God's Tree-Chapter 228: Into the Fracture

The second bell tolled.

Its sound was deeper than a chime, lower than a song—like the slow hum of a mountain being awakened. The Grand Magic Academy stirred with early risers, students moving through the long halls and open corridors of the upper levels, unaware that thirteen of their most elite were about to cross a threshold few would ever know existed.

At the base of the Dimensional Mechanics Tower, behind sealed stone and layered spells, the hidden classroom pulsed with light.

The Twelfth Gate was open.

A swirling circle of fractured energy now floated within its frame, glowing like cracked glass. It looked incomplete—unstable—and yet it radiated a magnetism that could draw in thought, time, and soul alike.

Argolaith arrived first.

Dressed simply—dark coat, reinforced boots, rune-tight gloves. His face was calm, expression unreadable, and yet… his eyes gleamed with quiet focus.

He stood before the gate, gazing into the swirl of folding space.

It looked like a wound in the world.

A tear between thought and memory.

He'd walked into worse.

One by one, the others arrived.

Ren Vaelor greeted him with a nod of mutual understanding.

Varen Drel carried a double-bladed halberd crackling with bloodruned mana.

Calla Noeth came with two miniature planar anchors hovering behind her shoulders, drifting like silent guardians.

Sorien's illusions fluttered faintly around him like thin veils of possibility.

Nalya Rithis walked like a blade drawn halfway from its scabbard—tight and dangerous.

Taro Alven murmured ancestral rites under his breath, his eyes unfocused and strange.

Jastin Morael carried no weapon—he was the weapon, his elemental aura flaring with each step.

Velka Naruin yawned once, her soul tether dancing lazily behind her.

Kier Daelthorn placed a rune-engraved tower shield against the stone floor with a dull thunk.

Myra Eirsol arrived in silence, no illusions cast yet—but with one hand always near her wrist-bound foci.

Zephion Rehl's familiar—a burning eye encased in rings of wind and ash—hovered at his side, staring at the gate like it remembered it.

And last, Caelene Vex.

Cloaked in a flowing silver void-silk mantle, her fingers traced idle ritual lines through the air as she approached, eyes only flicking toward Argolaith once.

This time, she said nothing.

But she didn't look away.

Elder Mirith stood before them now, her robes darker than the gate itself.

"Listen well."

Her voice silenced even the wind inside the chamber.

"The Twelfth Gate leads to a collapsed pocket world—the result of a spatial rupture caused by a failed ritual conducted two centuries ago. The world within no longer follows consistent laws of time, physics, or identity."

The gate pulsed harder.

"You are to enter, stay together, and locate the core seal—a relic that may be holding the instability in check. If you recover it, or discover its remains, you may return. If you can't, survive long enough to trigger your return beacon."

She lifted a hand.

Thirteen threads of faintly glowing rune-string floated into view, each linking itself to the chest of a student before gently sinking into their skin.

Argolaith didn't flinch.

"One last warning," Mirith said, her tone sharpened. "Not all who enter are real. Not all voices are yours. And the Gate will try to turn you against yourselves before it breaks."

Silence.

Even the cocky ones had nothing to say now.

The Gate was alive.

And it hated anything whole.

Argolaith took one step forward.

The gate shimmered harder as he neared, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

The cube inside his storage ring twitched faintly, sensing the instability—feeding on it, even. Like it recognized the entropy and wanted to unravel it from within.

The others lined up behind him.

No formation had been assigned, but they began to form one anyway.

Kier and Varen near the front for defense.

Calla and Sorien watching the spatial pressure points.

Ren slightly back and to the left—already scanning.

Velka last, her astral form half-flickering into her dream tether.

Argolaith stood at the center.

Where he could see them all.

Elder Mirith raised her hand once more.

"Go."

He stepped through.

For a moment, there was nothing.

No light.

No sound.

Not even pain.

Then—

The world reformed.

Upside-down buildings floated in an ocean of clouds.

Grass grew in the sky.

Stairs led into rivers, and rivers ended in doors.

The sun was a slowly blinking eye. The trees bled ink.

And far in the distance…

A ruined temple.

Suspended on a web of glass and lightning.

It pulsed.

Once.

