot, carefree. "We never left. Don't you rember?"
Argolaith took a step back.
"No."
Everything in him scread that this wasn't real.
But it felt real.
The air, the sounds, the scent of old books and warm bread.
"Stay," Athos said softly. "You deserve peace. Just one life without burden."
The village embraced him like a warm blanket.
And for one heartbeat—
He almost gave in.
But then he looked down.
The root fragnt hung from his belt.
Glowing. Faint. Flickering.
And he rembered the silence of the grove. The Forerunner's warning.
He clenched his fists.
"This isn't real."
And the world fractured.
Kaelred stood on a battlefield.
His own blood on his hands.
Argolaith lay broken at his feet. Malakar's bones were scattered. Thae'Zirak's wings were charred stumps.
And he stood alone—alive, untouched.
The only one who survived.
A voice echoed behind him, high and cruel.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" it asked. "To be the strongest? To prove you were more than just soone trailing in his shadow?"
Kaelred turned. No one was there.
But the battlefield laughed at him.
"You chose yourself."
He sank to his knees.
"No."
And then he heard it—
A soft click, like tal striking stone.
The rune on Argolaith's body in the vision flared faintly, as if resisting the illusion even from death.
Kaelred gritted his teeth, slamming his fist to the ground.
"Not real," he muttered.
And the world shattered around him.
Malakar stood in a vast, empty chamber.
His old laboratory.
Unruined. Clean. Alive.
Shelves of ancient tos. Elixirs bubbling with forgotten colors. Arcane diagrams floating in the air.
And at the center—
A woman.
She looked like she had in life. Before the ritual. Before the immortality. Before the cost.
"You said you would co back for ," she whispered. "But you chose yourself."
Malakar's skeletal fingers trembled.
"I tried to fix it."
"You wanted eternity," she said. "Now you have it. Alone."
She stepped forward.
He could sll her hair again. Rember the warmth of her presence.
And yet—
The flas that danced behind her were too still. The air too clean. The scent too precise.
He reached within himself and found the emptiness.
The truth.
"I am already dead," he said.
And the vision cracked, splitting the illusion like dried flesh.
They all gasped as the false grove vanished.
The tree shattered—not in wood or bark, but in light—disintegrating into a storm of golden dust. The runes along its surface sizzled and burst like overdrawn sigils.
Argolaith stood at the center, breathing hard, sweat trailing down his brow.
Kaelred stumbled up beside him, face pale. "Remind to never follow glowing fragnts into pretty clearings again."
Malakar, slower but composed, stepped out of the last fragnts of illusion. "That wasn't a defense. That was a test. Of unworthiness."
Thae'Zirak circled overhead again. "Or a trap. Made for those chosen, but ant to delay them."
Argolaith looked down at the root fragnt.
It pulsed again—clear now, strong.
Not here. Not yet. Keep moving.
He tightened the strap around it and stood tall.
"No more fakes."
The false grove crumbled into mory, and the path continued forward.
The root fragnt at Argolaith's side pulsed with steady certainty now—no longer confused by illusions or misdirection. Its glow guided them across the cracked plains like a living compass, each flash a heartbeat closer to the true Yuneith.
By midday, the terrain shifted once again.
The ground beca moss-covered, though no water flowed nearby. Ancient, vine-choked trees spiraled high into the sky, far different from the haunted forest they had passed. These trees were thick, old, and full of tension—like the forest was holding its breath.
And yet, Argolaith felt calm here.
The root fragnt pulsed warmly.
They were getting close.
But their steps were long, their limbs sore, and the food they had was cold, preserved, and unworthy of their hunger.
So Argolaith stopped.
"We'll eat here," he said.
Kaelred blinked. "Now? With the real tree close?"
"I want us sharp when we get there," Argolaith replied. "And besides—if I'm going to walk into the roots of a sacred tree, I'm going in full and fed."
Kaelred cracked a grin. "Can't argue with that."
Malakar gave a silent nod. Even Thae'Zirak dropped down from the air to curl up on a sunlit patch of grass, quietly watching.
Argolaith pulled ingredients from his storage ring.
Thick slabs of war beast at, marbled with strange streaks of glimring silver. A pouch of star-leaf herbs. Frost-root tubers that gave off a cold vapor when cut. He prepared the at carefully, layering it with wild peppergrass and duskflower salt, then seared it over a low fla until the scent filled the grove like a feast in the halls of ancient kings.
The crackle of the fat.
The hiss of the herbs.
The rising scent of magic-infused smoke—
Kaelred groaned. "You're going to ruin all other food for ."
"I already did that," Argolaith muttered with a smirk.
Even Malakar looked tempted, though he said nothing.
But as the food finished and they sat down to eat, the forest changed.
Branches rustled.
Earth trembled faintly.
And sothing… watched.
Thae'Zirak stood slowly, eyes narrowing.
"We're not alone."
A low rumble echoed from the trees.
Not a growl. Not footsteps.
It was sothing older. More… deliberate.
And then—
It stepped into view.
It was tall. Quadrupedal. Its body glead like obsidian, patterned with glowing runes across its flanks. Six eyes lined its sleek head, all amber and unblinking. Its mane was made of thorned vines, woven with light. Power rippled from it like heat.
Kaelred jumped to his feet, blades already out.
Argolaith stood, hand on his sword but not drawing it.
The beast lowered its head slightly, not in submission, but in acknowledgnt.
"You have stirred the air with your food," it said in a deep, lodic voice. "That scent has not graced this forest in centuries."
Kaelred blinked. "It… it speaks?"
"Yes," the beast said. "Though most never live long enough to hear ."
Thae'Zirak's tail stiffened. "You are not a guardian."
"No," the beast said calmly. "Nor am I a holy beast."
Argolaith narrowed his eyes. "Then what are you?"
The creature stepped closer, the trees bowing faintly as it moved past them.
"I am a Veilstrider. A beast born in the seams of the world—between magic and silence. I predate your saint beasts, and I will remain long after your gods forget their own nas."
Malakar finally spoke. "You are stronger than the guardian saint beasts?"
The Veilstrider gave no prideful answer. "Strength is a scale only mortals cling to. But yes. I am beyond them."
Argolaith's hand tightened on his hilt.
"Then what's your rank?"
The creature paused.
"There is no rank for what I am. The stars do not na . The saints do not challenge . The sacred do not welco ."
"And yet," it continued, "I have walked near Yuneith."
That got Argolaith's attention.
"You've been near the tree?"
The beast nodded once.
"Twice. And both tis, it saw … but turned away. It does not call to ."
Kaelred exhaled slowly. "Lucky you."
"No," the Veilstrider said with a strange, soft tone. "It was not luck. It was rcy."
Argolaith stepped forward, carefully. "Why did you co?"
The Veilstrider turned its head slightly, its six eyes locking on him.
"To see the one the tree has chosen."
Argolaith blinked.
"And?"
The beast lowered its head. "You carry its breath. And the scent of others. You are walking toward sothing vast. So I ca to see."
Argolaith stared back. "Then do you have a warning?"
The Veilstrider's mouth curled slightly—almost like a smile.
"Only this: the path ahead is not made of roots or stone. It is made of choice. And you will not walk it unchanged."
It turned slowly, muscles rippling beneath obsidian hide.
"I will not follow. But should you call to the edge of the world… I may answer."
Then the creature lted into the forest, vanishing like mist through leaves.
Silence returned.
Kaelred sat down hard. "I miss the giant bugs."
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