God's Tree-Chapter 199: The Name Beyond Silence

The grass beneath his boots was soft as breath.

The mist curled like fingers around his ankles.

And ahead, the land seemed to shift with every step—like a dream not yet decided on what it wanted to be.

Argolaith pressed forward.

He had walked for what felt like hours. Maybe days. Time here did not move the way it should. The sky did not change. The light never dimmed, but it also never brightened. It was as though the land had paused, waiting for him to decide something.

The Reaper Beast had pointed him this way.

And at first, he'd followed.

Through silver streams that whispered his name.

Past trees that bore fruit shaped like old memories.

Over flat stone paths carved with ancient promises he didn't remember making.

Eventually, he saw it.

A tree.

Not massive, not twisted—but perfect. Too perfect.

Its trunk gleamed like gold veined with pearl. Its branches shimmered with translucent leaves, each glowing faintly with inner light. And hanging from the lowest bough—

A single vial.

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Already glowing.

Already waiting.

Argolaith stopped.

His breath hitched.

Everything about the tree said finality. Completion. Reward.

But something inside him twisted.

This isn't right.

He took a step forward—and the wind around him fell utterly silent.

The moment his boot touched the ground, the grass beneath his feet darkened.

The mist shifted.

The scent of the air changed—sweet, almost too sweet.

It felt… staged.

His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.

He narrowed his eyes, stepped forward again—and looked closely at the vial.

The liquid inside wasn't lifeblood.

Not truly.

It shimmered like it, glowed like it, but there was no weight, no pressure, no resonance. It was light without fire. Magic without will.

It was bait.

And the tree?

It was beautiful, yes.

But the kind of beauty that demanded obedience. That called not to the soul—but to the greed.

Argolaith stepped back slowly.

And then it clicked.

This tree was never meant to be claimed.

It wasn't his fifth.

It wasn't a destination.

It was a test.

A trap for the arrogant. The impatient. The desperate.

A creation, or perhaps a conjuring, meant to ask one question:

How far would you go to seize your final reward?

Would he steal it?

Would he take what wasn't his, just to finish?

He turned his back to the glowing tree.

And walked away without a word.

The mist shifted again—but this time, it parted completely.

And beyond it, he saw it.

Not light. Not glory.

Just a road.

A worn, narrow path marked by twisted roots and broken stones, leading through shadowed hills and far into the unknown.

The secret realm.

The place the Reaper Beast had guarded.

The place beyond Morgoth—truly beyond.

Argolaith exhaled slowly.

And smiled.

"That was clever," he said to no one in particular.

Then, with resolve surging through his limbs, he walked toward the path.

Toward the true fifth tree.

The path wound downward into a place that did not belong to the world Argolaith had known.

The air was thinner here—but richer somehow. Saturated with ancient memory. The light that filtered down was not sunlight, nor moonlight, but something in between—like the sky remembered starlight from a dream it once had and refused to forget.

Argolaith walked with measured steps.

The false tree was long behind him now, and with each stride into this deepening realm, the world changed more. The grasses no longer bent to wind, but to awareness. The stones along the path hummed beneath his feet. Even the distant trees watched—quiet, patient.

He had stepped into the true Lands Beyond Morgoth.

And it was alive.

Then he saw it.

Another table.

Simple, elegant, unweathered. Its surface was carved from blackwood that glinted faintly with iridescent veins, as though constellations had been pressed into it long ago.

Seated at the table was the Reaper Beast.

But it had changed.

This time—it had a face.

Pale and angular, with skin like marble and veins of glowing silver just beneath the surface. Its eyes were not human, but they held form now—solid, piercing, endless. They shimmered with a kind of sorrow that could not belong to beasts.

It did not speak as Argolaith approached.

Argolaith did not bow, nor demand anything. Instead, he reached into his storage ring, carefully retrieving a bundle wrapped in silvered cloth.

Inside—three dried tea blossoms.

Each one impossibly rare.

Everember Bloom, found only at the heart of scorched forests where phoenixes died.

