Jacob knew that, by all accounts, he should have felt something, wonder, disbelief, maybe even a flicker of awe, but instead, he felt nothing of the sort.

No quickening of the breath, no wide-eyed revelation, no weight in his chest. Just a dull, quiet disbelief that refused to be shaken. Not even the healthy kind that held room for suspicion, this was simpler than that, colder: he didn't believe it. Not at all.

That his ancestor wasn't human?

Ridiculous.

Absurd, even, and not worth entertaining.

He stared at the World Tree, this towering presence of ancient light in human form, and wondered if it truly expected him to accept such a claim. That it, this entity which had never laid root in the heartlands of Eterna knew more about his lineage than the Skydrids themselves, more than the houses that had existed for centuries in public view, more than the records stored in the Hall of Echoes.

Because if that were true, if his ancestor had never been human, then every record was a lie. And worse, the other noble houses would have known, how wouldn't they, and in knowing, would have ousted them. There was no place in the human sector for a family built on a falsehood like that.

"Why would they push you out," the World Tree said quietly, as if reading his thoughts, "when they themselves are not human? None of the great houses are."

The words landed like a stone, and though Jacob did not flinch, the stillness in his body betrayed how deeply he wanted to reject them. Another lie, he told himself. Another manipulation. But something in the World Tree's voice, unhurried, unembellished kept him from speaking.

"If you are human, as you claim," the World Tree went on, "then explain why all of you carry the same traits, hair colour, eye colour, even the exact same ability. What other human family does that? Does it not resemble something else? Something racial?"

Jacob opened his mouth, ready to deny it again, but the words didn't come. His thoughts faltered. And for the first time, he found himself recalling things, details he'd always dismissed as simple legacy, mere inheritance. He swallowed hard, not because he was afraid, but because the facts were difficult to ignore.

It was true. Outside of the royalty and the other founding families, no noble house carried traits so uniformly. The hair, the eyes, they were all passed down without deviation. And most importantly, the ability.

"If I remember correctly," the World Tree said, his voice still calm but pressing forward with quiet certainty, "your clan possesses the aura of dominance. It sits in your mana like a foundation stone. I can feel it even now, just standing here. That should not be possible for a human. You must know that."

Jacob took a breath, slow and shaky. "It's a gift," he said, carefully. "Passed down from our ancestors."

"A convenient explanation," the World Tree replied, with no mockery in his voice, only observation. "But let's look at the others, shall we? The Slethin family, an odd bunch. They share an ability that siphons life essence during sexual acts. A crude trait, but a consistent one. Perhaps that's why the men and women in that house tend to collect lovers like trophies. I believe the current patriarch has, what? Fifty wives?"

Jacob didn't respond. He knew that was true.

"The Ranti clan," the World Tree continued, unhurried, "are bound to death. Every last one of them. Their very presence echoes the stillness of the grave, and their skin has that ashen hue no matter how well-fed or healthy they are. Then there's the Forne family, rapid regeneration, so strong it borders on immortality. And the Herew clan, with those eyes… eyes that pierce mana, see through illusions, and can almost, almost match the divine in perceptive clarity."

Jacob still said nothing, but he could feel something shifting inside him. Not belief, not yet, but a loosening of the certainty he had clung to so tightly.

"They aren't just quirks," the World Tree said at last, "and you know that. These traits aren't magical talents or well-trained techniques. They are consistent. Reproducible. Inherited. And that doesn't speak of human bloodlines. It speaks of race."

"The royal family," Jacob said quietly, trying to hold onto something solid, something familiar in the wake of all the World Tree's unsettling revelations, "they don't have a shared ability."

The World Tree chuckled softly, the sound like rustling leaves in a windless grove. "Theirs is deeper than that. Let me ask you this, has there ever been a member of the royal bloodline who failed to reach Rank Zero?"

Jacob opened his mouth to answer, but no words came. He didn't need to think it through. The answer was clear, and had been clear for as long as anyone could remember: no. Every member of the Eterna family, without exception, had reached Rank Zero. Some had done it after struggling. Some had done it in circumstances that should have killed them. But all of them, all, had reached it.

Was that what the World Tree meant? Talent? It would be strange, certainly, for a family to inherit talent with such precision, but—

"Not talent," the World Tree interrupted, as though Jacob had spoken aloud. "Fate. Their trait is fate. Fate shields them until they are strong. It guides them toward the right choices, the right people, the right paths. It grants them opportunity, protects them from final failure, pushes them toward power, so long as they do not lose its favour."

Jacob felt something in his chest tighten.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

The idea was absurd. Outrageous, even. And yet…

His mind began to move on its own, dragging in fragments of knowledge, old stories, disconnected theories that had once seemed useless.

The Slethin family, yes their power was peculiar, and had always reminded scholars of succubi and incubi, the ability to draw life force through intimacy. But those races were extinct, annihilated centuries ago, their records buried and discredited.

The Ranti, ashen-skinned, quiet, feared for their connection to death, able to influence souls and necrotic forces. They might as well have been grim reapers, though that race too had long since disappeared from known history.

The Forne, obsessive warriors with nearly limitless regeneration. Their recovery bordered on madness. Limbs grew back in moments, organs repaired themselves with no magic involved. He could not name a race with that as their core trait, but he knew one had to exist.

And the Herew, he remembered learning of a nameless, enigmatic race long ago, one exterminated out of fear, their downfall tied to the terrifying power of their eyes. Eyes that could see through illusions, through lies, through the fabric of mana itself.

