The Voice of the Small Tree

A voice whispered from nowhere and everywhere at once:

"All that you seek lies here."

"Take what you wish."

"No one will know."

Argolaith didn't flinch.

He didn't move toward the weapons.

Didn't bend to examine the plants.

He simply stared into the distance, his eyes narrowing. "Is this it?"

Silence answered.

Then the voice returned—softer, more distant.

"The test is not power.

The test is choice."

Argolaith exhaled. "Then I choose to walk."

And so, he did.

The path was not marked.

There was no road.

But Argolaith walked.

Past swords inscribed with runes of forgotten gods.

Past a golden staff pulsing with the warmth of solar magic.

Past a twisted tree bearing fruits said to grant eternal stamina.

None of it slowed him.