A tree, one that would make even the gods look small.
A literal statement in every sense of the word, for if the gods were still alive, they would have had to crane their necks just to stare at it, not even able to see the very top.
They would feel the peculiar humility of being insignificant, perhaps for the first time. A humbling experience for being who was said to have existed before the world itself.
Its trunk was beyond measurement. Beyond comprehension, really. The base of it swallowed the horizon in three directions, golden bark the color of gold, grooved and ancient, each groove wide enough to walk through.
Roots the size of mountain ranges spread outward from it, cracking the earth, reshaping geography simply by existing. The branches, however, were what would take one by surprise.
Each one stretched outward, vast, purposeful, luminous in the strange light that filtered through the canopy above.
