After the carriages arrived, their sheer presence demanded attention—bulky behemoths of oak and iron, each reinforced with riveted plating and carved runes long faded with age. It took three powerful draft horses just to pull one of them, their hooves pounding the ground like distant drums of war. Dust rose from the forest floor as the camp was quickly dismantled and stowed. In less than an hour, the procession was ready.
The caravan moved again—this time toward the capital of the Jira Kingdom, a city whispered to be filled with towering spires and political labyrinths. But for now, the only kingdom they saw was the unending stretch of forest and the road winding like a serpent ahead.
Inside one of the war carriages, Ryan sat by the narrow window, the rhythmic creak of wood and chain underscoring his growing unease. A thought had been festering in his mind, and finally, he voiced it. "How are we affording all this?"
Maya didn't hesitate. She pulled a folded scroll from beneath her cloak and laid out the financial records on her lap—columns of inked numbers dancing with grim clarity.
Ryan's face paled as he scanned them. The tension in his brow deepened. "You spent nearly everything we had… on these?"
"They're war carriages," Maya replied, her voice calm but firm. "We can fight from them if needed. If we're attacked, we won't be defenceless. I chose protection."
There was no guilt in her eyes, only the conviction of someone who had seen too many unprepared groups die in ambushes.
Ryan, barely nineteen, bit back his protest. She had thought like a knight—but he couldn't shake the feeling that this decision might crush them. He silently wished she'd let Artesian handle the purchase. Years of studying merchant routes, bargain tactics, and auction halls had made Artesian a natural when it came to coin. Now, survival hinged on earning money in the capital—and quickly.
He leaned back, thoughts racing. Blake's unit would have to be deployed as mercenaries the moment they arrived. Steel and blood, as always, would buy time.
Suddenly, Artesian spoke, breaking the silence. "We're above that river again. Remember how slow we were last time?"
Ryan blinked, then sat up, pushing aside the curtain of the carriage window.
The road ahead twisted like a coiled serpent, clinging to the spine of a narrow mountain ridge. Jagged rocks jutted out from the sides like the ribs of a forgotten beast, and the wind had a sharpened edge, thin and biting against the skin. Below them, impossibly far, the Vanishmoor River shimmered—a sinuous ribbon of sapphire glinting in the dying light. Its surface churned restlessly, glinting with eerie clarity, as though hiding something beneath. Even from this distance, a faint, cold mist rose from the rapids like the breath of the earth itself, curling toward the cliff's edge with ghostly fingers.
The bridge ahead came into view—a fragile crossing suspended in silence. Slats of gray wood, bleached and cracked by years of wind and weather, creaked under their own weight. Thick ropes, mottled with patches of moss and frayed like old sinew, stretched across the chasm, tethering the two cliffs like the last threads of a forgotten tale. The entire structure swayed gently, as if whispering secrets to the void below.
Ryan narrowed his eyes. "What's the deal with that river?"
Maya didn't miss a beat. Her voice was steady, but her eyes flicked toward the mist below. "They say anyone who touches it—bathes, drinks, or even steps into the mist—vanishes. No corpse. No trail. Nothing."
A stillness followed her words, the kind that clings to ancient warnings.
Ryan scoffed, though his gaze lingered on the water longer than he intended. "Fairy tales. It's clear, fast-moving water. No trees, no moss, no signs of decay. That's not cursed—it's fresh. I'll drink it and bathe in it just to end this nonsense."
Maya smirked faintly, her fingers brushing the hilt of her blade in an unconscious habit. "Last time you tried to prove a legend wrong, you ended up fighting a demon."
"Oh..." Artesian's eyes widened. He couldn't tell if it was bravado or truth. Ryan gave a lopsided grin, but didn't deny it.
Soon, the carriage wheels groaned to a halt.
Ryan turned toward the window. Blake's face appeared. "Master, the Vanishmoor is just ahead. We'd like to offer a quick prayer—luck and protection, you know?"
"No breaks!" Ryan shouted. "Everyone stay seated. We're crossing it now. Jira's waiting."
Reluctantly, the others obeyed. The first carriage rolled forward onto the bridge, its wheels thudding against planks that creaked like old bones. The ropes strained visibly, groaning under the weight. At first, it held. But with each passing carriage, the strain grew louder, like a beast exhaling through clenched teeth.
