No, not a god. Because a god can’t be split, or hurt, or wounded by mortals. But it’s the closest thing to one I’ve ever known, ever felt, ever dreamed of. It gives magic to the entire world, visiting each witch in their dreams when they’re ready for it. It’s the same one that Lucien saw in his dream before becoming a witch. Nightsinger, Varia, the High Witches—all of them. They got their magic from this wounded Tree. Such powerful magic, from a wounded thing.

Such a powerful, torn soul.

“Are you the one who sent me those dreams?” I ask the branches softly.

I don’t get an answer, but the scent of lavender-vanilla tickles my nose, and I suddenly don’t need one.

Yorl stops in what must be the center of the ruin, his paws hovering over the red tile line in the earth. He bends down, and we gather around him. Just in front of his clawed toes is a hole, barely the width of two humans. It slithers down into a shallow cave, the light of the Tree and the flowers illuminating the dimness inside enough to see something sticking out of the earthen wall of the cave—something that looks to be made of pearl. It snakes in and out of the soil, a single strand, the origin of it shimmery and not-quite-real like the Tree above is, but the very end…the very end is solid wood. Solid, white-ish wood like birch, with veins of what look like pearlescent sap.

It’s a root.

And it’s split.

At the very bottom of the hanging root is a rift, the wood curling off in two different directions. The wishbone split itself is open and raw, bleeding pearl liquid onto the thirsty ground in a steady drip.

“It’s…smaller than I thought it would be,” I admit.

“Something that tiny did all this?” Malachite quirks a brow at Yorl, and the celeon nods.

“The First Root, of the first thing to ever grow on Arathess. The origin of perhaps all sentient life.”

“All sentient life?” Mal wrinkles his nose. “Isn’t that a little much?”

“The Wave gave celeon sentience.” Fione bends down to look at the root, mousy curls bobbing. “And the Wave was magic. A combine witch spell. Who’s to say the Tree of Souls didn’t radiate enough magic over time to turn humans sentient? Or beneathers? It’s just a hypothesis, but it’s not an undue one.”

Muro said the Tree of Souls gave us all its own soul, at the beginning of time. The roots I saw in that vision, connecting all of us… I stare at the pearl-bleeding thing, my own bones aching. It’s so close. I can’t do what I need to without Varia here, though. But neither can Lucien split it again. A Tree has to be here to affect the First Root.