For a moment, the chamber was completely still.
The only sound was the slow, deliberate hum that pulsed from the roots of the Tree—steady, ancient, unwavering.
Lin Feng's body lay crumpled at the base of the Tree, surrounded by a dark pool of blood. His face was pale, his breath gone. The sharp vine-like root that had pierced his chest shimmered faintly, its tip still embedded in the cold stone beneath him.
Then—
Without a sound, his body began to fade.
Not in a burst of light. Not in a flash of energy.
Simply... gone.
First the blood on the floor began to vanish, as though being absorbed by the stone. Then Lin Feng's limbs blurred, his skin turning translucent, ethereal.
Within seconds, there was nothing left.
The chamber was empty once more.
Only the Tree remained.
Its roots pulsed gently beneath the floor, as if in quiet thought. Its branches swayed, their crystalline leaves catching invisible currents. The glow in its trunk dimmed, but did not fade.
And then—
A new presence stirred.
It was not a sound. Not a voice. Not at first.
A weight filled the chamber, as though the very air had thickened. A presence vast and unseen, older than time, older than the Tower itself.
The Tree did not move.
But then, the presence spoke—deep, resonant, ancient beyond comprehension.
"Why did you do that?"
"You jeopardize the mission."
The words came not through sound, but through the space itself—through stone, through root, through air. A voice without form, vibrating through every atom of the chamber.
The Tree responded in its own way—calm, unhurried.
"I know who he is."
A long pause followed.
The air seemed to tighten further. The unseen presence pressed closer, more forceful.
"You know?"
"By what measure?"
"On what grounds do you claim certainty?"
The presence shifted, its tone sharp, angry.
"You gave him the test. You know that violates the rules."
"You know the risks."
The Tree remained still, its light unwavering.
"I know," it answered. "But I am certain."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
The unseen voice deepened further, growing cold.
"We administer these tests for one purpose only."
"One purpose."
"And your recklessness may cost us dearly."
The air vibrated with tension.
"You will face punishment."
"You know this."
The Tree's glow pulsed once—soft, steady.
And then it answered:
"Only if I am wrong."
The chamber remained heavy with silence after those words.
Only if I am wrong.
The presence did not withdraw.
Its weight remained, pressing down on the space between the roots and the stone columns, through the ancient pathways that laced the Tower's foundation.
For long moments, no further words came. No light shifted. The Tree stood silent, calm as always.
Then the voice returned—slower now, controlled, but edged with quiet fury.
"You have interfered."
"You acted without council."
"You violated protocol."
The words echoed through the chamber, filling every inch of space.
"Why now? Why this one?"
The Tree pulsed faintly. Its branches swayed once.
"Because it was necessary," the Tree replied.
"Because no others could."
A low vibration passed through the floor, deeper than sound.
"Necessary?"
"You presume too much."
"It was not your place to choose."
The presence gathered itself, as if preparing to strike—or to judge.
But still, the Tree stood unmoved.
"I do not presume," it said quietly.
"I see."
Again, the air thickened.
"See what?" the voice demanded.
"There is no proof. No certainty. Only risk."
A long pause.
"You have risked all of us," the presence said darkly.
"And you will answer for it."
The Tree did not resist.
Its next words were simple.
"If I am wrong."
The chamber seemed to darken, though no light had truly changed. The weight of the voice grew thicker still, settling deep into the floor, into the very foundation of the Tower.
For a long time, there was no response.
Then—
"We do not take this lightly."
"We are bound by the same laws that hold this place together."
"You are bound, as are we all."
The Tree pulsed gently.
"I have not forgotten."
Another tremor—low and resonant—rippled through the air.
"You tread a dangerous line."
"One misstep, and what we guard will fall to ruin."
"Are you prepared to bear that weight?"
The Tree did not falter.
"I am prepared."
"And if your certainty fails?" the voice pressed further.
"If this choice brings collapse instead of salvation?"
"Then I will answer for it," the Tree said.
The presence seemed to shift slightly, though no form appeared—no figure, no face. Only a deeper sense of awareness, watching from every direction at once.
"You are alone in this."
"No others will shield you."
"When judgment comes, it will be yours alone."
The Tree answered again—calm, final.
"Only if I am wrong."