From inside, Ryan watched the ropes—thick, frayed, stretched to their limit. His gut twisted. He leaned out the window and shouted, "Move faster!"
The fifth carriage had barely reached the midpoint when it happened.
Snap.
A single rope at the far end lashed free with a gunshot crack, its frayed threads curling like the tail of a dying whip. A heartbeat later, the second rope gave way with a deep, resonant twang—a sound like a cello string breaking in a funeral dirge.
The entire bridge shuddered, then twisted violently, as though writhing in pain. The wooden slats buckled and splintered with a thunderous groan, their aged bodies giving out all at once. In the span of seconds, the carriages tilted, then slid, dragged like toys toward the hungry chasm. Metal screamed. Horses shrieked.
Ryan's heart plunged as he was hurled forward, the world around him a blur of wind and color. The air roared in his ears, cold and sharp as broken glass, ripping at his clothes and stinging his eyes. In that breathless, suspended moment—a sliver of weightless terror—one thought carved itself into his mind: Not again.
A deep heat flickered beneath his skin, magic licking along his spine like sparks in a storm, flaring in instinctive protest.
Across from him, Maya sat frozen, her eyes unblinking, her face stone-cut and pale, like a statue poised on the edge of shattering. Artesian shut his eyes, jaw clenched, and grimaced—as if he had seen this moment a thousand times in some nightmare he never escaped.
"I knew it," he muttered. "Should've never touched this road."
Below them, the Vanishmoor opened like a maw, wide and ancient, its currents churning with unnatural speed, foaming like the breath of a beast. The water wasn't water anymore—it was something alive, something that pulled, not like a river, but like gravity, dragging bodies and splinters of wreckage beneath its glassy surface.
Those who managed to flee the carriages were seized mid-breath, yanked under by currents that gripped like hands. Screams were swallowed in an instant.
And then—
Silence.
A silence so complete, it pressed on the ears like deep water. A silence that felt… watching.
The last thing Ryan saw before the river swallowed him was a flicker of something beneath the surface. Eyes, maybe. Or shadows. He couldn't tell. But he whispered, almost calmly—
"Here we go again."
And the river lived up to its name.
It vanished them all.
Ryan woke up, soaked to the bone, the cold ground pressing against his back.
His eyes fluttered open to blinding brilliance—a shaft of light that pierced the gloom like a blade. It streamed from a single hole high above, far beyond reach, illuminating the darkness with a surreal intensity. The source was small, but the light it cast was overwhelming, flooding the cavern in a golden hue that shimmered like sunlight breaking through the clouds of a dream.
As his vision sharpened, he realized he wasn't alone.
All around him, the land shimmered with impossible beauty—a cradle of green tucked inside the earth's secret heart. Small trees with silver-veined leaves whispered in the still air, while flowering shrubs spilled petals like scattered jewels across the mossy ground. Fruits, fat and glistening, hung low from twisted branches, their skins glowing in soft hues of amber and plum. The air was thick with the scent of nectar and damp stone, sweet and ancient.
It was an island, serene and impossibly alive, nestled in the center of a colossal subterranean cavern. Around it, the same river that had nearly claimed his life now flowed gently and glasslike, its surface catching light like scattered diamonds, meandering past both flanks as though it had forgotten its earlier fury.
Ryan sat up slowly, grass brushing his fingertips—cool and soft as silk, slick with dew. The carriages were gone, vanished without a trace, as if the earth had simply decided to erase them. But the others remained, strewn across the greenery like fallen statues, their chests rising and falling in quiet rhythm.
The island itself felt endless, a verdant plain stretching farther than it should. One narrow shaft of light—its source hidden far above—pierced the ceiling like a divine eye, casting a glow that made the cavern feel holy, not hollow.
It didn't feel like a cave anymore.
It felt like a sanctum, a place the world had forgotten, where time didn't flow quite the same.
And then—his eyes found it.
At the center of the island stood a tree unlike anything he had ever seen. Towering, eternal, and breathing with power, it dominated the landscape like a god wearing bark and leaves. It was five, maybe six times taller than any tree he had ever known, its trunk broad and furrowed like the hide of an ancient beast, bark streaked with veins of silver and deep green. The roots broke the earth like the fingers of a titan clawing outward, while its branches climbed toward the ceiling until they vanished in light and shadow, as though they'd pierced the fabric of the world itself.
