God's Tree-Chapter 137: Final gifts & Departure

Zolgrich's gaze then fell on Malakar. No words passed between them at first—just a long, silent understanding.

Then the First Lich raised a hand, and from his sleeve fell a small token, shaped like a skeletal eye enclosed within a circle of bone. It hovered in the air between them.

"This will open the gate to the Shrouded Spire, the sanctuary of our kind. Use it only when you are ready to speak with those who have passed beyond the mortal plane of undeath."

Malakar stepped forward slowly and accepted the token with both hands. For the first time in any of their journeys, he bowed—a low, respectful motion not of submission, but of reverence.

"I thank you, elder. Deeply."

Zolgrich gave no answer, only a slow nod.

Kaelred whispered, "…Well that got real."

Last, Zolgrich turned his gaze to Thae'Zirak.

The dragon hybrid stepped forward, lowering his head slightly, as he had always done in the presence of his maker.

Zolgrich approached. From beneath his robe, he drew forth the key to the collar—a sigil formed of pure necrotic gold. He pressed it to the runes at Thae'Zirak's neck.

The collar clicked. Unlatched.

Thae'Zirak stiffened. For a heartbeat, he didn't move.

Zolgrich held the old collar in one hand. Then, with his other, he raised a new one. Similar in shape, but far more intricate—etched not only with runes of binding, but runes of recognition.

He stepped forward and locked it gently around Thae'Zirak's neck.

Then, he pressed a burning finger to the surface—and inscribed a name into it.

Argolaith.

Not in Common Tongue.

Not Elvish.

But something older. A root-name, carved in meaning rather than word.

Thae'Zirak's eyes widened slightly.

Zolgrich stepped back. "Your bond to me is ended."

He turned to Argolaith. "And now he walks beside you, should you accept the weight of that bond."

Argolaith nodded once. "I do."

Thae'Zirak bowed deeply, wings folding inward. "Then I am yours, Argolaith. Not in servitude—but in choice."

Zolgrich returned to his throne.

As he sat, the chamber began to darken. The shadows deepened, and the stillness returned.

"You walk a path that may break you. Or shape you into something the gods themselves will watch with interest."

His voice was quieter now, almost distant.

"Return when the blood burns in your hand and the five drops sing. Until then… leave this place."

And just like that, the stone behind them opened—revealing a passage, lit by cold green light.

The Bastion would allow them to go.

And for now, that was all they needed.

The gates of the Hollow Bastion closed behind them with no sound—no thunderous slam, no crumbling lock—just a final, solemn whisper of stone.

It was as though the fortress itself had inhaled and then decided to forget they had ever been there.

The frozen wasteland beyond remained unchanged. Grey skies stretched endlessly above, heavy with unshed snow.

The land below was jagged and frigid, littered with ruins entombed in frost and the scattered, silent Hollowed standing in perfect stillness like broken statues watching the passage of time.

Thae'Zirak stood tall at the edge of the Bastion's path, wings half-spread, golden eyes scanning the horizon.

The new collar around his neck gleamed faintly under the washed-out sky, etched with runes that softly pulsed with Argolaith's name in ancient script.

Kaelred exhaled a visible breath, tucking his herb-scented boots deeper into the snow with a grumble. "Well. That was… a lovely vacation. Creepy architecture, eternal winter, undead hospitality. Where to next?"

Thae'Zirak turned his head to Argolaith, nostrils flaring against the icy air. "Can you sense the call of your third tree yet?"

Argolaith was silent for a long moment. He stood still, eyes half-lidded, focusing inward.

He reached for that familiar tug—deep in his chest, where the seed of the lifeblood pulsed faintly. It had led him before, drawing him toward the second tree with a pressure that grew harder to ignore.

But now—

"…No," he said finally, opening his eyes. "There's nothing. No pull. No direction."

Thae'Zirak nodded once, not surprised. "Then we fly until it calls."

