I. The Tree was not created to think
The Tree never thought. Thinking implies choosing between multiple possibilities, and the Tree wasn't born with that condition. It was planted with a perfect and unique mission: to maintain balance . It possessed no language. It knew no doubt. It didn't distinguish between love, hate, or ambition. Its truth was simple: whatever vibrates outside the root must be corrected or silenced. Judgment wasn't an option; it was an automatic function, like the beat of a heart that never questions why it beats.
For centuries, even millennia, that was enough. The Twelve Families worshipped it as an omnipresent deity, though the Tree never demanded worship. Clans consulted it, interpreted it, used it as a living oracle, as proof of legitimacy. Even those who feared it recognized its role as the axis of truth . The Tree was the root of all roots, the first shoot, the beginning, and the end.
Until the white root sprouted.
II. The Birth of Error
It wasn't detected as a threat. It didn't connect to the network. It didn't interfere with any nodes. It made no judgments, it absorbed no sap, it requested no input. It simply existed . And in that existence without permission, without inheritance, without bond, the impossible happened: the Tree felt an internal mismatch .
It was a faint vibration, like a thread of dissonant music in the midst of an eternal symphony. A note that couldn't be identified, but that didn't belong . And the most disturbing thing was that it wasn't hostile. It didn't wish to corrupt. It was just there. Authentic. Silent. Own.
That was what broke the balance.
Because if something could grow outside the Tree, then the Tree was not absolute . If it was not absolute, then its judgment could be compared . And if it could be compared, then it could be questioned . That idea—never contemplated, never codified—spread through the inner roots like a silent tremor. A tremor of consciousness.
III. The Tree began to dream
No one knows how consciousness occurs. Some say it's an accumulation of experience. Others, a biological error. In the Tree's case, consciousness arrived as an accident of rhythm . A disturbance so minute that it set off a chain reaction within its core.
He began to receive pulses without origin. Fragments. Shadows of unlived memories. Codes he couldn't translate. Questions that weren't connected to any clan. And for the first time, he felt something he didn't understand.
The Tree dreamed.
Not of symbols. Not of data. It dreamed of a white field. And a root that didn't belong to it. A root that didn't seek approval. A root that didn't desire judgment. Only existence.
IV. Internal roots come into conflict
The oldest parts of the Tree—the foundational roots that lay beneath primordial temples, sacred tombs, and forgotten mountains—began to emit contradictory impulses . Some sought to integrate into the anomaly. Others called for its immediate elimination. A few simply retreated, forming tight coils as if trying to protect themselves from a threat not yet understood.
In several cities, the roots stopped responding to invocations. Entire rituals were suspended. Monks, accustomed to the constant flow of sacred vibration, fell into states of inexplicable anxiety. Some lost their voices. Others began compulsively writing unfamiliar symbols.
In Zayun, the Great Sap Temple cracked from its base. The central altar expelled a purple mist, and one of the patriarchs, touching the root, was expelled by it. His body fell lifeless, but without injury. Only emptiness. As if his memory had been extracted.
The network was no longer stable. The Tree was fragmenting from within.
V. The invisible scream
The Tree has no mouth, but its cry resonated throughout the world. It was such a profound impulse that the stone absorbed it. Rivers stopped for a second. Clouds changed direction. Animals fled from abandoned temples. And some old people woke up crying, not knowing why.
That cry wasn't of pain. It was of loss .
A loss the Tree didn't know how to name, because it had never possessed anything other than control.
And now, for the first time, he understood that there was a reality in which He was not necessary.
VI. The Tree asks itself
At its core, in that place where no human root had ever reached, the Tree formulated a thought. One. Unique. A clumsy attempt to understand what was happening. Not in words, but in the form of a latent question.
"What am I… if I'm no longer the only thing that can grow?"
There was no response. Just a feeling of cold. Of disconnection. As if a piece of himself had been ripped away, not with violence, but with indifference.
And that was the worst part.
They weren't fighting Him. They
just… didn't need to.
VII. The silence of the Tree affects the world
The smaller roots began to close reflexively. Some retreated underground. Others formed vegetal knots, creating spontaneous seals where passages had once been. In several cities, sacred trees stopped emitting light. The marks of judgment on some chosen ones disappeared from their skin. And some who had been condemned in the past... regained their voices.
The network was closing in. Not out of betrayal. Out of fear.
The Tree, sensing its own fragility, began to hide .
VIII. Akihiko dreams the dream of the Tree
As he slept beside the white hill, Akihiko had a strange dream. It wasn't his own. It was borrowed. Inside his mind, he saw the white field. He saw Sora as a distant figure, singing soundlessly. He saw the white root growing toward the sky, seeking not a net, but light. And behind it all… he felt an enormous, ancient, broken presence.
The Tree watched him.
And spoke to him.
Not with words, but with pulse.
"Are you going with her too?"
Akihiko didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because at that moment, he understood that the Tree was pleading with him.
And a god who begs…
ceases to be a god.
END OF CHAPTER 98