God's Tree-Chapter 211: The Galaxy Maker & The Fusion of Stars

The light of the void dimmed.

Not in loss, but in reverence.

Argolaith stood in stillness, the echoes of ten thousand lives no longer pressing against him. They were gone—but not forgotten. Each one now a thread woven into the shape of his soul.

Before him, the Heartroot stirred.

Its bark shimmered with light older than stars.

Its roots curled through the infinite.

Its pulse was steady—measured in the rhythm of galaxies.

The voice came again.

Warm.

Proud.

"You have passed the final trial, Argolaith."

"And now, it is time."

A branch, slow and silent, lowered from the canopy.

From it hung a single droplet.

It pulsed—not like blood, but like the core of a star.

Silver and violet, gold and shadow.

It shimmered with everything.

Argolaith stepped forward, reaching out—

But the tree spoke again.

"Before you take it… you must understand."

He paused, hand just short of the droplet.

The Heartroot's voice deepened.

"I am not like the other five."

"I am not a thread of the world below."

"I am what watches from above."

"The others were made to judge."

"I was made to create."

Argolaith's eyes widened slightly.

"You hold four lifebloods already."

"You came seeking the fifth. But I am not a fifth."

A long silence.

Then:

"I am the only one."

The droplet shimmered brighter.

"If you take my lifeblood… you may never take another."

"You will be bound to me alone."

"And I will awaken what sleeps inside you—not just magic…"

"…but creation itself."

A breathless pause.

"You will see the unseen."

"Shape what cannot be shaped."

"And in time… destroy, remake, and remember the stars."

Argolaith stood still.

His soul was calm.

No fear.

No doubt.

Only the gravity of choice.

He looked down at the glowing droplet—so small, and yet carrying the weight of something far greater than the world he had once known.

Then he spoke.

Softly. Certainly.

"I choose you."

He lifted the vial—the last of five—and raised it to the branch.

The droplet lowered itself into the opening.

No resistance.

Only acceptance.

And when it touched the inside of the rune-sealed glass—

The void trembled.

The container sealed with a pulse of white light.

The runes etched into its surface changed.

No longer just sigils of flame and containment—

But of vision.

Of boundlessness.

Of beginning.

He held it close, pressing it against his heart.

And for the first time since the journey began…

He felt it awaken inside him.

Not fire.

Not light.

But possibility.

His magic.

His true magic.

Born not of the earth, but of the unseen.

The forgotten.

The infinite.

And then—

He turned to the Heartroot.

His voice low.

"Tell me your name."

There was no pause.

No hesitation.

Only the answer, spoken in a tone that shook the void.

"I am called…"

"The Galaxy Maker."

Argolaith closed his eyes.

And smiled.

"I will remember you."

"Always."

He turned.

And for the first time in thousands of years…

He walked home.

Not as a seeker.

Not as a student.

But as one who had seen the stars within himself—

And answered.

Before the veil between realms could thin—

Before the winds of Morgoth could reach his skin again—

Argolaith turned back.

The vial pulsed against his chest.

It was time.

But not yet.

Not without certainty.

He stood beneath the arching lightroots of the Galaxy Maker, where time moved like a dream and space bent with reverence.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head—not in worship, but in gratitude.

Then, he spoke:

"Before I leave this place…"

"…may I fuse the lifeblood here?"

His voice echoed softly in the silver air.

Calm.

Grounded.

"I would rather not risk a mistake… or an ambush."

He paused. Then added with quiet humility:

"Would you help me do it right?"

For a moment, all was still.

Then the Galaxy Maker answered.

Not with thunder.

But with warmth.

"You are wise to ask."

"The fusion of my blood with yours will not be simple."

"My lifeblood is not of root and soil, but of concept. Of cosmic pulse. Of what came before the world."

A soft hum rolled through the realm as roots unfurled around him—like arms, like memory.

"But here, beneath my branches, there will be no danger."

"Here… you will be protected."

Argolaith stepped forward and removed the vial.

It pulsed brighter now—silver, violet, threads of blue shifting within, like galaxies yet unborn.

He inhaled deeply.

And opened the container.

The air shifted.

It wasn't heat. It wasn't wind.

It was presence.

The lifeblood rose from the vial slowly, like a breath drawn from the universe itself. It hovered between them—Argolaith and the Galaxy Maker—waiting.

The tree spoke again, softly this time:

"Breathe in—not with lungs. With soul."

"Let go of control. Let it become you."

Argolaith nodded.

He stepped into the circle of roots.

Kneeling, he placed a hand on the soft, luminous ground, the other held over his chest.

The lifeblood moved.

Downward.

Toward him.

And then—

Into him.

It wasn't pain.

It was expansion.

As if his blood was no longer bound by flesh.

As if his thoughts brushed against the skin of stars.

Visions flared across his mind—not memories, but blueprints of what could be.

He saw runes he had never written.

Languages not yet spoken.

Materials not yet formed.

Dimensions folded like petals.

But more than that—he saw potential.

Not just in the world.

In himself.

His spine arched.

His breath caught.

His soul ignited.

And then—silence.

Pure.

Holy.

Final.

When he opened his eyes, the lifeblood was gone.

Not lost.

Fused.

His veins glowed faintly—like nebulae hidden beneath skin.

His vision had shifted.

He could see the threads in the air—lines of cause, emotion, memory.

He could hear the thoughts of silence, the weight of unspoken things.

He knew where the realm ended and the next began.

And more than anything…

He felt awake.

The Galaxy Maker's voice returned, low and satisfied.

"You are now bound to me."

"Your magic will awaken in stages."

"It will not overwhelm you, unless you fight it."

Argolaith stood.

And for the first time…

The world did not feel like something he walked through—

But something he could shape.

"Thank you," he said.

The tree's light pulsed softly.

"Go now. Return to your path."

"Let them see what the void has made."

Argolaith turned toward the veil between realms.

One foot in stars.

The other in soil.

And stepped forward.

Toward Morgoth.

Toward the academy.

Toward everything still to come.