The world stood still.
Emiren could feel space pulsing around him, as if the universe itself had not yet decided which path to take. Before him towered the Tree of Division—created by Ardalys, a new branch of reality that had not yet fully taken root but was already beginning to influence the structure of time. Its branches stretched in different directions: some shimmering with golden light, others dark as obsidian.
Ardalys stood at the base of the trunk, his fingers resting on the bark, which seemed to breathe under his touch. His eyes glowed with two currents of time—one golden, the other black—and something inside Emiren turned cold at that sight.
— Do you see now? — Ardalys’s voice was calm, as if he were not standing on the edge of the world’s destruction but merely explaining an old truth to a friend.
Emiren tried to focus. He still held light in his hand—the last power of the Garden that could cut through the branch and halt the chaos. But Ardalys was right. This was not just a rupture. It was a possibility.
— You’re playing with something beyond our understanding, — Emiren said, his voice hollow in the motionless space.
Ardalys smiled, not as a victor, but as someone who had seen a truth others had yet to grasp.
— We have always been part of someone else’s plan. Creators. Guardians. We shaped reality, but we never had the power to change it as we wished. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?
Emiren said nothing, because the answer was obvious.
Did the Creators truly rule the Garden? Or were they merely maintaining someone else’s order?
The tree trembled again, and suddenly, the space around them shifted.
They were no longer standing among the ruins of reality.
Now, they were in a world Emiren had never seen before.
Towering spires rose into the sky, curved arches shimmered with white light flowing along them like liquid. Overhead, a black, starless sky stretched, filled with countless tiny golden symbols—written as if by an invisible hand.
Ardalys looked at this place calmly, as if he had known it for a long time.
— Where are we? — Emiren asked, glancing around.
— In the depths of Eternity. The place where everything that was and everything that will be is written.
— The Archive?
Ardalys shook his head.
— No. This is what came before the Archive. This is where time had not yet become a stream, but remained a song of possibilities.
Emiren looked up at the glowing symbols in the dark sky, and suddenly, he heard a sound.
Music.
The most incredible melody he had ever heard. It was not made of notes—it was composed of moments that had never happened, events that could have been but were erased before they took root in reality.
Ardalys took a step forward, and the melody changed.
Emiren did the same, and he felt his own thoughts becoming part of this song.
— This place… is listening to us, — he whispered.
— Not just listening. It reacts. This is the heart of Eternity, Emiren. And it has long awaited those who can change its melody.
But before Emiren could respond, everything shifted again.
The spires vanished. The black sky melted away.
They were back before the Tree of Division.
Ardalys sighed.
— Now you know there is another path.
Emiren looked at the tree and felt his doubts growing.
Destroying it would preserve the old order, returning things to the way they were.
But what if that order was just one version of the possible future?
What if this tree could grant freedom to those who had only ever been part of the song, not its creators?
His hand lowered.
The light in his palm faded.
Ardalys watched him closely.
— You didn’t strike.
Emiren nodded silently.
— I cannot destroy something without knowing if it is truly evil.
Ardalys smiled—not triumphantly, but with relief.
— Then you are finally beginning to understand.
And at that moment, the Tree began to change.
Its dark branches started to glow, while the golden ones darkened, blending into a new harmony.
Then, from its roots, another tree sprouted.
Thinner. But equal to the first.
And the world trembled, preparing for a new order.