God’s Tree

The air in the hidden classroom was still tense as Argolaith stepped from the shadows.

Eyes followed him with a mixture of caution and curiosity. Not one of the twelve students made a sound as he approached the central ring—once used for casting demonstrations—and turned to face Elder Mirith.

His voice was even, calm.

"I'd like to join the class."

Mirith nodded slowly, her eyes gleaming faintly beneath her hooded lashes.

"You've already passed the entry test."

But Argolaith raised a hand, almost as an afterthought.

"Before I sit, I want to gather enough magic to learn a new spell."

A soft silence followed.

Then, a few students exchanged confused glances.

One of them—the girl in silver-threaded robes—leaned forward, brow furrowed.

"You mean… like practicing until you unlock a new technique?"

Another student, a sharp-eyed boy whose coat shimmered with dimension-threaded runes, scoffed.

"That's not how spell progression works. You don't just 'gather magic' to learn something new. Spells manifest when you reach a deeper understanding of your affinity."

A third chimed in, voice tinged with skepticism.

"What even is your magic type?"

Argolaith didn't answer them.

Instead, he looked toward Mirith.

She already knew what was coming.

And she visibly tensed.

Her voice was soft, but urgent.

"Please… not Starborn again."

A brief flicker crossed her eyes—a flash of memory—of a Saint Beast exploding in the sky, of an entire side of the academy vibrating from the force, of the dimensional warding spells barely holding.

Argolaith gave her a half-smile.

"No. I won't use that one."

Then he extended his hand.

The space above his palm shivered.

Mana didn't swirl.

It didn't crackle, spark, or gather like conventional spellcasting.

Instead, nothingness folded inward, compressing itself into a single shape.

A cube.

But this time, not the small object he had once shown Veylan.

This one was nearly the size of a man's torso, malleable, its edges shifting like liquid obsidian that somehow obeyed impossible geometry. It floated a foot off the floor, rotating gently, the air around it cool and unnervingly quiet.

Several students gasped softly, stepping back from their desks.

The aura it gave off wasn't destructive.

It was unreadable.

Alien.

"I've been testing its form," Argolaith said, eyes on the cube. "It's growing more malleable. Responds to thought more easily now. But it still only does the same two things."

Mirith took a cautious step forward, examining the cube, though her hands stayed behind her back.

"The same as before?"

Argolaith nodded.

"First—it absorbs magic. Any spell thrown at it is broken down and turned into pure mana. That mana flows into me."

He motioned with one finger, and the cube rotated faster, then slowed.

"Second—it can store magic until it produces an original spell of its own. I don't decide what the spell will be. It does."

One student whispered, "That's not possible…"

Argolaith didn't answer.

"It hasn't created a new spell yet," he said. "But it's close."

Mirith studied the cube with a subtle shift in her breathing.

"It's evolving. Becoming something more than a conduit."

"I think so," Argolaith said. "But until it completes the next spell, I only have Starborn."

The tension in the room sharpened again at the mention of the name.

The students didn't know what it was.

But from the look on the elder's face… they knew enough.

Finally, Mirith stepped back.

She addressed the room.

"For those of you unaware—Argolaith's first spell shattered every reinforced window in the Academy."

A murmur swept through the class.

"He destroyed a Saint Beast from across a hundred miles. In a single shot."

The silver-eyed girl stared. "With a first spell?"

Mirith nodded.

"It wasn't a spell anyone taught him. It was born from his magic. The same magic that made this cube."

Another student muttered, "That's not… That breaks every rule…"

But no one protested.

They only watched as Argolaith dismissed the cube—letting it fold back into nothing with a silent pulse.

The silence was heavy, awed, unsure.

Mirith looked at him again.

"Do you have anything safer to show?"

Argolaith paused.

Then gave a faint smile.

"Not yet."

He walked toward an empty seat.

Sat down.

And added softly:

"I'll let you know when the next spell is ready."

The atmosphere in the hidden classroom had shifted again.

Not from tension—but from something quieter, deeper.

Curiosity.

Argolaith's cube had vanished into nothingness. His declaration—simple, calm, and absolute—still echoed in the minds of the twelve prodigies surrounding him.

He hadn't boasted.

He hadn't challenged anyone.

And yet, no one in the room doubted that his magic would reshape everything they thought they knew.

Even so, Elder Mirith said nothing. She returned to her stone dais, gaze watchful, letting the weight of silence settle.

It wasn't her lesson now.

It belonged to the students.

The first to speak was the plain-looking boy, the one who had silently spotted Argolaith earlier. His voice was soft, but every word was deliberate.

"My name is Ren Vaelor. Fourth-year. Combat specialization. I come from a mountain temple far beyond the edge of eastern Morgoth."

He nodded once toward Argolaith.

"I study awareness. Perception. You passed that test better than any I've seen."

Argolaith gave a single nod in return.

Then another student—this one taller, his robe lined with blood-red threading—leaned back and crossed his arms.

"Varen Drel. Fifth-year. Bloodwork and augmentative combat." His voice was slick, but not dismissive. "My family runs the Drel Vital Guild. We specialize in mana-infused genetics and spell-borne enhancement. I've fought twenty ranked beasts alone."

He smirked.

"But I've never seen a cube that eats magic. So I guess we're both anomalies."

Next came a girl with crystalline earrings and a sapphire belt charm that shimmered with stored mana.

"Calla Noeth. Third-year. Dimensional weaving." Her tone was cool, analytical. "Daughter of Councilor Noeth from Aetherine. I was sent here after my third containment field held a collapsing subplane."

She eyed Argolaith like a puzzle.

"You exist outside our standard model. Fascinating."

A boy with short silver hair and a cloak of constantly shifting mist spoke next.

"Sorien. Fifth-year. Illusion theory and mind-folding. My father trains royal mages for the Western Isles. I came here to break through the limitations of perception itself."

His smile was faint. Friendly, but unsure.

"I failed to detect you today. That… bothers me."

They continued.

Each of the twelve revealed themselves in turn.

Nalya Rithis – Fourth-year. Specializes in cursed weapon forging. Known for creating the first self-consuming blade in her division. Cold, calculating, precise.

Taro Alven – Third-year. Soul affinity. Focuses on ancestral spellcraft. Wears talismans from a line of warriors said to commune with the dead.

Jastin Morael – Fifth-year. Elemental prodigy from the Flame Courts of Solstra. Commands tier-six elemental forms and once withstood a hurricane-class wind array.

Velka Naruin – Fourth-year. Dual-tracks in astral projection and dream logic. Can lucid-walk through other people's memories.

Kier Daelthorn – Third-year. Specializes in defensive architecture and rune-stitching. Built a moving stronghold using living earth runes during a combat trial.

Myra Eirsol – Fifth-year. Combat illusionist. Once led a full class into a staged battlefield that none of them escaped until she dismissed the illusion hours later.

Zephion Rehl – Fourth-year. Spirit pact mage. His main familiar is bound to the remnants of a forgotten elemental god.

And finally…

The silver-threaded girl.

The one who had mocked him earlier.

She stood up last, shoulders squared, chin held high despite the residual tension in her posture.

"I'm Caelene Vex. Fifth-year."

A few students stiffened at her name.

"I'm the heir of the Vex Dominion, masters of Void-tier combat rituals. My lineage traces back to the First Binding War. I don't usually apologize…" She hesitated.

Then nodded toward Argolaith.

"…but I should have listened instead of judged. Consider the debt acknowledged."

It wasn't humility.

It was calculation—and the smallest glint of respect.