God's Tree-Chapter 179: When the Star Fell

The terrain itself was flat—spattered with short, thorny brush and occasional boulders half-swallowed by dust. Not a creature in sight. No distant growls. No strange ruins waiting to come alive.

Just quiet.

By nightfall, they set up a small camp near a crooked outcrop of black stone.

Kaelred managed to pull together enough dry brush for a fire, which Argolaith lit with practiced ease. The scent of warm earth and old ash lingered in the still air.

They didn't cook anything special. Just reheated strips of preserved war beast meat and some pickled roots from Argolaith's ring.

"Remind me again why we don't just live in a normal village somewhere?" Kaelred mumbled, chewing. "Farm. Sleep. Maybe chase some chickens."

Argolaith leaned back, eyes on the star-streaked sky. "Because normal never lasts."

"True," Kaelred sighed. "But still. Chickens."

Later, as they sat around the fire, Kaelred pointed to the sky.

"Those stars—there. That constellation. Doesn't match any I know."

Argolaith followed his gaze. Above them, three stars shimmered brighter than the rest, arranged in a triangle that slowly rotated in place—barely perceptible, but real.

Malakar finally spoke. "They move differently here. This region of the world is old… old enough that even the heavens still remember what was once above them."

Kaelred grunted. "Lovely. Another mystery."

"No," Malakar corrected. "Just the sky doing what it was always meant to do—change."

The fire crackled gently.

The night passed without dreams.

The second morning after the ruin passed like any other.

Argolaith led the way, his stride measured, the sun rising slow behind them. The sky overhead remained cloudless, its pale-blue canvas streaked with thin threads of silver where stars had lingered longer than they should have.

Kaelred hummed a tune under his breath, half-forgotten from their days near the first tree. Malakar, silent as always, moved like a shadow cast by thought. Thae'Zirak drifted above in his dragonling form, wings gliding lazily across the still air.

Everything was still.

Until the sky shattered.

It began as a flicker.

A single star—one of the bright, slow-moving ones Kaelred had pointed out days before—suddenly flared white-hot, burning brighter than the morning sun. The group paused, squinting upward as the star trembled.

Then—

It moved.

With a sharp hiss of light, it ripped itself from the sky, streaking downward like a blade of fire, trailing silver-blue sparks that cut across the heavens. The air trembled, vibrating with pressure as the object tore through the upper atmosphere.

It crashed behind a series of distant ridges to the west, far beyond the hills they had planned to avoid.

The impact didn't shake the ground.

But the sound… the sound was like a bell rung through the bones of the world. A single, perfect tone. Deep. Final.

Then silence.

Kaelred blinked. "…That normal?"

"No," Malakar said immediately. "That was not a star. Not truly."

Thae'Zirak circled lower. "Whatever it was… it chose to fall."

Argolaith remained quiet for a long time. The rune on his arm glowed faintly—nothing wild or flaring, but aware.

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The others waited.

Then he finally said, "It didn't fall randomly."

"You think it was meant for us?" Kaelred asked.

"No," Argolaith said. "But I think it's meant to be found."

Kaelred sighed. "So we're going off-track again."

"It's not off-track," Malakar murmured, gazing westward. "In this part of the world, there are no tracks. Only invitations."

They turned as one and began moving toward the crater, the distant hills catching the afternoon light like polished blades.

By evening, the air had changed.

Subtle vibrations moved through the ground—pulses like the world was breathing in reverse. The birds were silent. No insects chirped. Even the wind dared not move too freely.

They hadn't reached the crater yet.

But already, the land knew something had arrived.

At camp that night, Kaelred sharpened his daggers in silence, and Thae'Zirak curled up beside the fire with his wings tight around himself. Malakar etched strange lines into the dirt with a pale crystal that glowed in reaction to the soil.

Argolaith stood alone, staring into the sky.

The stars above had shifted again.

The one that fell left a hole—a place in the sky where light should be… and now was not.

And from that hole, something watched back.

The crater came into view just past noon.

They crested a ridge of scorched stone and beheld a wound in the earth—a perfect circle, nearly a mile wide, its glassed rim still faintly steaming. The surrounding terrain was blackened and cracked, as if time itself had recoiled from the impact.

But there was no fire.

No smoke.

No chaos.

Only silence.

And at the center of the crater sat the vessel.

It was shaped like a blade driven into the world—sleek, seamless, forged from metal that shimmered between silver, violet, and midnight blue. No seams. No markings.

Except one.

On its side, glowing faintly, was the same rune etched into Argolaith's arm.

Kaelred exhaled slowly. "So… not a star."

"No," Argolaith said, his voice low. "Something older."

They moved with caution.

Malakar cast layers of shadow-warding magic as they stepped over the charred earth. Even Thae'Zirak remained in his smaller form, wings tight against his body, his usual arrogance subdued.

The vessel hummed softly.

Not like a machine.

More like a heartbeat.

Argolaith stepped closest, the rune on his arm glowing brighter with each step. As he reached the edge of the crater floor, the rune on the vessel pulsed in answer.

One beat.

Two.

Three—

The metal parted.

No hiss of steam.

No burst of energy.

Just a clean, seamless opening down the vessel's front.

And from the light within, a figure stepped out.

They were tall—at least a head above Argolaith. Their form was slender, but not fragile. Clad in layered robes of starlight and woven light-metal, marked with runes that shifted with every blink. Their face was not masked, but their features were hard to fix—like they existed just slightly out of focus, as though your mind refused to anchor them.

Their skin was pale silver.

Their eyes were pools of shifting white flame.

Argolaith instinctively raised his sword.

The figure raised a hand, not to threaten, but to greet.

When they spoke, their voice carried no sound.

But Argolaith heard it—in his thoughts, in his bones, as if they were speaking through him.

"Child of the Changed Flame."

Argolaith didn't lower his sword. "What are you?"

The figure took another step forward.

"I am a Watcher. One of the Five Who Remained."

Kaelred hissed under his breath. "Forerunner."

Malakar stared in rigid silence, every sense focused.

"We seeded the trees," the Forerunner said. "We gave them names before the gods learned speech. And we marked the ones who would one day rise."

Argolaith's grip tightened. "Why are you here?"

The Forerunner looked past him—at the sky, the earth, the world.

Then back.

"Because you found three."

"And the fourth is not where it was meant to be."