God's Tree

Chapter 63: Whispers of the Dead
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The inside of the inn was hollow and lifeless, yet it carried an unsettling stillness that made the air feel heavier than it should be.

The walls, the floor, even the tables and chairs were made of stone, seamlessly carved into shape without the signs of tools or human hands.

Argolaith ran his fingers over the smooth surface of a table, noting how it lacked even the smallest imperfection. "It’s like everything here was grown, not built."

Kaelred picked up a stone cup, turning it over in his hands. "I don’t get it. Why would they make plates and dishes out of stone?"

Argolaith shrugged. "Maybe they don’t need anything else. Maybe this is just… normal to them."

The air was warm, the heat pressing against their skin like a reminder of how deep underground they were.

But despite the strangeness of it all, nothing felt hostile.

Just forgotten.

After exploring the first floor and finding nothing of note—no signs of food, no personal belongings, just emptiness—they ascended the worn stone steps to the upper level.

Kaelred sighed as he looked at the featureless stone walls. "Why do I feel like we’re not going to find anything useful here?"

Argolaith smirked. "Because that’s how our luck usually goes."

Kaelred scoffed. "Finally, something we agree on."

They found the bedrooms.

Each room contained a stone bed, stone shelves, and even what looked like stone blankets carved into the shape of real fabric.

But in one of the rooms—They stopped cold.

A skeleton lay on the stone bed, its form ancient, its bones dry and brittle from centuries of decay.

Kaelred’s voice was tight. "Okay. That’s not a great sign."

Argolaith narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. The bones were untouched, lying perfectly in place as if whoever this was had simply laid down and never gotten back up.

A creeping unease settled over them.

Kaelred exhaled. "You think it—"

"I could ask it how it died."

The voice cut through the silence, cold and unbothered.

Argolaith and Kaelred froze.

Both their hands flew to their swords, instincts flaring before they even turned around.

There, leaning casually against the doorframe, stood Malakar.

His violet eyes flickered in the dim light, his skeletal fingers folded neatly in front of him, the faintest smirk playing at his skeletal lips.

Argolaith and Kaelred didn’t move, their bodies locked in place.

Kaelred’s voice was low, but sharp. "How long… have you been following us?"

Malakar chuckled, the sound smooth and knowing, like a teacher amused by his students’ slow realization.

"Oh, quite some time," he mused, tilting his head slightly. "Long enough to see your little adventures. Your struggles. Your near-deaths. Very entertaining, I must say."

Kaelred’s grip on his sword tightened. "And we never noticed?"

Malakar grinned. "You did. Just not nearly enough."

Argolaith’s heartbeat was steady, his mind racing through every possibility.

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A Lich. An ancient, calculating undead had been trailing them this entire time.

Malakar stepped further into the room, his cloak shifting like liquid shadow as he gestured toward the skeleton on the bed.

"But back to the matter at hand." He tapped a bony finger against his chin. "If you truly wish to know, I could speak with it. Its soul may be long gone, but death leaves echoes… and I can hear them."

The room grew colder at his words.

Kaelred’s voice was tight with tension. "You… can talk to the dead?"

Malakar’s smirk widened. "Among other things."

Argolaith and Kaelred exchanged a glance, their minds racing.

The Lich was powerful. Too powerful.

And worst of all—

He was amused by them.

Argolaith’s voice was steady, his grip firm on his sword hilt. "What do you want, Malakar?"

The Lich tilted his head, his unnatural gaze unreadable.

"I could ask you the same," he said smoothly. "But for now… let’s say I am merely curious."

His violet eyes flickered toward the skeleton once more.

"So? Do you wish to hear what the dead have to say?"

The air in the stone-walled room grew heavier, thick with an unnatural chill despite the underground heat.

Argolaith and Kaelred stood rigid, their hands never leaving their sword hilts as they stared at Malakar, who regarded them with the same amused patience as a scholar studying two particularly interesting specimens.

At the center of it all, the skeleton rested upon the stone bed, unmoving—yet no longer silent.

Malakar raised a skeletal hand, his fingers curling as dark energy seeped from his fingertips, weaving through the air like ink in water.

"Let us see what memories remain," he murmured.

A low hum vibrated through the air, a cold force pressing against reality, and then—

A voice not their own echoed through the room.

Faint. Brittle. Like an echo across time.

"I was… an explorer. I walked the lands of Morgoth, eager to uncover its hidden truths."

