God's Tree-Chapter 192: The Dream Beyond Morgoth

That night, the world weighed heavy.

The ancient temple had fallen silent again, the vines curling softly over its broken stones as twilight deepened into a cold, moonless black. A small fire crackled in the center of their makeshift camp, its light barely touching the surrounding ruins.

Kaelred and Thae'Zirak dozed lightly nearby. Malakar, ever watchful, sat cross-legged in the shadows, violet flames dimming within his hollow sockets, his mind lost somewhere deep within lich-ritual meditations.

Argolaith lay back on the smooth slab of an overturned pillar, his arms behind his head, staring up into a sky streaked with fading stars.

He closed his eyes.

Sleep took him swiftly, like a falling blade.

At first, there was nothing.

No light. No warmth.

Only the slow, heavy beat of his own heart echoing through an endless void.

Then—a whisper.

A soundless voice threading itself through the marrow of his bones, older than language, older than time.

"You have come far, Seedbearer…"

The darkness rippled.

Shapes stirred at the edges of his vision—vast roots twisting in a skyless abyss, a great tree not yet born, its branches groping toward a light it had never seen.

A distant wind carried the scent of forgotten seasons: ash, ice, salt.

Argolaith took a step forward without realizing it. The ground beneath his feet was not stone, nor earth, but something in between—soft, yielding, humming with an ancient grief.

Before him, something began to coalesce:

A path.

Broken and jagged, stitched from memories that weren't entirely his own.

Each stone he walked across showed flashes—

His first meeting with Kaelred, fists bloodied and spirits unbowed.

The cold certainty in Malakar's violet gaze as he had struck.

The shudder of life returning to Yuneith's roots under his trembling hands.

And farther down—

Visions he did not recognize.

Snow fields blanketed in silver mist.

Winding rivers that gleamed black under a frozen sun.

A colossal cliffside temple carved into the bones of a fallen mountain, half-sunken into the earth.

At its heart, a tree.

Or something that had once been a tree—

its trunk hollowed by flame, its limbs stripped bare by merciless winds, but still stubbornly alive, still reaching skyward with shattered fingers.

Argolaith's breath caught.

This… this was where the last thread waited.

Beyond Morgoth.

Beyond the broken kingdoms he knew.

In a place where life itself struggled to exist.

But the dream was not yet finished.

From the roots of the hollowed tree, figures began to emerge—shadowy, formless, but undeniable.

They whispered to him in a hundred voices:

"You will not be welcome."

"You must walk alone."

"None but the bearer may claim the final breath."

He tried to see their faces, but they shifted like smoke. Some wept. Some reached out as if to stop him. Others simply turned away.

Loneliness pressed against his chest, heavy and relentless.

His friends could not walk this path with him.

Not even Kaelred, whose laughter had carried him through so many dark places.

Not even Malakar, who would have leveled mountains if it meant clearing the way.

Not even Thae'Zirak, bound by ancient oaths yet fiercely loyal.

This final trial would be his alone.

Argolaith clenched his fists.

He stepped closer to the image of the dying tree, closer to the waiting fate he could not yet fully see.

As he moved, a sigil flared into existence across the path—

An ancient rune, thrumming with warning.

He didn't know how he understood it, but he did:

It was a gate.

And it would demand more than strength to pass through.

More than blood.

It would demand a surrender of something deeper.

The dream-vision twisted violently, pulling at him, dragging him backward through the memories, through the falling stars, through the unseen roads yet to come—

"Remember…"

the whisper called, distant and fading.

"Not all things broken can be made whole again."

Then—

A jolt.

Argolaith's eyes snapped open.

The fire was dying to embers.

Morning had not yet come.

A cold sweat clung to his skin, and his heart thundered like a war drum in his chest.

Across the camp, Kaelred stirred and grunted sleepily, pulling his cloak tighter. Malakar's empty gaze shifted slightly, as if sensing the disturbance but not rising to meet it. Thae'Zirak remained still as a statue.

The world felt… different now.

Sharper.

Heavier.

Argolaith sat up slowly, hands trembling slightly as the weight of what he had seen settled into his bones.

There was no more time for wandering.

No more half-measures.

He had a destination now.

And a burden no one else could help him carry.

His final lifeblood waited.

Beyond Morgoth.

Beyond everything he had ever known.

And he would walk that lonely road if he had to crawl the entire way.

Argolaith looked up at the dark sky, at the faintest edge of dawn beginning to creep along the broken mountains.

He whispered to the still air—

"I'm coming."

