God’s Tree

Morning broke softly in Elyrion.

Not with noise or light, but with the subtle shifting of color in the sky and the hum of fresh mana drifting from the garden.

Argolaith sat on the floor of the cabin, back resting against the wall, arms crossed as he stared at the unadorned space around him.

The structure was solid.

The hearth kept it warm.

But it was still empty.

He reached into his ring and pulled out a small sketchbook.

The pages fluttered until he found one marked with rough outlines of furniture.

A low table for meals.

A resting chair for reading or thought.

Shelves—always shelves—for his growing collection of scrolls and herbs.

He made a few edits, redrawing one of the cabinets with extra compartments.

Then tapped the page once and sighed.

"I'll need to go to the market."

The academy's inner market wasn't like the outer-world bazaars.

Here, everything was enchanted or enhanced in some way.

Storage crates with lightless interiors.

Chairs that adjusted to posture and body type.

Spell-treated rugs that absorbed fatigue.

He didn't need much.

Just enough to make the cabin feel like it was lived in.

Not just visited.

Still seated on the floor, he flipped the sketchbook closed and placed it gently into his ring.

Then, without standing, he reached again—this time for the cube that held the entrance to Elyrion.

It glowed faintly in his palm.

But instead of activating it, he paused.

Another thought surfaced.

A quiet one.

Maybe it was time to let someone else see it again.

Someone who could understand it more deeply.

He turned his gaze toward the window, where the frogs sat silently in the garden.

Their shimmering bodies still pulsed with ambient mana.

A soft, peaceful glow.

He smiled faintly.

Yes.

He would need someone who valued this.

Not the magic.

Not the structure.

But the calm. This chapter was first seen on MV^LEM^PYR.

An elder came to mind.

Not Veylan—not for this.

But Faeryn.

The one who had entered Elyrion once before and smiled at the frogs instead of fearing the stars.

The one who said it felt like a place meant for rest.

He remembered the way her voice softened when she spoke of things beyond spells.

Argolaith rose to his feet and dusted off his palms.

He walked to the center of the cabin and touched the cube once.

The return glyph flickered to life, ready to open the way back.

But not yet.

He wanted the room to look a little more like what it was meant to be.

He pulled a folded wool mat from his storage ring and placed it in the corner.

Then a tea set—simple ceramic, white and blue.

He set it near the hearthstone.

The frogs blinked from the window's edge, watching quietly.

Argolaith met their gaze and whispered, "We'll have company soon."

Then he stepped into the glyph's light.

And left the realm.

The cube pulsed gently in his sleeve as Argolaith stepped into the academy's main halls.

Morning light spilled through the arched windows. Students moved in clusters, but the air was calm—no rushing, no training duels echoing off stone.

Today, he wasn't headed for a class.

Today was for something quieter.

The path to the market was lined with floating lanterns and soft music played by enchanted chimes overhead.

This part of the academy was built differently.

No towering statues or looming staircases.

Just wide courtyards, low garden walls, and soft-colored banners swaying in the breeze.

It felt like a place meant to exhale.

The market spread across several rows of open stalls and quiet indoor shops.

Each one offered something unique—hovering lanterns, self-cleaning parchment, enchanted cookware.

But Argolaith walked with a purpose.

He wasn't here for trinkets.

He needed pieces that fit Elyrion.

He paused at a small vendor whose stand was more greenhouse than shop. Vines wove through carved furniture and light danced off polished wood.

An elderly woman stood behind the counter, surrounded by glowing pots and soft-shelled fruit.

"You buildin' something with heart?" she asked without looking up.

Argolaith smiled faintly. "Yes."

She nodded once, then stepped aside to reveal what she had.

He chose a short tea table made of white-root ash, with smooth circular legs and a shimmering glaze. It pulsed faintly with stabilizing runes.

Next, a small cushion-chair that responded to movement—perfect for long rests by a fire.

And finally, a narrow shelf with glass-paneled sides, carved with vines across the top.

"I'll take them," he said quietly.

The woman packed them into a storage rune with a snap of her fingers.

"No delivery needed?" she asked.

