The Tree That Listens

They stepped through the ring.

It did not shimmer. It did not roar.

It welcomed.

Beyond it, the sky deepened into hues they couldn’t name. The air had weight, not heaviness — presence. Every sound felt like it had been waiting to be heard.

Before them rose the tree.

It stood alone in the center of a valley, its roots sprawled like veins of light threading through the ground. Its leaves shimmered, not gold, not red — something burning without consuming. The wind stirred them, but they made no sound.

Kai took a slow step forward. “It’s alive.”

Sienna nodded, but her gaze was elsewhere — down.

Around the tree, embedded in the earth, were relics: fragments of carved stone, rusted instruments, broken books, lenses cracked and dark. Every piece whispered history.

“This isn’t just a place,” she whispered. “It’s what remains.”

The tree pulsed once, and a circle of symbols ignited in the ground — surrounding them. Each mark flickered briefly with something deeper than recognition.

Kai dropped to one knee. “It’s not just listening.”

Sienna joined him. “It’s asking.”

From the trunk of the tree, a hollow opened — soft, round, edged in firelight.

From within: a voice.

“Memory has roots.
Truth has rings.
You’ve walked the spiral.
Now… will you stay long enough to grow?”

They looked at each other — not afraid, not certain — but ready.

Kai reached for the light.

And the light reached back.