God's Tree-Chapter 210: The Final Stair Awaits
The Heartroot had watched him for ages.
Its roots reached across realities, winding through realms where time had no meaning. Stars had died and been reborn. Civilizations had risen, sung their truths, and faded into myth. Countless skies had opened. Countless souls had passed.
But only one soul had climbed this far.
Only one had walked the Stairs of Rebirth without faltering.
Argolaith.
Though he no longer remembered his name—not in the lives he lived, nor in the moment he was born anew with each step—his soul remembered.
And the Heartroot saw it.
Not as memory.
But as evolution.
From the first life in cold steel cities…
To the centuries spent as beast, savior, servant, friend…
From being scorned…
To being worshipped…
To being forgotten…
Each life pressed deeper into his essence.
He had known every shade of love and loss.
He had lived as the oppressed and the ruler, the broken and the healer, the betrayer and the betrayed.
He had been prince and pauper. Soldier and mother. Monster and child.
And with every step—every breath of mortality—his spirit expanded.
No longer did he recoil from suffering.
He listened to it. Learned from it.
No longer did he cling to praise or peace.
He cherished them… and still walked on.
The Stairs of Rebirth did not grow brighter with ascent.
They grew heavier.
Every soul he'd touched clung to him like threads of light—and still, he climbed.
And now…
He was nearing the 10,000th step.
The Heartroot stirred.
Its branches, vast as galaxies, trembled with an emotion that had no name. It was not pride.
Not fear.
But something deeper.
Awe, perhaps.
Or sorrow.
Because the next step… the final step…
Would not be one of life, but of truth.
And truth was heavier than any burden he had ever carried.
When he reached the 9,999th step, he paused.
The void around him was silent—truly silent—not the absence of sound, but the presence of stillness.
He had no body.
No face.
He was soul only now.
Layered with every lesson. Every wound. Every joy and sin and kindness across millennia.
And before him rose the final stair.
Not made of stone.
Not light.
But reflection.
It shimmered like glass, yet pulsed like living bark—made of every life he had lived.
He looked at it…
And for the first time in eons…
He hesitated.
Because this was not a step to walk.
It was a door to pass through only if his soul could bear its own weight.
To take it was to confront all of himself—every version he had been, every failure, every love he'd lost, every sin he'd forgiven in others but not in himself.
The Heartroot spoke.
Not with words.
But with presence.
"This is the final trial."
"To step forward is to become whole."
"But if you are not ready…"
"…you will be broken."
There would be no next life.
No reset.
No return.
Only the shattering of what could not bear to be fully seen.
Argolaith—though he had no name—closed his eyes.
And within him stirred not certainty…
But peace.
He was afraid.
Yes.
But he was also free.
Because he had loved across lifetimes.
He had given when there was nothing left to give.
He had broken and rebuilt and broken again—until what remained was not perfection…
But truth.
He placed his hand on the final stair.
And breathed.
He stepped forward.
The final stair met his soul like a breath drawn in reverse—not pulling him forward, but folding him inward.
And suddenly—
He was all of them.
All at once.
He was the child sweeping metal hallways, feeding broken machines with quiet hands.
He was the beast crouched beneath ash-streaked trees, hunted but unwilling to harm.
He was the savior who died forgotten beneath the temple he built.
He was the husband holding her hand as the garden bloomed around their love.
He was the orphan boy called Scrap, who saved the council that never saw him.
He was tens of thousands more.
A thousand loves.
A thousand deaths.
A thousand versions of courage, of failure, of laughter in the dark and grief in the light.
He saw them all.
Felt them all.
Every scream.
Every kiss.
Every goodbye.
They pressed in around him like a sea of stars collapsing—not crushing, but returning.
"This is you."
"All of you."
And the weight… it was unbearable.
Because how could he carry so much pain?
So much joy?
So much truth?
The light began to crack around him.
Not the stair.
Him.
And then—
He heard the Heartroot's voice.
Quiet.
Within him.
Without demand.
"You do not have to carry them."
"You only have to decide."
"Will you hold them forever—"
"—or will you let them go?"
He stood there in the flood of lives.
And for a moment… he was afraid.
Because letting go felt like death.
A final one.
A true one.
But then he understood:
To become was not to cling.
It was to release.
Not to forget—
But to free what no longer needed to be held.
He opened his arms.
And let them go.
One by one.
The child smiled and vanished.
The beast bowed and turned to wind.
The hero placed his blade down.
The gardener walked back into the stream.
The orphan laughed once—and stepped into light.
And the rest followed.
A parade of souls, of stories, of self.
Not lost.
But returned.
To where they had always belonged.
And as the last fragment of memory faded into starlight—
Argolaith remembered his name.
Not as a title.
Not as a burden.
But as a single note in a long, ancient song.
He remembered who he was before the trials.
And who he had become because of them.
He opened his eyes.
And the final stair was gone.
There was only the Heartroot.
Only silence.
Only peace.
And within that peace… something began to bloom.
Not magic.
Not power.
But light.
Real light.
Born not from fire—
But from freedom.
The Heartroot's voice came one last time.
Not as a command.
But as a truth whispered gently:
"You have passed the final trial."
"You are whole."
"You are ready."
Argolaith smiled.
And for the first time in what felt like eternity…
He stepped forward—
Not as the student.
Not as the soul-in-testing.
But as the one who now held the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes…
And the grace to walk forward unburdened.