Argolaith shook his head. "I'll store them."

With a bow of thanks, he walked the long way back toward his dormitory.

The halls were a little busier now—students laughing, instructors floating between wings—but he paid no mind.

His thoughts had returned to the cabin.

And to what it could become.

Before he turned the final corner toward his room, he paused near the central message board—where instructors and elders received notices or requests.

He pulled a small folded sheet from his storage ring and wrote a few lines in steady ink:

Elder Faeryn,

If your time allows, I invite you to have tea within the realm we visited together.

I've made some improvements, and would also like to speak about the possibility of private lessons.

—Argolaith

He folded it neatly and placed it into the enchanted message slot marked with Faeryn's seal.

The slot glowed once.

Then sealed the letter in silence.

Argolaith continued on to his room.

There was still much to arrange.

But the path ahead was beginning to take shape.

And someone else would soon see it.

The sealed message arrived with a faint chime.

Elder Faeryn paused mid-step as the rune-carved box outside her chamber lit with a soft lavender glow. She turned, fingertips brushing against the panel, and retrieved the folded letter.

The ink was clean.

The handwriting careful.

She unfolded the note.

Her eyes passed over the message once… then again, slower.

"…have tea within the realm we visited together…"

She smiled, just faintly.

So, he had shaped it further.

Faeryn didn't rush.

She returned inside and changed her outer robes, replacing the shimmering ones used for lectures with something lighter—a smooth violet weave marked only by a single star-shaped clasp near the collar.

From a small shelf, she selected a crystal vial of herbal essence—not a potion, but a calming blend she favored for quiet evenings.

She slid it into her sleeve.

Then, without summoning an escort or assistant, she left her chambers and walked toward the east halls.

By the time she reached Argolaith's door, it was already open.

He stood just inside, the cube resting gently in one hand.

Their eyes met.

No words passed at first.

Then Faeryn tilted her head slightly.

"You've furnished it?"

Argolaith nodded. "A cabin. Simple. But warm."

"And the frogs?"

"Still watching."

That made her smile again.

"Then let's not keep them waiting."

He held out the cube, activated the glyph, and stepped through first.

Faeryn followed without hesitation.

The moment she passed through, her breath caught quietly in her throat.

Elyrion hadn't changed drastically.

But it had settled.

The garden still shimmered at the base of the slope, herbs swaying in slow-time motion.

The sky was soft violet now, two stars hovering at a respectful distance from a golden sun.

She followed Argolaith down the winding path.

Then stopped.

And stared.

The cabin stood nestled at the edge of a quiet glade, its windows glowing faintly from the warmth inside.

It wasn't large or ornate.

But it felt placed with intention.

Like it had always been there.

Like it belonged.

She stepped through the open doorway.

And blinked.

Inside, soft light flickered from a stone-hearth rune.

Two simple chairs sat on opposite sides of a smooth tea table.

A scroll shelf stood nearby, still mostly empty but waiting.

The air smelled faintly of fresh wood, warmed herbs, and mana.

"You built this?" she asked.

Argolaith nodded. "Every board."

She walked slowly around the room, one hand trailing across the carved doorframe.

Then she turned to him and said softly, "This is a realm of stillness."

"It's meant to be."

He gestured toward one of the chairs.

"Will you join me for tea?"

Faeryn sat without a word, folding her robes around her.

Argolaith took the second seat and summoned the tea set from his ring.

As he poured the first cup, the frogs gathered quietly at the windowsill, blinking.

Faeryn lifted the cup, watching the steam curl upward.

She inhaled once, then sipped.

And smiled.

"You were right to invite me."

The tea was still hot.

Steam rose gently from Faeryn's cup, curling into the still air inside the cabin.

She took another sip, eyes half-lidded, then set the porcelain carefully on the table. Her gaze drifted toward the window, where the frogs sat motionless beneath the soft light.

"They look different now," she murmured. "Not in form, but in… presence."

Argolaith leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other.

"They've adapted. Not because I shaped them—but because the realm gave them space to."

Faeryn nodded slowly.

"That's rare. Most magical ecosystems react to intervention. This one responds to stillness."