Moonroot Spiral, grown under moonlight reflected from obsidian lakes.

And Veilshade Orchid, a flower said to only bloom where shadows whisper the names of the dead.

He placed them gently on the table.

"For the one who guards what no one understands," he said quietly.

The Reaper Beast stared at the offering.

Then it extended one long hand and, with reverent care, took the tea bundle into its palm. For a moment, nothing moved.

And then—it nodded.

A single, slow dip of the head.

Acceptance.

Argolaith watched the gesture closely.

Then he met the creature's gaze.

And asked—

"What is your name?"

The world held its breath.

Even the wind stopped.

The Reaper Beast tilted its head slightly. The faint shimmer of its facial markings pulsed in thought. When it spoke, it was not in words, but in a tone that shaped words—a resonance that etched itself into Argolaith's mind like a carving into stone.

"I was called many things, long before the realms fractured."

"But I have kept only one name since the first seal was placed."

A pause.

And then—

"Vaerith."

The name echoed not in sound—but in soul.

A name bound to silence. To exile. To ancient duty.

Argolaith whispered it once.

"Vaerith."

The Reaper Beast—Vaerith—watched him silently, the shimmer in its eyes deepening.

And then it said, with something almost like respect:

"You are the first to ask."

Argolaith sat across from it.

And the Lands Beyond Morgoth… waited.

The tea sat untouched between them now.

Argolaith and Vaerith.

The boy walking between trees and time.

The being older than the seals that held the world together.

The garden had grown still again—but not cold. There was a calmness here now. Not the quiet of fear or reverence, but the stillness that comes when truth is about to be spoken.

Vaerith sat back, long fingers folding over one another. His eyes, twin wells of unfathomable light, flickered once. Then he spoke—not as a guardian, not as a beast—but as something that remembered.

"This realm…" he began, "…is not a place born of earth or flame. It is a wound in space. A sanctuary. A prison. A forgotten echo of what once was."

Argolaith listened, silent, still.

Vaerith continued.

"What you have stepped into is not merely land. It is a suspended shard of reality, hidden beyond the fabric of the known world. Inside it are stars… dying and reborn. Planets… hollowed and breathing. Whole skies that curve inward upon themselves. You have entered a space larger than Morgoth by a thousandfold."

The weight of the words settled into Argolaith's bones like stone.

Vaerith gestured to the sky—or what passed for sky in this place. The soft gray peeled away, revealing slivers of galaxies turning slowly in the far distance.

And at the very center, faint and veiled in starlight—

A Tree.

Vast.

Impossible.

Rooted not in soil, but in space itself.

Its trunk coiled through the vacuum like a spiral pillar of life. Its branches wove around stars. Its roots touched worlds that no map had ever marked.

Vaerith's voice dropped lower.

"That is the Heartroot. The Tree that binds this realm. The Tree that holds the shattered corners of space from crumbling apart. Its bark bleeds gravity. Its leaves hum with the music of stars."

He paused.

Then added, slowly:

"It has never called to anyone before."

Argolaith stood.

His gaze did not tremble as he stared into the breach—the veil now thin between him and the boundless space beyond.

"I will go," he said. "I'll walk to it. Speak with it. Ask for its lifeblood. And if it carries a burden, I'll help it bear it."

Vaerith's fingers twitched once.

"You would bind yourself to its weight?"

Argolaith looked over his shoulder, eyes steady.

"I've carried less than I deserve. And more than anyone expected. I'm ready to carry this."

A long silence followed.

Vaerith rose.

For the first time since they met, the guardian no longer loomed. He stood tall, yes—but there was no threat. Only a strange and ancient grace.

He stepped aside.

"Then go, Argolaith," he said.

"And may the root accept you."

Argolaith stepped through the parted mist, into the skyless gate of stars.

The space did not bend around him. It welcomed him.

He felt no cold.

Only pull.

Only promise.

Above him—beyond him—the great Tree turned.

And somewhere deep within its endless branches, a single heartbeat stirred in time with his own.