The forest grew darker as they traveled further east.

  Not in the way night falls, but darker in spirit — the trees seemed to lean inward, their branches tangling like desperate hands trying to pull back trespassers. The very air was thicker, heavy with an ancient sorrow that made breathing feel like swallowing grief.

  Even Raaka, usually the first to crack jokes or hum tuneless songs, walked silently.

  Yumi muttered a ward under her breath every few steps, her glyphs fizzling in and out of existence like nervous fireflies. Ayra stayed close to Arjun, her swords loose in their scabbards, ready to be drawn in a heartbeat.

  Arjun felt it most keenly: a low hum at the base of his skull. A vibration that wasn’t sound, but memory — someone else’s memories, washing through him.

  It wasn’t just the souls he was seeking anymore.

  Something was awakening.

  Something that had been sleeping long before kingdoms rose and fell, before men learned the names of the gods they worshiped.

  Something that remembered everything.

  They crossed a narrow bridge made of living vines, stretched across a chasm so deep that even light dared not explore it. On the other side, they found a clearing unlike any other.

  A single tree stood at its center, older than imagination itself.

  Its trunk was vast — wider than a fortress tower — and its bark shimmered like onyx under starlight. Hanging from its ancient branches were dozens of masks, each one carved with exquisite detail: laughing faces, weeping faces, snarling visages, serene expressions.

  The masks moved.

  They turned ever so slightly, as if tracking Arjun’s every step.

  At the base of the tree was an altar of stone, cracked and overgrown with moss. Upon it lay a harp, strings gleaming silver.

  A whisper ran through the clearing, soft and pleading.

  Play.

  Arjun frowned. His instincts screamed at him to be cautious — every lesson Ayra had drilled into him said this reeked of a trap.

  And yet... the pull was undeniable.

  Without a word, he stepped forward.

  > [Quest Notification]

  The Song of Forgotten Gods

  Objective: Play the Harp of Echoes. Awaken the Sleeping Court. Face what comes.

  > *Warning: Failure may result in permanent soul damage.

  Raaka hissed. "Uh, buddy? Maybe we think this through?"

  But Arjun was already kneeling before the harp.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  He didn’t know how to play. Not truly. In Bharava, music had been a luxury reserved for temples and the rich. The only songs he'd heard had been the rough chants of beggars, the rhythm of hands clapping broken bowls.

  Still... he reached out.

  His fingers brushed the strings.

  The harp sang.

  The sound wasn’t beautiful.

  It wasn’t even music at first — more like a howl rising from the depths of a wounded world. The masks on the tree shuddered. Some wept golden tears. Others twisted in silent screams.

  The ground shook.

  The forest leaned in closer.

  Ayra, Raaka, and Yumi stood ready, weapons drawn, facing outward — expecting something to leap from the trees.

  But it wasn’t the forest that stirred.

  It was the air itself.

  From the mist, figures emerged — not living, not quite dead. They wore the robes of kings, the armor of generals, the tattered finery of priests. Their faces were carved in sorrow, their eyes hollow and endless.

  The Forgotten Gods.

  The ones abandoned when their worshipers turned to newer, shinier deities. The ones who had once shaped mountains, tamed rivers, whispered prophecies to ancient queens.

  Now they drifted like shadows.

  And they were angry.

  The nearest figure floated towards Arjun. Her face was carved from moonlight itself, and her voice echoed like chimes in a winter storm.

  "Why summon us, Mortal?

  Why tear open wounds that time mercifully sealed?"

  Arjun rose to his feet, heart pounding.

  "I seek to build something new," he said. "But I will not forget those who came before. I will not build my throne atop forgotten graves."

  The gods murmured among themselves, their voices like dry leaves swirling in a windstorm.

  Another stepped forward — a towering figure with a crown of roots and a sword made of flowing water.

  "Words are breath. Easy to shape. Easier to break.

  Will you prove your truth, Arjun of Bharava?"

  Arjun squared his shoulders.

  "Tell me how."

  > [Trial of the Forgotten Court Initiated]

  Objective: Answer Three Questions of the Old Ones. Failure to answer truthfully will result in soul erosion.

  The crowned god’s voice boomed.

  "First Question.

  When power lies within your grasp, and those weaker plead for mercy, what will you choose: dominance, or compassion?"

  Arjun didn’t hesitate.

  "Compassion. Strength without mercy is tyranny."

  The figures nodded, slow and grave.

  The moon-faced goddess asked the second question.

  "Second Question.

  When your own people betray you, staining your dreams with their blood, will you seek vengeance... or forgiveness?"

  Arjun’s heart twisted. He thought of the betrayal that had driven him into exile. The bitterness he still carried.

  He clenched his fists.

  "Forgiveness," he said at last. "But not blind forgiveness. Understanding. Justice. Healing."

  The goddess's sad smile was like a dying star.

  Then a third god stepped forward, one whose form constantly shifted — man, woman, child, beast — as if identity itself was a lie.

  Their voice was many voices.

  "Final Question.

  If you could wield a power so great that no one could ever oppose you...

  Would you still seek the counsel of others, or rule alone?"

  Arjun swallowed.

  He thought of the Karmic Throne. The system guiding him. The temptation to shape the world in his image.

  But he thought, too, of Raaka’s laughter. Yumi’s fierce loyalty. Ayra’s quiet strength.

  "I would seek counsel," he said firmly. "One mind can dream. Many can build."

  The clearing held its breath.

  Then the gods bowed — not deeply, but enough to acknowledge him.

  > [Trial Completed: Blessing of the Forgotten Court]

  Passive Ability Gained: Echo of Ancients

  (Your words carry greater weight among leaders and spirits. Negotiations and diplomacy receive a +20% success bonus.)

  > Karmic Energy Gained: +500

  The harp faded away into mist.

  The masks on the tree fell silent.

  The gods retreated into the mists once more, their forms growing fainter, until they were only echoes again.

  But before they vanished completely, the moon-faced goddess left Arjun with a final whisper:

  "When you hear the Song again, remember:

  Some things lost are meant to stay lost.

  But some must be found...

  if you are to heal the world."

  The clearing returned to stillness.

  Raaka wiped sweat from his brow. "Okay. Not the weirdest thing we've seen, but definitely in the top five."

  Yumi chuckled shakily. "At least nobody tried to eat us this time."

  Ayra just nodded at Arjun. A silent, approving nod.

  Arjun stared at the tree for a long time.

  Some things lost are meant to stay lost.

  He wondered which he would become.

  A king remembered?

  Or a king forgotten?

  He turned away and led his companions deeper into the forest, the whisper of the gods still clinging to his steps.