Of course! Here's Chapter 287, following your request and keeping the same detailed style and emotional depth as the previous chapters:

Morning found them gathered at the edge of the ancient temple, where the last mist of night still clung stubbornly to the broken stones.

The fire had long since burned out.

Their supplies were packed.

The road awaited.

But Argolaith didn't move.

He stood with his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, head bowed slightly, as if gathering the right words from the thin, brittle air.

The others waited in a loose semicircle before him.

Kaelred, arms crossed, looking impatient but concerned.

Malakar, silent and watchful, the faint flicker of violet flames behind his empty gaze betraying a deeper curiosity.

Thae'Zirak, towering and still, the sunlight gleaming off his scaled hide like molten gold.

Finally, Argolaith lifted his eyes.

There was a new weight in them. A distance that hadn't been there the night before.

"I have to go alone."

The words fell like stones.

Kaelred blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean, alone?"

Argolaith took a slow breath, the memory of the dream still vivid beneath his ribs. "Last night… the fifth tree reached out to me. Its guardians spoke through the dream. They showed me where it is." He paused, struggling to shape the ache into something explainable. "And they made it clear. I have to walk the path alone. No one else can come."

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Even the wind seemed to hesitate.

Kaelred's face twisted. He stepped forward sharply, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "That's stupid!" he snapped. "We've come this far together! Why now? Why—" His voice cracked, and he bit down hard on the words, shoulders trembling.

Argolaith met his gaze steadily. "I don't want to leave. But this isn't a choice."

"It's always a choice," Kaelred muttered hoarsely, blinking rapidly. He turned away slightly, one hand scrubbing roughly at his face.

Malakar stepped forward then, his tone dry but not unkind. "The sacred rites often demand solitude. Especially when the final tether is at stake."

Kaelred shook his head violently. "I don't care about rites or traditions or stupid old trees!" His voice broke on the last word, a strangled sound he couldn't contain.

A heavy silence fell.

Then, Kaelred slumped to his knees on the cracked stone, burying his face in his hands.

Small, broken sobs shook his frame, raw and unguarded.

Argolaith moved toward him instinctively, but stopped halfway, fists tightening at his sides.

He wanted nothing more than to kneel, to promise Kaelred that they could find another way.

But he knew the truth.

The dream hadn't just been a suggestion—it had been a command.

The final path would not tolerate more than one soul.

Thae'Zirak approached, resting a massive clawed hand gently on Kaelred's shoulder. His deep voice rumbled low.

"We all have roads we must walk alone, little flame. It does not end the bond between us."

Kaelred wiped at his face, trying to smother the tears, but another wave of emotion crashed over him. He mumbled thickly, barely audible:

"I'll find my other trees… I'll go find them… with Malakar and Thae'Zirak…"

Argolaith's chest ached.

He crouched down beside Kaelred then, carefully, not touching him but close enough that his voice could reach him clearly.

"We'll meet again," he said quietly. "I promise. When we turn twenty… at the Grand Magic Academy. No matter what paths we walk until then."

Kaelred looked up, eyes bloodshot but burning with fierce determination beneath the grief.

"You better keep that promise, Argolaith," he rasped. "Or I'm hunting you down."

Argolaith smiled faintly. It was all he could manage.

"I will."

The farewell was not some grand ceremony.

There were no speeches.

No songs.

Only the quiet, brutal simplicity of parting.

They split supplies carefully.

Kaelred kept most of the food and common elixirs.

Malakar took several scrolls and rune-maps, his cold mind already planning possible routes to seek out Kaelred's trees.

Thae'Zirak claimed the heavier burdens without complaint, carrying what Kaelred and Malakar could not.

At the edge of the broken temple, they stood one last time together.

Kaelred pulled Argolaith into a rough, bone-crushing hug, burying his face against his shoulder for a brief, fierce moment before letting go.

Malakar gave a nod, nothing more—but the approval in it was unmistakable.

Thae'Zirak touched two clawed fingers to Argolaith's forehead, a gesture of blessing from a race older than written history.

"Walk with honor, little brother," the great drake said.

Argolaith bowed his head once, feeling the weight of their trust settle into his bones alongside the weight of his mission.

Then, without looking back, he turned.

And walked into the misty horizon, toward the dying lands beyond Morgoth, where the last piece of himself waited.

Behind him, three figures watched until he vanished from sight.

Then they, too, turned away.

Each carrying their own broken pieces.

Each setting their feet on different roads.

But not forever.

Not for long.

Beneath the same endless sky, a silent vow connected them still:

At twenty years old.

At the Grand Magic Academy.

They would find each other again.

No matter how far they had to go.