The cavern quieted.
The green light of the bark fragment had faded into Argolaith's chest, merging with the pulse of the seed he carried. The chamber, once humming with residual magic, now felt hollow—like something had drawn in a deep breath and was holding it.
Argolaith stood still, waiting.
Malakar observed him silently, while Kaelred leaned against a broken statue, still catching his breath.
Then the air shifted.
The ground beneath Argolaith's boots pulsed once—and the cavern vanished.
Stone became mist.
Dust became silence.
Argolaith found himself alone in a room that had no walls, no floor, no sky. Only pale light and an endless stretch of marble beneath his feet.
He reached for his sword—
Gone.
The seed?
Still pulsing faintly in his chest.
And then—
A voice.
But not from around him.
From within.
"To reach the tree, you must think as it does. Grow as it grows. Adapt."