Kaelred stiffened, his breath catching. "It… it talked."

Argolaith nodded slowly, his eyes locked on the skeleton. "An explorer…"

The whisper continued, distant yet filled with an odd humor, as if death had stolen its sorrow but not its pride.

"I was once an elf, proud and daring. I thought myself resilient, untouchable."

A dry chuckle resonated from the Lich as he relayed the next words.

"And yet, here I lay… felled by nothing but stone and air."

Argolaith and Kaelred exchanged uneasy glances.

Malakar smirked. "Do you wish to know how?"

Neither spoke.

The Lich’s violet eyes gleamed as he continued.

"He died in the most humiliating way imaginable. He suffocated beneath the stone blanket."

"The weight pressing against his chest while the heat of this cavern burned his lungs with every breath until there were no more."

Kaelred’s face twisted in disbelief. "You’re telling me… he was killed by a rock?"

Malakar chuckled. "Not just any rock. A stone blanket—crafted for beings who do not breathe as we do. For him, it became a grave."

Argolaith let out a slow breath. "That’s… a terrible way to go."

Kaelred muttered, "I feel bad for the guy, but I also kind of want to laugh."

Malakar’s grin widened. "He would not blame you. If he still had lungs, he might have laughed himself."

The skeletal remains lay unchanged, yet somehow, they felt lighter, as if some burden had finally been lifted after centuries of silence.

The dark energy dissipated from Malakar’s hands, the eerie vibration in the air fading.

Then, as if the magic had sealed its final farewell—the bones crumbled to dust.

Kaelred took a small step back. "Well. That happened."

Argolaith exhaled, rubbing his temple. "An elf who traveled too far… only to meet his end like that."

Malakar let out a satisfied sigh, folding his arms. "A fitting story, wouldn’t you say?"

Kaelred shot him a glare. "That’s one way to put it."

Argolaith, however, kept his eyes locked on Malakar.

"You knew how he died before you even asked, didn’t you?"

The Lich smiled faintly. "Perhaps."

Kaelred narrowed his eyes. "Then why bother asking?"

Malakar’s gaze sharpened, his amusement deepening. "Because knowing something and experiencing the answer are two very different things."

The room fell into silence, tension thick between them.

Finally, Malakar straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from his cloak. "Well then. This has been… entertaining."

Kaelred’s fingers curled around his sword hilt. "Are you leaving?"

The Lich laughed. "Oh, Kaelred. No."

His violet eyes gleamed with something between curiosity and menace.

"I will be watching you both until my curiosity is satisfied."

Argolaith’s jaw tightened. "And when will that be?"

Malakar grinned.

"That depends entirely on you."

A cold breeze brushed past them, though there was no wind in the underground ruins.

The Lich stepped backward into the shadows and vanished.

The room was silent once more.

Kaelred slowly turned to Argolaith. "I hate him."

Argolaith sighed. "Yeah. But we can’t get rid of him."

Kaelred crossed his arms. "I say we at least try."

Argolaith smirked, stepping toward the door. "Let’s survive first. Then we can worry about how to deal with him."

Kaelred muttered under his breath as they left the room, stepping back into the hollow halls of the stone inn.

Somewhere, unseen, Malakar watched—his grin never fading.

The underground air was thick, pressing against them with a stifling warmth as Argolaith and Kaelred stepped out of the stone-walled room, the weight of their recent encounter lingering over them.

Kaelred walked a few paces before suddenly stopping.

"Wait." His voice was sharp, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Argolaith turned to him. "What?"

Kaelred’s frown deepened. "When did we learn his name?"

Argolaith opened his mouth to respond—then froze.

A strange tightness coiled in his chest as he realized…He didn’t know.

Kaelred continued, his voice quieter now. "I don’t remember him telling us. Do you?"

Argolaith shook his head slowly. "No. I don’t."

Kaelred exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Then how the hell do we know it?"

A cold silence stretched between them, the realization was unsettling.

At some point, Malakar’s name had embedded itself in their minds, yet neither of them had any memory of him ever speaking it.

Argolaith’s fingers tightened slightly on his sword hilt. "We’ll deal with that later. First, we need to figure out what’s going on in this city."

Kaelred let out a breath. "Yeah… alright." He forced a smirk. "But if I wake up one day saying his name in my sleep, promise me you’ll kill me."

Argolaith chuckled. "You’re assuming I’d do it quickly."

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