I Was Born With A Bloodline That Ended The World-Chapter 113: The World Tree

Rhian continued to clean.

He started from the back of the shop, picking up empty crates, discarded scraps, and old chunks of blackened metal.

He stacked what was usable and tossed out what wasn’t.

The forge was alive with heat and noise, sparks flew in the background while Borik hammered on a large blade, but Rhian worked quietly, away from the action.

He wiped down the walls first, scraping soot off the corners and brushing dust off high shelves. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Then he moved to the tool racks, checking each one before placing them back where they belonged.

Some were stained from oil, others slightly chipped from years of use, but he still cleaned them like they mattered.

When the floor needed sweeping, he took his time.

There was fine black dust in every corner. It stuck to the soles of his boots and settled under the counters, but he handled it all.

He swept it up into small piles, carried it outside, then came back to mop what was left.

Borik checked on him occasionally. He didn’t say much, just nodded when something looked good or pointed at something Rhian missed. Rhian didn’t mind. The work gave his mind space to breathe.

He wasn’t thinking about Justin, or the fight, or the tournament. He wasn’t even thinking about Nia or the awkward silence between them lately.

He just focused on what was in front of him. Clean this. Stack that. Move this. Wipe that.

After a while, he noticed how different the shop looked.

The front table had been cleared and scrubbed, the windows didn’t have streaks anymore, and even the back corner, where tools usually piled up, was empty and organized.

The smell of burned metal still lingered, but the place felt sharper, less buried under its own mess.

Rhian looked around the shop, satisfied with most of it. There was only one spot left, a wall near the back where the stone was dark with soot and old grime.

It bothered him. Everything else was clean, but that one patch stood out. He picked up a cloth and walked toward it.

As he reached for the wall, his hand brushed against a loose paper tucked behind a wooden beam. It slipped out and drifted to the floor.

He bent down to grab it, and froze.

It wasn’t just paper. It was a thick, faded parchment. The edges were slightly burnt, and the ink looked older than anything else in the shop. When he flipped it over, he saw the image clearly.

A tree. But not a normal one.

The roots were massive, thicker than buildings, stretching downward like pillars holding something up.

They curled around a dark, cracked sphere at the base. Beneath it, small symbols were drawn, like chains or bindings.

The trunk rose high, wide enough to hold a town, and in its center, several lines curved outward into different directions.

Floating around the branches were islands, some large, others barely visible. Each had its own design: castles, frozen peaks, glowing fields, strange cities, even one that looked like it was burning.

There were nine in total. None of them were labeled.

The branches of the tree wrapped around each realm like veins. At the very top was a glowing crown of leaves, thin and bright, almost like light was drawn onto the page. It made the whole thing look alive.

Rhian stared at it for a while.

He didn’t understand what he was looking at. It didn’t look like a map. It didn’t look like art, either.

It looked... real.

His eyes followed the connections between the realms, the lines drawn in near-perfect symmetry. Whoever made it wasn’t guessing, they knew what they were drawing.

Rhian crouched down, holding the parchment carefully. "What the hell is this?" he muttered.

"You mean that?" came Borik’s voice from behind.

Rhian nearly jumped. He turned around quickly, caught like a kid sneaking food off the table.

"I—sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

Borik waved it off with a short laugh. "Hah! Don’t fret it, kid. That old thing? You’re not the first to find it."

Rhian straightened up and held the parchment with both hands. "What is it?"

Borik walked over, wiping sweat from his brow with a stained cloth. He looked down at the image, squinting at it like he hadn’t seen it in a while.

"That’s Yggdrasill," he said.

Rhian blinked. "Yag... dra... sill?"

"Close enough," Borik said with a grin. "You can just call it the World Tree."

The moment the words hit his ears, Rhian froze.

His heart started beating faster, like it had skipped a step. Something about those words "World Tree" hit a nerve. No, more than a nerve. It echoed in his skull, heavy, like metal slamming against bone.

He remembered.

Back when he first got his wings, that strange voice, calm, cold, not his own, had spoken to him. "Find the World Tree... and all the answers will be revealed."

He stared down at the parchment, then looked up at Borik again.

"What is a World Tree?"

Borik raised an eyebrow. "Huh. You’re actually interested?"

Rhian nodded. He didn’t speak this time, just waited.

"Well," Borik began, setting the rag down and crossing his arms. "Most say it’s a myth. An old one. But if you ever find someone who deals in ancient runes, they’ll tell you it’s more than a story."

He tapped the paper. "They say this tree is the center of everything. All realms, all realities, all dimensions, connected by its roots and held together by its branches. Nine realms, they say. Not planets. Not countries. Realms. Entire worlds stacked and layered like floors in a tower."

Rhian kept listening.

"Some say the roots reach into death itself. Others say the top touches something no living thing has ever seen. Gods, monsters, beings that were never meant to be spoken of."

He paused, then shook his head. "But like I said. That’s if you believe in that sort of thing."

Rhian didn’t answer right away. He looked down at the parchment again, his jaw tight.

He believed it now.