Then there was the Eterna family. Fate. Could there really be a race that wielded something so subtle, so all-encompassing, that even the gods might fear it? If such a race had ever existed, of course it would have been erased.

And his own family, the Skydrids. The ability of dominance, the strange uniformity of their traits. What race, if any, had such a power?

None came to mind.

"You are well-read," the World Tree said, a quiet note of satisfaction in his voice. "I'll add it to the rewards I promised. I will give you the names and histories of the races each of the great houses came from."

Jacob narrowed his eyes slightly. "And how do I know you're not just lying to me?"

"It's simple," the World Tree said with a shrug that somehow involved the entire forest around him. "You don't. You can believe me, or you can choose not to. It's your choice. But you're a scholar, are you not? You hunger for knowledge. And this, this is precisely the kind of forbidden history scholars long to uncover."

Jacob didn't respond, but the silence wasn't resistance. He could feel it, his own mind, already moving ahead of him. The promise of new runes, of understanding how they worked. The possibility of control. Of using them without sacrificing his emotions, without breaking his mind apart to wield them.

And now this. Knowledge that not even his fatherseemed to know, secrets so old they had become myth.

His pulse quickened. Not from fear. From curiosity.

He wanted to know. Every part of him wanted to know.

"Don't worry," the World Tree said, its voice calm, almost amused. "It won't be as dangerous as you imagine. In truth, these trials I offer will serve you, each one crafted not only to challenge but to refine, to drag the flaws from your body and your mind until you improve, until you become something more than what you are."

"Why?" Jacob asked, the single word falling from his lips before he could shape it into something more cautious.

"Have I not already said it?" the World Tree replied, tilting its head slightly as though surprised the question had to be repeated. "You, Jacob Skydrid, are interesting. A talent among talents who shuns his gift, a descendant of an old friend, a child raised within Akashic's own kingdom, a scholar, a mage with a talent for the sword. You carry guilt as though it were part of your skeleton, and somehow, for reasons I cannot yet grasp, you came infinitely close and yet remained infinitely far from touching immortality."

It paused there, letting the words settle between them, letting Jacob absorb the weight of that particular phrase.

Something in it caught at him, not lightly, not with curiosity, but like a hook sunk into flesh and dragged hard. Infinitely close to immortality.

His breath hitched slightly as he looked up. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, more forcefully now, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, infinitely close? That's not possible. We failed completely"

The World Tree said nothing, but Jacob could sense the smile in the silence, the quiet smugness behind that calm façade, a subtle curve of amusement that needed no expression.

"What do you mean," Jacob repeated, his voice rising, "how could I have come close to that? It makes no sense."

"Jacob Skydrid," the World Tree said at last, its tone now low and deliberate, "I could tell you. I will tell you… if you play my game."

The silence that followed was not long, not even a heartbeat stretched too far. Jacob hesitated, but the moment of doubt passed almost as quickly as it came.

"Yes," he said. "I'll play. I'll play your game."

"Perfect," the World Tree whispered, pleased. "Then let us seal the agreement."

It raised a hand, the gesture simple, almost comically human, a handshake.

Jacob looked down at the extended hand and only then realized just how far away he had been standing this entire time. Slowly, almost without thinking, he stepped forward, reaching out as he moved.

And as he did, he asked the question that had been forming at the edge of his awareness, something he hadn't quite dared to say aloud until now: "You're more than just a powerful tree, aren't you?"

He reached the hand, grasped it.

And in that moment, the figure of the World Tree changed.

The soft blur of green light solidified into something unmistakably humanoid, a tall figure with pale, almost translucent skin that shimmered faintly with the same green luminescence, long pointed ears, hair like strands of light, flowing and weightless, a white tunic draped across his frame like silk, and glasses perched lightly on his face, framing warm green eyes that radiated impossible intelligence.

"My," the World Tree said, smiling faintly. "What gave me away?"

Jacob couldn't answer. For the first time in a long time, he was speechless. What he saw wasn't merely beauty or strength, it wasn't charisma or presence, it was perfection, a form sculpted without flaw, as though designed rather than born.

And then he felt it, something sharp sliding into his palm where their hands met. It didn't hurt, not really, but it was unmistakable.

"Well then," the World Tree mused, his tone light, almost playful now, "I suppose I should decide how this game of mine will unfold. Let's keep it simple, quests, like in old stories of grand heroes. You complete each one, and I'll give you a reward."

Jacob didn't respond right away. He merely nodded, eyes still fixed on his hand, the skin where the sensation lingered, faint but unmistakable, as though something now lived just beneath the surface.

"Then for your first quest," the world tree continued, "defeat that Arthur boy in a sparring match while using a sword. That should be interesting."

Jacob's head snapped up, brows knitting in surprise, but there was no one left to question. The figure of the World Tree had vanished without a sound or shimmer. All that remained in his field of view were the massive chamber doors, the same ones he had walked through earlier.

He stared at them for a while, thoughtful, then spoke quietly to the empty air.

"I wonder… what's your name?" he asked, voice more reflective than demanding. "It's difficult to keep thinking of you as just the World Tree."

There was no answer at first, only silence thick enough to press against his ears.

Jacob sighed and stepped forward, pressing a palm against the great doors. They yielded easily, swinging open with no resistance, as if they had been waiting.

And just as he passed through, a voice spoke, not aloud, but directly into his thoughts, like a memory that didn't belong to him.

"My name?" the World Tree said, his tone slower now, as if rummaging through a long-forgotten drawer. "It's been so long, I've nearly forgotten it myself… but yes…. Yggdrasil. That was what I was called."

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