God’s Tree

Argolaith walked beneath Elyrion's still sky, the windless air whispering through golden grass.

The trees—few and scattered—glowed with quiet life, but they made no sound.

There were no birds. No beasts. No breath.

Only silence, structured and waiting.

He wandered for hours, or maybe minutes. Time here didn't move unless he did.

The second star above burned softly, and the light beneath it shimmered, but nothing stirred in the distance.

No creatures. No movement. No life beyond what he'd planted.

And what the realm had shaped from him.

It wasn't enough.

Elyrion pulsed beneath his feet like a sleeping heart, but he felt it—lonely.

A realm needed more than roots and mirrors. It needed motion. Curiosity. Breath.

It needed to grow.

He whispered the exit glyph and stepped backward from the projection chamber.

The real world returned like a sigh—light brighter, air cooler, reality heavier.

Back in the sealed chamber beneath the academy, the cube resumed its quiet orbit beside him.

Elyrion's core hovered within its protective frame, stars twinkling within.

Argolaith straightened.

Then turned and left.

He walked the halls of the academy with purpose.

Most students parted when they saw him, unsure whether to bow or vanish.

He didn't stop for them.

He made his way toward the Summoning and Pact Arts building, where magical life was bred, bound, and studied.

Not all creatures needed food or sleep. Some were born of ambient mana alone.

Some were born to exist.

He entered a courtyard behind the eastern pavilion—an open-air habitat where low-level familiars roamed freely.

And there, beneath a crystal lattice of soft sun, he saw them.

Frogs.

Small. Iridescent. Translucent.

They blinked up at him lazily, resting on stones etched with absorption runes.

Their skin shimmered faintly, drawing mana from the air itself.

They didn't hunt.

They didn't eat.

They simply… were.

A small sign beside the enclosure read:

"Mana-Kissed Frogs – Tier 1 Familiar Class

Sustain themselves on ambient mana.

Harmless. Observational use only."

Argolaith crouched beside the edge of the shallow pool.

One of the frogs hopped closer, settling on a rune-stone that pulsed beneath it.

Its body glowed softly, absorbing a thin thread of energy with each breath.

He didn't reach for it.

He just watched.

They weren't complex.

But they were alive.

Exactly the kind of presence Elyrion was missing.

Argolaith stood slowly.

Behind him, a young apprentice mage flinched at his sudden movement and scurried off.

He walked over to the binding desk at the edge of the courtyard, where a sleepy clerk flipped through a ledger.

"Do these frogs have contracts?" Argolaith asked.

The clerk blinked. "Uh… no, not these. They're free-mana familiars. No spirit core. But they respond to strong magic."

"Can I take a few?"

The clerk hesitated. "Technically, yes, if you're cleared. You are…?"

Argolaith showed his mithril-ranked academy token.

The clerk nearly swallowed his tongue. "Yes, of course. Take as many as you like."

Argolaith nodded once.

"Three will do."

He returned to the hidden chamber before the hour passed.

The cube spun gently as he stepped back into the projection field.

The realm-core recognized him immediately.

The silver floor shifted into stars.

He stepped into Elyrion again—and brought the frogs with him.

As he released them onto the golden grass, they blinked slowly, then hopped forward.

And something changed.

The sky above shimmered.

The grass brightened.

And from the center of the basin—a new ripple began to spread.

Not loud.

Not fast.

But alive.

The frogs hopped in slow arcs through the golden grass, glowing softly with each bounce.

Their movement was simple, almost lazy, but their presence echoed.

Elyrion responded.

Where they moved, the air felt warmer. The light gentler. Even the soil beneath them grew firmer, as if stabilizing to meet their needs.

Argolaith stood beneath the growing twilight of Elyrion's second star and watched quietly.

This… was what the realm had needed.

Not just shape.

Not just reflection.

But life.

He knelt in the grass and let his fingers graze a small patch of soil, noting how mana swirled faintly beneath the surface.

He felt it shifting in response to his thoughts—offering him control, not by force, but invitation.

"You're learning to listen," he murmured.

His cube hovered nearby, its pulses calm and steady.

And then a new idea bloomed—quiet but insistent.

Time.

Could he shape it?

Control it?

Not all of Elyrion.

But… maybe parts.

He stood and closed his eyes, reaching out through the lattice of the realm's mana threads.

They stretched like soft fabric under his awareness, weaving across distant hills, down into the basin, and upward into the sky-bound glyphs that governed the stars.

And there—along the threads near the southern ridge—he found it.

A rhythm.

Unformed. Untouched.

He tugged gently, then twisted.

Not breaking.

Just slowing.

And the land beneath the ridge shifted, the wind pausing, light thickening.

Time flowed slower there now.

A single patch.

Maybe ten meters wide.

Just enough.

"That'll do."

He walked to the spot.

The light was heavier here, the mana condensed like dew on the skin.

He knelt again and pressed his palm to the ground.

From his storage ring, he withdrew five small vials—each containing rare seeds.

Skyroot pod from the cliffs near Tree Two.

Silvervine sprout from the Elven ruins.

Coalbloom bulb that grew only in fire-touched craters.

Windleaf delicate and always trembling, and a dreamherb that had never bloomed outside of moonlight.

He planted each one gently in a circle.

Covered them.

Let the slowed time do the rest.

They would grow in days what took months.

As he stood back, a small smile crept onto his lips.

A realm with stars.

With mirrored memory.

With spectral life. Brоught tо yоu by МV6LЕМРY6R.

And now, with a garden that bent time.

It wasn't just a place to train or hide.

It could be more.

A home.

A sanctuary.

A vacation spot, even.

He chuckled under his breath.

"Should probably build a cabin."

The cube pulsed once, amused.

And the idea didn't seem so ridiculous.

Not here.

He could bring food. Set up a small kitchen.

Harvest rare herbs. Brew elixirs without interruption.

Maybe even store Elyrion inside one of the cubes he could make.

Portable paradise.

A world in his pocket.

He looked up again.

The stars of Elyrion hadn't moved.

But he swore they shimmered brighter.

Like they'd heard him.

Like they agreed.