God’s Tree

The air in Elyrion was still.

Not lifeless—but calm.

As if the realm was pausing to breathe with him.

Argolaith stepped down from the ridge, his fingers brushing the cube tucked safely in his sleeve.

The glade to the east had stayed untouched long enough.

It was time to build.

He walked the stretch of warm grass and stopped in a crescent of stone and soil, where the land sloped gently against the hills.

Here, the light fell perfectly.

The frogs didn't come close, but a few watched from the nearby garden where time moved slower.

Argolaith knelt and pressed a palm to the earth.

Then he reached into his storage ring.

A gentle ripple of mana flared.

From the ring, he pulled smooth-cut planks of spiritwood, slabs of ancient stone, and polished beams reinforced with etched runes.

Everything he needed.

Each piece had been collected with purpose over the years.

He had never known why.

Until now.

He worked with quiet focus.

No hammers.

No saws.

Only mana-guided construction, each beam guided into place with small runes of balance and stability.

The framework of the cabin rose with each pass of his hand.

A single-room shelter—modest, but solid.

A place to return to.

A place that felt like his.

By midday, the base structure stood upright, casting a wide shadow over the soft grass.

He stepped back to admire the shape—elegant but simple.

Exactly what he needed.

But then something caught his eye.

A soft shimmer—just at the edge of the garden.

He turned.

One of the frogs was glowing.

Not with heat.

Not with spellfire.

But something more subtle.

The edges of its limbs flickered faintly with dancing light, like mana stirred through water.

And it was bigger.

Only slightly—but noticeable.

Argolaith walked closer.

Two more frogs hopped from beneath the nearby vine patch, both glimmering in soft pulses.

One blinked up at him.

The shimmer swirled like starlight.

He crouched, studying them in silence.

This wasn't natural.

Not in the usual sense.

He summoned a thin scroll of observation runes from his ring and floated it beside the glowing frogs.

The readings were faint, but clear.

Their mana levels had increased.

Still no core.

Still non-aggressive.

But something inside them had awakened.

He scribbled notes on a fresh sheet.

"Three specimens show visible aura emission.

Energy is stable. Consistent glow.

All frogs from garden perimeter—time-shifted zone likely contributing factor."

He underlined the last sentence twice.

It was the only common thread he could see.

He sat near the edge of the garden, letting his eyes scan the time-slowed circle of herbs and plants.

The air was denser here.

Softer.

Like even the wind had learned to walk instead of run.

Among the tall bloomleaf and silverroot, five more frogs rested in silence.

All of them were glowing.

One of them floated a few inches off the ground.

Effortless.

Weightless.

It rotated in place once, then settled on a rune-carved stone and blinked.

Argolaith's eyes narrowed with curiosity.

This wasn't just mana saturation.

It was transformation.

He cast a thin isolation ward—not a barrier, just a gentle field to preserve conditions for study.

The frogs didn't resist.

They barely seemed to notice.

He watched them for an hour.

Taking more notes.

Recording breath rhythm, light fluctuations, even color changes in their eyes.

Each frog was evolving… differently.

He reached one simple conclusion:

Elyrion was changing them.

But not with intention.

With harmony.

The slowed time, the peaceful mana, the untouched silence—it was reshaping them gently.

Without pressure.

Without force.

He glanced back at the cabin.

It stood quiet and warm beneath the twin stars and sun above.

A shelter for him.

And maybe, one day, a center for something greater.

He turned to the frogs again.

"What are you becoming?" he whispered.

One of them blinked, as if answering without sound.

He didn't need words to understand.

The realm was working.

And the frogs were proof.

Argolaith sat beneath the soft light of Elyrion's twin stars, notes scattered across the grass beside him.

The frogs rested nearby, shimmering faintly under the influence of the realm's gentle mana.

He'd been studying them for hours.

Their glow.

Their size.

Their quiet evolution.

At first, he thought they were becoming something new—changing into magical creatures beyond their original nature.

But the more he observed, the more the answer settled into place.

It wasn't evolution in the mystical sense.

It was adaptation.

They weren't awakening magic.

They were simply responding to it.

Living in a place filled with balanced mana, time-rich gardens, and perfect stillness had made them shine.

Not because they were becoming magical beasts…

But because Elyrion was peaceful enough to let them thrive.

Argolaith leaned back on his palms and let out a soft breath.

There was nothing to fix.

Nothing to force.

The frogs didn't need guidance.

