The prayer hall, still humming with the aftershocks of Aiden's impossible tree, gradually settled back into uneasy order. Students shuffled into their original three-row formation—nobles on the left, commoners on the right—though the usual rigid discipline had cracked. Whispers buzzed like flies.
The permanent tree loomed at the center of the marble floor, roots still embedded, canopy brushing stained-glass saints, blossoms slowly opening and closing in hypnotic silence.
No one dared touch it anymore, but eyes kept drifting back—commoners with awe, nobles with something close to fear.
In the commoner line, voices overlapped in hushed excitement.
"I still can't believe it," a freckled boy muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "He grew a whole tree. And it's still here. Like… forever here."
His friend nodded vigorously. "Did you see the colors?"
A girl beside them clutched her uniform sleeve. "He's not human. He can't be. That's god magic. Actual god magic."
