"World Tree?" Jacob said, the words escaping his mouth before he could stop them, more in reflex than in greeting.

The figure still stood motionless before him, its vaguely human shape composed of interwoven streams of green light that pulsed with subtle energy, humanoid yes, but not convincingly so. He knew this was just a representation, a construct designed not for accuracy but comfort, or perhaps comprehension.

"You are Skydrid," the entity said, or rather conveyed, because the sound wasn't carried through air or produced by a voice. It simply was, directed straight into Jacob's awareness, immediate and unmistakable. "Tell me. How did you find the experience?"

Jacob stiffened. "The experience?" he echoed, and for a moment he could feel his hands tremble, as though his body was only now remembering the fear it had endured. "I hated it," he admitted quietly, then louder, "I hated it. Why did you put me through that? Why would you do something like that?"

Now that he knew for certain he hadn't died, that this wasn't some barren corner of the afterlife or a hallucination conjured by madness or exhaustion he finally felt free to express the frustration that had been growing inside him, a helpless, quiet rage that had simmered beneath the fear.

Why would something so ancient and revered place him in a space so blank, so terrifyingly void, so deliberately suffocating?

The entity gave no visible reaction, but something in the atmosphere shifted, like a sigh moving through roots instead of lungs. "You misunderstand," it said at last. "That wasn't something I did to you. You placed yourself into that condition."

Jacob stared, unconvinced. "You're saying you had nothing to do with that?"

"I'm saying that entering a space saturated with mana of this level is not something you can simply do and expect your mind and body to adjust to seamlessly. You are a child standing beneath the weight of a storm, you do not yet have the senses to perceive, nor the stability to endure, what my presence contains. Your experience was not of my design; it was the result of being overwhelmed."

Jacob blinked, struck speechless by the explanation. He had never read anything like that before in any book, and he had read more than most mages twice his age. But as if in response to his surprise, the World Tree continued, almost indulgently.

"Of course you haven't," it said, the tone still even but carrying a faint trace of amusement, or perhaps something more ancient than that. "The mana here surpasses what your world's grandest mages have in their special halls, and you… you are the first human to enter this place with strength so feeble."

Jacob opened his mouth to respond, but a thought rose to the surface before he could speak, and his eyes widened in sudden realization. "Wait, how did you know what I was thinking? You read my mind. But… how? I didn't feel anything, there was no magic, no intrusion—"

"It didn't require effort," the World Tree replied, almost tiredly. "You are leaking thoughts. Your mind is untrained, your self-awareness undeveloped. To beings like me, your thoughts are not hidden. They drift like vapors off a boiling pot. There is no need to read, they simply exist, and I see them."

Jacob paled slightly. The thought that had passed through his mind earlier came back to him, the memory of contemplating Samuel's murder, the flash of emotion in front of the king, the presence of rank zeros nearby, powerful enough to peel open a man's soul if they so wished. Had they heard him too? Had he unknowingly condemned himself to some unspoken surveillance?

The World Tree laughed, and it was not a polite chuckle or a restrained expression of amusement, but a deep, resonant sound that seemed to shake the shimmering lines of his luminous form, his body rippling with silent tremors as if the very concept of what Jacob had said had struck him as genuinely absurd.

"Hahah… hahahah," the sound echoed in Jacob's mind, not through air but as a vibration that danced along the edges of thought. "You think I'm a rank zero?" the World Tree managed through his laughter. "Do you really believe that such a measurement applies to me?"

Jacob's response was cautious, instinctively wary of mockery, yet he couldn't stop the question from rising in his mind. "Then… what are you?" he asked, though the answer already loomed somewhere in the back of his thoughts.

He had learned of the rankings above what was traditionally considered the limit for human advancement. Rank Zero was a wall most never breached, but beyond it lay classifications whispered of in libraries and old scrolls, Ascended, Transcendent, Exalted, Demigod, and, at the very peak, Divine.

Even the gods had expressed distaste at the naming convention, calling the upper edge of mortal power divine had always been a point of tension but it was a name that persisted, if only because those who had reached it had proven themselves capable of standing toe to toe with the so-called immortals.

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The only true difference, it was said, was time, gods had an infinite supply of it, while mortals, even at their peak, did not.

"If I must assign a number to appease your mind," the World Tree said, the humor still present in his voice, "then you may call me Divine, though I dislike the term."

Jacob's brows furrowed, his breath catching slightly. "But… you're not the real World Tree," he said slowly, struggling to make sense of it. "You're just a projection, a fragment, something grown from the original. How could you be Divine? What does that make the real one?"

The World Tree hummed, not in amusement this time but in something closer to indulgent patience. "You misunderstand. I am not separate from the World Tree, I am the World Tree. These imitations, as you call them, are not lesser beings with their own minds. They are extensions, roots of the same consciousness. I see through all of them. I speak through all of them. You are speaking to the original."