They didn't need shaping.

They were just… becoming what they were meant to be.

And that was enough.

He stood and rolled up the scrolls, returning them to his ring.

The cabin still waited—half-framed, open to the wind and golden light.

He walked to it and placed his hand on the unfinished outer wall.

The wood was cool, solid, ready.

He pulled more pieces from his ring—spiritwood panels and smooth mana-treated stone for the floor.

With quiet focus, he resumed his work.

Not in a hurry.

Not with pressure.

But with care.

Each board fit like a thought placed gently in the right moment.

By evening, the roof was framed.

He carved a rune into the doorway—simple, clean, one that meant "Return."

Not as a spell.

Just a symbol.

For himself.

As he stepped back to admire the shape, he glanced toward the garden.

The frogs were still there.

One floated lazily near the time-warped herbs.

Another blinked at him from beneath a sunvine leaf.

None of them had changed again.

And they didn't need to.

Argolaith smiled faintly.

Not everything needed a reason.

Some things were just meant to be simple.

This chapter first appeared on M|V|L^EMPYR.

Some things… just were.

Elyrion's sky was turning deep blue.

Not from nightfall, but from the slow dance of the second star shifting behind the drifting sun. The light changed the realm's hue, bathing the land in silver-dusted warmth.

Argolaith stood inside the newly framed cabin.

The walls whispered faintly with the runes he had carved, each one guiding energy gently through the foundation. Nothing complex. Just enough to keep the temperature stable and the structure strong.

He didn't want it to feel magical.

He wanted it to feel like home.

He moved across the wooden floor, boots brushing softly against smooth spiritwood. With every step, he imagined how it would look when it was done—bookshelves lining the walls, a small cooking area by the front window, a place to sit and rest.

He'd build those too. Slowly.

With purpose.

For now, he just needed the core finished.

From his ring, he summoned a few last pieces: a rune-stabilized hearthstone, three polished floor panels made from reinforced darkwood, and a carved stool that once belonged to an old alchemist's tower.

He placed the hearthstone carefully near the back wall and drew a single rune beneath it—an ember-sigil, meant only to warm.

No flames.

No roaring fire.

Just quiet, radiant heat.

When he activated the rune, the hearthstone pulsed once, and the warmth spread through the cabin like breath.

Argolaith sat on the stool.

The room still echoed faintly with newness, but it felt different now.

The bones of the place were complete.

And it felt good.

He looked out through the open window frame.

The frogs were still scattered near the garden, blinking softly, glowing faintly. Some had taken to resting near the corners of the cabin, as if drawn to the quiet.

He smiled at that.

Maybe they understood this place in ways even he didn't.

He reached into his sleeve and pulled out the cube—the anchor that linked him to Elyrion.

It glowed softly, like always.

But here, it felt lighter.

Not because the magic had changed.

But because the realm was finally his.

It wasn't just a hidden world anymore.

It was a place with shape, rhythm, and memory.

He placed the cube on the hearthstone.

It shimmered faintly, then dimmed.

As if it, too, was resting.

Argolaith leaned back against the wall and let his mind settle.

He thought about everything that had happened over the past few weeks.

The academy.

The prodigies.

The Door of Silver Thought.

Even the elder who had once stood beside him in awe of this realm now tucked in a cube.

It had all happened so fast.

And yet, here he was.

Not with a plan.

But with peace.

It was strange.

He'd always expected his strength to come from challenge.

But it was this stillness—this quiet space, this finished room—that made him feel the most grounded.

He ran a hand along the smooth windowsill.

Outside, the mana-rich grass shimmered gently as the sky turned a deeper shade of violet.

Elyrion never roared.

It didn't demand anything from him.

It just existed.

Waiting to be shaped.

Waiting to grow.

He stood and lit a lantern using a soft rune near the wall.

Golden light filled the cabin, warm and steady.

The frogs blinked at the glow, then resumed their slow movements beneath the windows.

Argolaith sat down again and opened one of his older notebooks.

The pages were worn.

Filled with scattered thoughts about trees, beasts, and ancient ruins.

But now, he wrote something new.

"The cabin is finished.

The frogs are calm.

The realm is stable.

I think this will be the center. Not of power. But of self."

He underlined the last line.

Twice.

Then closed the book.

Outside, a soft breeze drifted across the land.

In Elyrion, nothing screamed.

Nothing chased.

Only things that breathed.

And belonged.