Calling to them.

The Core Seal.

The world within the Twelfth Gate was a broken reflection of reality.

The sky hung upside down, strung together by bands of lightning like marionette wires. The sun blinked slowly like a tired eye, and islands of stone floated midair—each shifting, drifting, or breaking apart with no pattern or reason.

The thirteen prodigies stood at the edge of a floating path that twisted like a serpent into the distance. The air shimmered with mana, not wild or chaotic, but… wrong. It carried a memory that didn't belong to them.

Argolaith stepped forward first. freewebnσvel.cøm

He placed one foot onto the path.

It held.

The others followed cautiously behind him, some activating wards, others silently casting protective veils.

They didn't speak—not yet.

Every breath felt like it could be overheard by something they couldn't see.

"This place isn't just unstable," Calla whispered. "It's echoing. I can feel spatial feedback in every direction."

Ren was already scanning, eyes narrowed. "I'm sensing eleven… no, thirteen energy signatures. Not us. Or maybe… shadows of us."

Myra let out a sharp exhale. "Illusions?"

"No," Sorien muttered. "Not illusions. Echoes."

Argolaith didn't respond.

He could feel it too.

Every footstep they took seemed to leave behind a second step—a delay that made no sound, but pulsed with faint magical pressure, like their presence was being recorded and reflected back at them.

They moved deeper.

The path curved upward, then sideways, defying gravity. Stone grew moss on its underside, and pockets of time flickered across the landscape—brief windows where moments repeated endlessly, like scenes trapped in broken crystal.

At one corner of the warped trail, they passed a floating table with a tea set.

Still warm.

Still steaming.

But no one had been there.

Not recently.

And yet Argolaith sensed something.

He looked down at the cube nestled in his storage ring. It pulsed—once—like a heartbeat in reverse.

This place was feeding it.

And the deeper they went, the stronger it would grow.

They crossed onto a suspended bridge made of polished obsidian that showed reflections—but the reflections didn't match them.

Myra stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing.

"That's not me."

The others turned.

Each reflection had subtle differences.

Varen's had golden eyes instead of red.

Kier's reflection wore different runes.

Caelene's had no shadow.

Argolaith's reflection stood perfectly still, staring back with a faint smile.

It didn't blink.

"Keep moving," he said.

They crossed in silence.

Then came the first test.

A wall of shimmering light blocked the path ahead.

At its center was a rune-marked arch—carved with the words:

"Only the truth may pass."

Zephion approached it first, eyes narrowed.

"Looks like a barrier rune. I could try summoning my pact entity to disrupt it."

"Wait," Calla said. "Look."

Etched just beneath the runes were thirteen glyphs—one for each of them.

Each glyph pulsed softly, waiting.

"A recognition ward," Sorien whispered. "It wants to know who we are."

Mirith's warning echoed in their minds.

Not all who enter are real.

Not all voices are yours.

The gate was testing their authenticity.

Argolaith stepped forward.

His glyph pulsed once. Then opened.

The light shifted, parting just enough for one body to slip through.

He turned back toward the others.

"It's safe. If you're real."

The others exchanged glances.

Then, one by one, they stepped forward.

Calla's glyph opened. Then Ren's. Then Kier's.

Each in turn.

Until—

Caelene stepped forward.

Her glyph did not respond.

Silence.

The air tensed.

She frowned and stepped closer. "What is this…?"

Varen's hand went to his weapon. "She's not—?"

Then the glyph flared violently—and opened.

Everyone flinched.

Caelene stepped through, eyes narrowed.

"That was late."

Argolaith studied her carefully.

Something had hesitated.

But it wasn't the glyph.

It was her.

Or something around her.

They regrouped on the other side.

But now the ground had changed.

The stone beneath their feet pulsed like veins—feeding mana upward into floating towers of broken crystal. The light above dimmed, and the sun no longer blinked.

It simply watched.

And in the distance, far along the bent horizon, the ruined temple beckoned.

The Core Seal was near.

But now the Gate was watching them, too.

And the first illusions—no, echoes—had begun to shift.

Argolaith looked up.

And for a moment, he saw someone walking parallel to them…

A second version of Kier.

Only this one had no eyes.