Even from here, it pulsed with a presence—a low, humming stillness, like a heartbeat beneath the soil.
Recognition struck Ryan like a tremor rolling through his chest.
The World Tree.
The tree of legend. The seed of all beginnings. The whispered root of creation, spoken of in fireside stories and forgotten scrolls. And now, impossibly, it stood before him—not painted in myth, but rooted in stone and breath, alive and watching.
Ryan's heart thudded loud in his chest, a drumbeat against the hush. Around him, no one stirred. The silence was weighty, not empty, but expectant, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
A strange unease crept through his awe. This wasn't how things usually unfolded. Danger came first. Then the treasure.
But this...
This felt like standing before something far older than danger
But this time... he had been handed the treasure first. No riddles. No gatekeepers. No challenge. Just a fall from a bridge and an overpriced war carriage—and here he was.
A flash of annoyance flared in him.
It felt wrong. His instincts, honed by years of surviving chaos and pursuit, whispered of something lurking just out of sight. Something always came. Something that hunted him, hated him, or hungered for his death.
He didn't believe in luck.
Setting aside his unease, he rose to his feet and stepped forward, weaving between the scattered bodies of his companions. His gaze stayed locked on the World Tree. With each step, its presence grew—grander, heavier, more profound. There was something ancient in its silence. Something sacred. He felt as if his very soul had been born of it—as if it called not just to him, but to everything that lived.
Within moments, he stood just before it.
The roots alone rose taller than he did, thick and veined like the limbs of giants. From afar, the tree had seemed merely majestic. Up close, it was a living monolith. Its branches twisted high into the unseen heights of the cavern, each leaf catching the golden light like a shard of emerald fire. The air around it shimmered faintly, charged with something unseen—ancient magic, or perhaps memory.
Then—without a sound—an elf appeared.
She materialized like wind forming into shape, and Ryan's hand was already moving to his belt, fingers brushing the hilt of his knife. His eyes locked onto her, every nerve taut with readiness. But she didn't attack. She looked... afraid.
Her jade-colored skin was flawless, like river stone worn smooth by time. Her long black hair spilled over simple robes, and her eyes—green, bright, urgent—met his with an intensity that halted him in his tracks.
"Run," she said, her voice a whisper wrapped in panic. "Leave this place. Now."
Ryan narrowed his gaze. "Who's coming?"
The elf shook her head. "The guardian. The ruler of this sanctuary. You don't belong here. He will not tolerate your presence."
Even in that moment of tension, Ryan couldn't help but marvel at her. There was a quiet, unadorned beauty about her—no earrings, no ornaments—only the raw grace of the forest itself, sculpted into form.
Still, he tried to steady her.
"Calm down," he said gently. "Nothing's going to happen."
But even as he spoke, movement caught his eye.
Figures emerged from the far side of the cavern. Hidden doorways, carved cunningly into the stone, revealed themselves only by the shadows slipping from them. Seven men stepped out. Each one carried an aura that bent the air around them.
Ryan's heart sank. He could feel their strength before they spoke.
One of them radiated the pressure of a mid-sacred realm warrior—another was even stronger, near the peak. The others were not far behind. Seven sacred-level fighters.
He clenched his jaw and stepped forward, slipping his knife free from its sheath. His fingers curled around the hilt like it was part of his body. If this was the trial, he would meet it head-on. If his strength wasn't enough, he had his trump card ready.
As they approached, their expressions shifted.
Shock.
Confusion.
They looked at one another, murmuring beneath their breath. He could feel it—they hadn't expected him. He wasn't part of the script.
Ryan didn't flinch.
Then one of them, the youngest, stepped forward. "You must run," he said sharply. "Get out before he comes."
Ryan glanced back at the elf. The tension in her stance told him everything. They weren't afraid of him. They were afraid of her.
The young man spoke again, urgency lining his voice. "It's strange... he hasn't noticed you yet. You're standing this close to the World Tree, and he still hasn't sensed you. That means you still have time."
His tone darkened.
"Follow the river. On the other side—you can still escape."
Ryan didn't move yet. He watched them carefully. Watched the way they positioned themselves—not to attack him, but as if shielding the tree... or waiting for something much worse.
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Guess what happens next ??
A ruthless fight incoming!! Someone might die.