God's Tree-Chapter 141: Echoes in the Ice

What had once been jagged rock and tundra had softened into vast stretches of hard-packed snow, tinged pale blue under the cloud-choked sky.

Cracks laced the surface, shallow and strange, as if the land itself had been shattered and refrozen.

Thae'Zirak's wings tightened as he slowed.

"There's something beneath us," he rumbled. "Something… hollow."

Argolaith straightened. "Hollow?"

Thae'Zirak dipped lower, his claws kicking up icy mist as he landed atop a narrow ridge.

Beneath them stretched a broad expanse of flat ice, unnatural in shape—a smooth oval surrounded by jutting rocks, as if something had fallen from the sky and cooled into silence.

Kaelred leapt down, boots crunching lightly against the surface. "This doesn't look natural."

Argolaith joined him. He crouched and pressed a gloved hand to the ice. The chill bit through the leather immediately, but it wasn't just cold—it pulsed.

Malakar landed beside them and extended his hand. Wisps of necrotic energy shimmered along his fingertips.

"There's magic here," he said softly. "Old. Dormant. Sleeping—but not dead."

The wind picked up.

And then—

Argolaith heard it.

Not a voice. Not a call.

A tone.

Like the faint ringing of a bell beneath the water, distant and distorted, as if something was moving far below. His breath caught for a moment, his vision tilting.

He saw—a root twisting through ice.

—a tree not of wood, but crystal, its branches reflecting stars that weren't there.

—a shape standing beneath it, faceless and still.

Then it was gone.

He stumbled back.

Kaelred caught his arm. "Whoa. You good?"

Argolaith nodded once, slow. "I saw… something."

Malakar's eyes narrowed. "The tree?"

"No," Argolaith said. "Something near it. Something waiting."

Thae'Zirak stepped closer, his claws scraping lightly over the frozen crust. "If it's buried here, we'd sense more magic. This is a remnant. A scar."

Kaelred turned a slow circle. "A battlefield?"

"No," Malakar said. "A burial ground."

That word settled over them like another layer of snow.

They moved with more care after that, circling the strange frozen basin. Near the edge, Argolaith found a broken statue—its lower half missing, the upper torso still half-embedded in ice. Its face was cracked, but the features were elven… though distorted. Wrong.

Malakar approached it and stared for a long time.

"This was once a guardian," he said. "Of something sacred."

"And now?" Argolaith asked.

Malakar turned. "Now it's forgotten. Like the rest of this place."

They camped that night just beyond the frozen basin, setting their runes and shielding themselves from the wind.

The fire burned low—Thae'Zirak's breath igniting the wood with a flick of flame—and their meal was quiet. No stew. No feast. Just dried meat, roots, and silence.

Argolaith couldn't sleep.

He stared at the basin under moonless sky, the wind tugging gently at the edges of the camp. The ice glowed faintly, a pale blue ring in the dark.

He thought again of the vision—the crystalline tree, the faceless figure beneath it, the silence that seemed louder than thunder.

It wasn't the third tree.

But it was connected.

He was certain.

Something had been buried there. Something older than trees or trials. Something left behind.

And it was waking up.

The campfire burned low, its flickering light casting long shadows against the jagged rocks surrounding their camp.

The basin beyond remained untouched, a ring of pale ice nestled in a valley that felt too still—like the world was holding its breath.

Thae'Zirak lay curled near the perimeter, wings partially folded, tail coiled loosely around his massive form. His golden eyes were half-lidded, but awake. Watching. Always watching.

Malakar meditated near the fire, unmoving, his fingers tracing faint lines of magic across the air in silent patterns—protective, ancient runes that pulsed violet for a moment before fading.

Kaelred lay on his back beneath a fur-lined cloak, arms behind his head. "Still think we're not cursed?" he muttered toward the sky. "Because if that basin doesn't scream 'doomed sorcerer burial site,' I don't know what does."

Argolaith didn't answer. He sat apart from the others, eyes fixed on the ring of ice in the distance. His blue gaze was sharp, unblinking, like he was trying to hear something beneath the crackling of the fire and the groaning wind.

Because something was there.

Not sound exactly.

Not voice.

But a presence.

Like the moment before lightning strikes.

When Argolaith finally closed his eyes, the world around him fell away fast—too fast. He didn't drift into sleep. He dropped into it.

The cold vanished.

The wind stilled.

And he stood in a place of darkness and mirrored light.

A vast field stretched around him, coated not in grass or snow, but in smooth obsidian glass. And from the center of that glass, a tree grew—tall, crystalline, its trunk clear like ice, branches fractaling upward like living glasswork.

The stars above it were wrong—too close, too bright. And beneath the tree…

A figure stood.

Faceless. Cloaked in something between shadow and silk.

It raised a hand. Not threatening. Not beckoning. Simply… pointing.

Argolaith followed its gesture with his eyes.

Another tree.

Far away.

His third tree.

He could feel it—not a pull, but a pulse. Like something had finally stirred.

The figure lowered its hand, then began to break apart—splinters of light falling away, vanishing into the glass.

Argolaith stepped forward, but the world cracked.

A single fracture split the ground beneath him.

And everything shattered.

He woke with a gasp, hand on the hilt of his sword, chest rising and falling in sharp breaths.

Kaelred jerked up. "You okay?"

Malakar opened his eyes. "You saw something."

Argolaith nodded slowly. "It wasn't the third tree. But it showed me where to find it."

They stared at him, silent.

"The tree in the dream—it was made of crystal," he said quietly. "The same way the second tree had strange bark. This one… it shone like it was carved from light. And I saw a figure. Not human. Not anything. It didn't speak. It just… pointed."

Kaelred raised an eyebrow. "Pointed where?"

Argolaith stood, dusting frost from his cloak. "Southwest. Beyond the broken range. Beyond the hills and this basin. It's still far—but it's there."

Thae'Zirak shifted behind them, rising slowly. "Then we change course."

Argolaith's gaze lingered on the basin one last time. "Whatever's buried here… it's watching. But it isn't part of my path. Not yet."

Malakar stepped beside him. "Then we leave it sleeping."

They broke camp quickly. Packs resecured, cloaks fastened, blades checked and runes recharged.

As Thae'Zirak took to the sky, Argolaith didn't look back.

But as they rose above the scarred valley, the wind shifted.

And beneath the ice, far below, a single line of frost cracked open.

Not enough to awaken.

Not enough to be noticed.

Just enough for something ancient to exhale.

And whisper.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.