Kaelred sighed. "Oh, good. I was hoping we'd pick our next ancient world-defining destination by vibe."

With a beat of his wings, Thae'Zirak lowered his body. Argolaith climbed into the crook of his shoulder, Malakar took his usual stance behind him, and Kaelred, after some muttering about freezing to death in midair, clambered on and wedged himself securely in place.

With a blast of cold air and a roar of wind, Thae'Zirak leapt into the sky.

They flew north-northeast, a direction chosen not by compass or reason but simply because it wasn't back the way they came.

As they passed over jagged cliffs of blue-black ice and frozen valleys filled with the remnants of ancient architecture, Argolaith leaned slightly forward against Thae'Zirak's shoulder.

"Are there any magical plants in the Hollow Bastion?" he asked, voice steady despite the slicing wind.

Thae'Zirak's head tilted just slightly, the wind curling around his words. "Yes. Rare ones. Most were absorbed into the land when the Bastion was formed. They grow in isolated crags, buried beneath layers of frost, or near veins of still-beating ice—bloodroot, soulpetals, iron-bloom, hollowgrass…"

Kaelred perked up behind them. "Wait, what's hollowgrass?"

"A plant that feeds on ambient emotion and uses it to lure creatures into feeding it their warmth," Thae'Zirak said. "It weeps when no one is nearby."

"…Awesome. We should definitely pick a few for the campfire."

Argolaith ignored the banter. "I want to find some," he said simply.

Thae'Zirak beat his wings once and adjusted his angle. "Then we'll search. But be warned—these are not gentle herbs. Many bite back."

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Argolaith gave a faint smile. "I'll take the risk."

Thae'Zirak wheeled downward toward a particularly deep chasm that cut into the crust of the land like a scar. Its interior shimmered with greenish light, where the snow did not touch and the wind dared not enter.

He landed on a narrow ledge, frost crunching beneath his claws.

Argolaith dismounted and took a slow breath. The air here was heavier—dense with magic. It tasted strange, almost metallic, like breathing in moonlight and rust.

The cliffs around them rose high, crowned with jagged icicles the size of spears. Along the stone, clusters of moss glowed faintly, and thin vines spiraled up from the ice, curling toward unseen warmth.

Malakar stayed back to watch, violet eyes tracking every shift of the walls. Kaelred followed Argolaith, knives drawn—not because he expected a fight, but because this place had teeth, and they didn't always show them.

Argolaith stepped toward a patch of low-lying plants sprouting from between two massive slabs of obsidian ice. The leaves were glassy, sharp-edged, and shimmered with alternating shades of violet and green.

"Dreamveil," Thae'Zirak said from behind. "Rare. Distorts perception. When brewed properly, it allows a person to see their own memories as if watching them unfold." He paused. "Improperly brewed, it drives men mad with false futures."

Argolaith knelt beside it and carefully cut the stem with his dagger, placing the glowing plant into a sealed pouch. His fingers tingled from the contact.

They continued on, deeper into the chasm, collecting hollowgrass (which let out a soft whimper as it was plucked), a cluster of frostbane pods that emitted a numbing cold, and a single stalk of iron-bloom—its petals as hard as forged steel, vibrating with power.

By the time they returned to Thae'Zirak's side, Argolaith's satchel was heavier with rare magic flora, and the hollow air of the chasm seemed lighter somehow—as though the plants themselves had offered part of their silent blessing.

Argolaith climbed back onto Thae'Zirak's back, the satchel carefully secured. Kaelred muttered something about haunted herbs and "snow that screams," but his grip was firm and his boots, notably, remained blessedly scent-neutral.

As Thae'Zirak took to the air once more, Argolaith turned his gaze to the horizon.

Still no call. Still no direction.

But the journey continued. And now, he had gathered something rare from the depths of a place most never returned from.

Not lifeblood. Not a trial.

But knowledge. Potential. The beginning of something yet unseen.