God's Tree-Chapter 142: The Forgotten Paths

The sky was slate gray above, cold and endless. The sun hadn't broken through in over a day, and the clouds hung heavy, swollen with snow that refused to fall.

Below, the world passed in slow, shifting waves—ice-choked rivers, jagged hills blanketed in ancient frost, the land growing darker and quieter with every mile.

Thae'Zirak flew low now, coasting just above the terrain. His wings beat steadily, golden eyes locked on the southern horizon as the wind whistled around his horns. The frost clinging to his scales crackled faintly with every movement.

The others were silent.

Since Argolaith's vision the night before, a quiet purpose had settled over them. The third tree had not called—but it had revealed itself, and now their path had form.

Southwest.

Through lands that should have been empty, but now felt anything but.

It began subtly. The terrain, once stark and barren, began to curve strangely—hills bending at odd angles, ridges veering where no erosion should have shaped them. The frost deepened, not just in depth but in tone. It clung to everything with a silver sheen that shimmered with faint iridescence.

Kaelred peered over Thae'Zirak's shoulder, eyes narrowed. "Is it me, or does the ground look like it's been… peeled?"

Argolaith didn't answer. He'd seen it too. The trees—what few remained—were dead, yes, but twisted unnaturally. Bark stripped upward instead of downward, branches stretching toward the earth like they were trying to burrow back in.

Malakar finally spoke, voice calm. "This land is warded. Not with barriers or walls—but with silence. Old magic. Meant to be forgotten."

Kaelred leaned back. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It means we're not just passing through untouched land," Argolaith said. "We're entering a place removed from memory."

Thae'Zirak rumbled low in his chest. "I have not flown these skies before. Even in my time under Zolgrich, this region was left alone."

By midday, they spotted the first sign of something once living—a structure carved into the side of a cracked cliff, nearly buried in snow and rootless vines.

It wasn't large. Just a single archway, half-collapsed, with glyphs etched into the black stone. They were faded and broken, but Argolaith saw enough to know they weren't from any kingdom he'd read about.

He had Thae'Zirak land.

They stepped off the hybrid dragon's back, crunching over snow and frost as they approached the arch. Argolaith brushed snow from the runes, revealing symbols of trees, stars, and weeping eyes.

Kaelred frowned. "Why is there a shrine out here?"

"It's not a shrine," Malakar murmured. "It's a warning."

Argolaith tilted his head. "Of what?"

The wind shifted.

A low, hollow tone rang across the basin behind them—deep and directionless, like something massive had stirred far beneath the surface of the world.

They turned, eyes scanning the horizon. But there was nothing. No movement. No shape. Only wind, ice, and the sense that they were being watched by a world that remembered more than it should.

They didn't speak again until camp was made—this time in the narrow shelter of a canyon wall carved by ancient glaciers. Kaelred started the fire while Argolaith prepared a small meal from frostbark root and the last of the cured war beast flank.

"Flavored despair, now with extra crunch," Kaelred muttered as he chewed. "Love it."

Thae'Zirak remained outside the flame ring, facing the dark horizon, eyes flickering in the shadows.

Argolaith leaned forward, sharpening his blade by firelight. "We're being led into something. The land's changing too fast. It's adapting."

Malakar nodded. "That dream… it may have awakened more than a direction. This place is reacting to you."

"To us," Argolaith corrected.

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Kaelred looked up. "How far do you think the third tree is?"

Argolaith didn't answer right away. He glanced toward the sky, the stars hidden behind frost-clouds. "A week. Maybe more."

He turned the blade in his hand, watching firelight catch the steel. "But we're close enough that something else is trying to stop us."

That night, as the others slept, Argolaith stood alone by the cliff's edge. The wind howled softly, just enough to drown out the sound of his own breath. He stared out at the twisting terrain ahead, now coated in a faint mist that hadn't been there before.

He felt it again. Not a pull.

But a gaze.

Eyes that didn't blink.

And a weight in the air—like something ancient remembered his name.

But Argolaith didn't look away.

He stared back.

The sky fractured.

Not with thunder, not with lightning—but with silence.

As dawn tried to rise, it found itself strangled by a thick, unnatural mist that bled across the hills like spilled milk soaking into parchment.

The land had become formless, the horizon blotted out. Even Thae'Zirak's massive form was a silhouette after only a few feet of distance.

Argolaith stood still, his sword drawn.

His breath formed slow clouds in the air, but the cold wasn't what made his spine crawl.

It was the quiet.

It was wrong.

No birds.

No insects.

No wind.

Just a soft… scraping.

Somewhere in the fog.

Kaelred stepped back toward the fire, daggers already out, his voice low and tense. "Tell me you hear that."

"I hear it," Argolaith replied.

Malakar raised one bony hand, violet light igniting across his knuckles, softly flaring against the fog like a lantern buried beneath ice. "There are… shapes moving. But they're not formed by flesh."

The scraping came again.

Closer.

Wet.

Like claws dragging across stone—only too slowly.

Then—eyes.

Dozens of them.

Reflecting violet firelight from just beyond the edge of vision, all at uneven heights, all unblinking.

One pair.

Then two.

Then twenty.

They emerged not all at once, but in flickers—like creatures that only half-existed.

The first stepped fully into view, and Kaelred gagged.

Its body was long and skeletal, but not human.

It walked upright on limbs that bent the wrong way, like someone had built it from memory but got the angles wrong.

Its flesh—if it could be called that—was semi-transparent, like thin skin stretched over liquid bone, revealing strange pulsing organs that glowed softly with violet and green.

Its face had no mouth, just a long slit of darkness that throbbed like it breathed through the wound. Where eyes should be were clusters of glistening orbs, arranged like barnacles down both sides of its skull.

And it wasn't alone.

More followed—crawling, slithering, walking, some dragging long, spined tails behind them, others with arms that ended in writhing fingerless limbs that scraped the ground like tools.

Argolaith took a step forward, planting himself between the creatures and his friends.

Malakar murmured, "These aren't from Morgoth."

Kaelred whispered, "They feel… wrong. Like they're wearing a corpse as a mask."