God's Tree

Chapter 7 Sanctuary

Argolaith's grip on his sword tightened as the first wave of creatures charged toward him.

Their eyes glowed menacingly, their claws raking the air as they lunged forward.

The forest floor trembled beneath their weight, and their snarls and hisses echoed in his ears. But Argolaith stood firm, his blade flashing in deadly arcs.

Each strike was precise and calculated, a testament to the training that he had endured. The creatures fell one by one, their bodies crumpling into the dirt, but the attacks didn't relent.

Sweat dripped down Argolaith's face as his muscles burned with exertion. His breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps.

He swung his sword again, cleaving through another beast, but for every one he cut down, another took its place.

The weaker ones charged recklessly, driven by desperation or hunger, and fell easily to his blade.

The stronger ones, however, lingered at the edges of the fray, their gleaming eyes filled with cold calculation.

In the shadows, those more intelligent and powerful creatures observed Argolaith with predatory focus.

They recognized the fire in his eyes, the honed skill in his movements.

Though their hunger was great, their instincts told them this fight wasn't worth the risk. Slowly, silently, they melted into the darkness, leaving the weaker ones to their fates.

Argolaith stepped back, his chest heaving. Blood spattered his clothes and sword, dripping onto the ground.

He glanced around, taking in the thinning numbers of his attackers. Relief flickered briefly across his face, but it was short-lived.

"There are too many of them," he muttered to himself, gripping his sword tighter. His voice was low but steady, a testament to his determination.

"I don't know how long I can keep this up. I need to find a way out."

As he scanned his surroundings, his sharp eyes caught a gap in the throng—a narrow space where the beasts were thin in number.

He didn't hesitate. With a burst of speed, he charged toward the opening, his blade slashing through the few creatures that dared to block his path.

Their bodies crumpled at his feet as he pushed forward with all his might.

"Good," he breathed, relief flooding his voice as he broke through the encirclement. "I'm out. Now I need to run. As fast as I can. I need to get out of here.

Argolaith ran, his feet pounding against the forest floor. The trees blurred around him as he darted through the underbrush, the wind whipping through his hair.

His senses were on high alert, every sound amplified, every shadow suspicious. He didn't dare look back. The memory of glowing eyes and snapping jaws spurred him forward.

"They're not exactly a feast," he said, chewing on a particularly tough leaf. "It's like eating a rock." He chuckled despite himself. "Well, I guess this is training for my jaw. Hahaha."

Once he had eaten enough to stave off hunger, Argolaith set out again, determined to find a way out of the forest.

As he walked, the trees grew even older and more twisted, their gnarled branches forming an almost impenetrable canopy. The air was thick with an ancient, unexplainable energy.

That's when he saw it.

In the side of a massive tree, there was a door. It was weathered and overgrown with moss, but it was unmistakably a door.

"Huh," Argolaith said aloud, tilting his head. "That's a weird place to put a door. I'll take a closer look."

As he approached, he noticed that the door hadn't been opened in decades, perhaps even centuries. Its wood was dark and cracked, its iron hinges rusted.

"Maybe I can stay here for a few days," Argolaith mused. "To let my body rest."

Pushing the door open, a wave of ancient energy washed over him, sending a shiver down his spine. He hesitated for a moment but quickly brushed the feeling aside.

"It's dark in here," he muttered, reaching into his satchel for a candle. As he lit it, the flickering flame revealed an interior that took his breath away.

"This... this isn't just a hideaway," he said, his voice echoing in the stillness.

The space inside the tree was vast, more like a house than a hollow.

There were shelves lined with books and jars, tables cluttered with tools and vials. There were rooms—many rooms—each filled with strange and wondrous objects.

"It's nicer than my cabin," Argolaith said with a laugh. "I suppose since no one's living here, I'll make myself at home. But first, I'll look around."

He explored the rooms, marveling at the apothecary's supplies, the rune-smithing tools, and the strange artifacts scattered throughout.

In one room, on the edge of a table, he spotted something that made his heart skip a beat—a shiny black ring.

"Is that...? No, it couldn't be." He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. "It is. A dimensional storage ring. Only those gifted with space magic could craft these."

Curious, he peered into the ring's enchanted space. Inside was a treasure trove: magical plants, shimmering stones, and more gold than he had ever seen in his life.

"For the first time, I feel rich," he whispered, a smile spreading across his face. "But... who lived here? And where did they go?"

As he examined the ring, the candlelight flickered, casting fleeting shadows across the room. For a brief moment, a name became visible on an old cauldron in the corner—Athos.

But Argolaith, too absorbed in his discovery, didn't notice.

"Well," he said, stifling a yawn, "I'll get some sleep first. Tomorrow, I'll figure out what to do next."