Jacob went still, unable to immediately process the implication. If what the World Tree claimed was true, if every one of its supposed branches scattered across the world was truly connected to a single conscious entity then the elves had more than a sacred relic at their disposal.

They had access to a Divine-rank being capable of perceiving and influencing countless places at once, one that had been quietly present across continents and centuries.

It was staggering.

"Enough of that, Skydrid," the World Tree said abruptly, his tone shifting as though brushing aside the philosophical weight of its own existence. "I do not usually engage with visitors directly, but you surprised me. You are the descendant of—"

The name that followed was unintelligible, not in the sense that it was garbled or whispered, but in that it simply did not register. Jacob's mind skimmed past it without resistance, like a boat gliding over a gap in the water he hadn't noticed, and yet he knew exactly who the World Tree meant. It was as if the identity had been transferred without the label, bypassing his ears entirely.

"Yes," Jacob replied after a brief pause, more cautious now. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

The World Tree seemed to study him, though it had no face with which to convey expression. "If you are aware of your heritage, then why are you so… limited? Why do you carry yourself like a human, so fragile and so constrained?"

The question made Jacob frown. "I am human. Why wouldn't I act like one?"

There was another pause, then a short, quiet laugh. "You think you're human?" the World Tree echoed, as if it were hearing a child declare itself a bird after jumping off a table. "Ah… Akashic. What an interesting little kingdom you must have created."

Then, with a tone that sounded oddly casual for something so vast, it asked, "Jacob Skydrid, would you like to play a game with me?"

Jacob didn't hesitate. "No."

There was no need for second-guessing, no curiosity that might have made the offer tempting.

He didn't know what the World Tree meant by game, but he had no illusions about it being anything light or safe or whimsical. Whatever that entity considered a game, it would almost certainly be dangerous, on a level he couldn't even begin to comprehend. And he didn't need to risk himself further just to find out.

"Don't be so quick to dismiss the offer," the World Tree said calmly, its voice lowering ever so slightly, though it carried no less weight. "I can assure you, you will want to play. Your rune won't function here, nor anywhere with ambient mana, and not when you're in danger."

Jacob froze in place, his expression sharpening as his mind was about to delve deep into thought.

"True runes," it continued, as though speaking to itself, "I haven't heard that term spoken aloud in quite some time. Still, you should now know the conditions required to use them, especially since I've rendered all your other options inert."

Jacob exhaled, a breath caught halfway between resignation and comprehension. "Emotionless," he murmured.

"Partly right," the World Tree responded, almost approvingly. "But not entirely. You don't need to be devoid of emotion to wield them, only disciplined. Your thoughts, Jacob, leak constantly. So do your feelings. And true runes cannot tolerate that kind of noise. They require clarity. Precision. Containment. When emotions spill out unchecked, the rune structure warps, and what emerges is not what was written. Fire cannot accommodate sentiment, it rejects you."

Jacob opened his mouth, intending to speak, but the World Tree spoke over him, its voice flowing seamlessly

"I'm not telling you to discard your emotions entirely," it said, "only that they must be held tightly, sealed where they can't bleed into the magic. You have to master yourself, not lose yourself. But that sort of training... no, it's not something you'll find among your kind. No one beneath the Ascended threshold can teach it to you. I can. If you play."

There was a brief pause, just long enough to let the words settle before it continued.

"If you accept, I will not just teach you how to harness the true rune you've touched. I will show you other true runes. I will teach you knowledge that has been lost, truths buried beneath centuries of confusion and fear. Each trial you complete will earn you something of value, rewards that won't be arbitrary, but tailored. Meaningful."

Jacob didn't answer. The offer sounded tempting, structured, full of promise. But beneath the surface, he knew there would be danger, and possibly a danger he wouldn't be able to understand until it was too late.

There was still the other path, he could suppress his pride, endure a meeting with Samuel, and force himself to accept the emotionless rune. With enough study, perhaps he could create a tool or artifact to toggle that state, something controlled, something predictable. It would be awkward, inefficient, but safer. And Jacob had never been one to gamble.

The World Tree seemed to sense his hesitation and offered one last push.

"I'll give you something now, before you decide," it said, its tone softening, almost like a whisper drifting through leaves. "A truth you've never been told. Think of it as a gift to sway your decision."

Jacob tilted his head, uncertain but listening.

"Jacob Skydrid," the World Tree said gently, "I do not know why you assume otherwise, but your ancestor was not human. I admit, many generations have passed since then, and your blood has thinned, faded, scattered across lineages. But know this: you are not descended from humans. And if you accept my game, I will tell you what you are."

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