Morning light crept into Aria's chamber, pale and cool, filtering through the narrow window slit high above. It was different from the sunlight she knew on Earth; this one seemed muted, softened, as though it passed through layers of leaves before touching her skin. She lay awake long before the guards arrived, staring at the ceiling's patterns of twisting vines carved into the stone.
Her body ached with restless sleep. Every sound in the castle—distant footsteps, the groan of wood, a faint hum under the floor—kept her alert. She could not grow comfortable here, not even in her bed. The silence felt alive, like it pressed against her ears, waiting for her to make a mistake.
When the heavy door opened, she sat up sharply. Two guards entered, expressionless, their armor polished so brightly it caught the pale morning light. They did not speak, only gestured for her to rise.
Aria's throat was dry. "Where are we going?" she asked, but their silence was answer enough.
Her heart pounded as she followed them through spiraling corridors. The halls were colder than she remembered, though torches burned along the walls. She rubbed her arms as she walked, but the chill clung to her skin anyway.
Finally, the air began to change. It grew warmer, heavier, and sweet with the scent of earth after rain. Her unease sharpened into curiosity as the corridor opened wide.
And then she saw it.
The Tree.
Her steps faltered as her eyes lifted higher, and higher still, until her breath caught in her chest. The trunk rose like a mountain carved from pale silver wood, ridged and vast, impossible in scale. Roots thicker than towers curved across the ground, glowing faintly from within, as though veins of fire and starlight ran beneath their bark. Leaves shimmered in the canopy above, scattering light across the courtyard like falling emerald glass.
At its base were rows of Quartie students, their robes in colors of moss and twilight. They sat in clusters, books and scrolls spread across their laps, their voices weaving into low chants. Some leaned against the roots with eyes closed, as if listening for secrets whispered directly into their ears. The tree hummed faintly, its pulse threading through the soil into Aria's bones.
Aria had seen cathedrals in her world, high towers and painted glass that tried to imitate heaven. But nothing compared to this. The weight of it pressed down on her chest, leaving her both awed and terrified.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
The voice came soft, familiar. Aria turned quickly—and exhaled in relief.
"Sira," she whispered.
The girl's smile warmed the cold in Aria's chest. Sira wore a pale robe today, embroidered with patterns like curling branches. Her hair caught the green light from the leaves, making her look almost like one of the tree's children.
"You're here too," Aria said.
"Where else?" Sira's smile widened. She gestured to the gathering of students. "This is where we study. The roots carry memory, they say, and those who learn beneath them… sometimes the tree answers back."
Aria swallowed, her gaze flicking over the students again. "It's… like a school?"
"A sacred one," Sira corrected gently. Her eyes flicked toward the guards lingering nearby. "Not everyone is allowed to step under its branches. Only royals, their kin, and those chosen by the council."
Aria shifted uneasily, her arms wrapping around herself. "Then… why me?"
Sira tilted her head, studying her carefully, as though she too wondered. "Perhaps Lirien has his reasons."
Two girls approached from among the students, robes shimmering in deep green. One smiled brightly at Sira, then at Aria. "A newcomer," she said, her voice musical.
"This is Aria," Sira introduced, her tone warm but careful. "She's… different."
The second girl's eyes widened. "A human," she murmured. Not cruelly—only in surprise. "Rare. Very rare. Lirien must see something in you."
Aria flushed under their gazes, shrinking back. "I don't… belong here."
Sira touched her arm reassuringly. "Don't mind them." Then, turning to her friends, she added softly, "This is Thalen, and Maire."
Maire inclined her head toward the vast trunk. "The Tree of Life welcomes all who mean no harm. Stand beneath it long enough, and you may feel it breathe."
Aria looked up once more. The canopy swayed gently, leaves whispering like waves. The roots pulsed faintly, their glow echoing like the beat of a heart. She shivered, though she could not say why.
Sira leaned closer, her voice dropping into a reverent hush. "This is the heart of Carfein. Every breath we take is bound to it. Wound it, and you wound us all."
Aria's lips parted, but no words came. She felt smaller than she ever had before, fragile beneath something eternal. And though the others walked and studied in ease, her own steps could not settle. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, struggling to shake the unease curling in her stomach.
The guards watched her still. Their silence pressed as heavy as the roots themselves.
And for the first time, Aria wondered if the tree saw her as an intruder too.