"Not every root grows downward. Some stretch into forgotten lifetimes."
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They told him Nocthera didn't exist.
Even the stars refused to map it.
But when Rhaelor crossed the last dunes of the Dying Wastes, the winds died.
And ahead of him — where no land was supposed to be — stood a towering silver tree.
---
Its bark gleamed like glass.
Its branches curled like smoke.
And its leaves... reflected the faces of those long dead.
His mother. His childhood self. Even Siyara — but younger. Wearing a crown of cinders.
> "This can't be real," Rhaelor whispered.
Yet the moment he stepped into the tree's shadow, the sand beneath his boots shifted.
---
Suddenly, memory twisted.
He was no longer Rhaelor, not exactly.
He was the boy he had once been, centuries ago — standing at this same tree, watching it burn during a war of gods.
He saw himself kneel before it.
Bury something beneath its roots.
A sword.
Not forged by man.
But bled into existence by a forgotten flame deity.
---
He gasped, falling to his knees in the present.
His fingers dug into the sand where he once buried it.
It was still there.
But the tree would not let him take it — not yet.
Instead, the mirrored bark shimmered… and a voice echoed in his head:
> "You have remembered. But she has not forgiven."
> "Forgiven what?" he asked aloud, trembling.
> "The price you paid to protect her."
> "I don't remember what I gave," he whispered.
> "Then look into the tree."
---
He did.
And the bark reflected a moment from a past life.
A battlefield.
Siyara lay dying.
And Rhaelor stood before the gods, his voice ragged:
> "Take my lineage. Take my crown. Take my name from memory.
Just let her live one more life… where she is safe, and free to choose."
The gods agreed.
But only if he was reincarnated without memory, condemned to search for her without knowing why.
---
Back in the present, he screamed into the ashes:
> "And now I remember — so give it back!"
The ground shook.
The mirrored tree split.
And below its roots, the hilt of a black flame-sword rose from the earth.
But before he could grasp it, another vision struck him:
Siyara — her hands stained with fire — walking straight into a death meant for him.
---
The sword will kill a god.
But it may also kill the one he loves.
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End of Chapter 16: The Mirrored Tree That Sleeps Beneath the Ashes
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