CHAPTER 456: BENEATH (6)

But to Lindarion’s eyes, something darker shimmered beneath it, a web of black fissures pulsing faintly westward, spreading like ink through glass.

"Do you see it too?" he murmured.

Ashwing’s eyes flickered gold. "Yeah. It’s faint, but it’s there. It looks... hungry."

Lindarion nodded. "Follow it."

They flew west.

The forest changed quickly as they went. The golden light of Lorienya’s domain faded, replaced by deeper greens and dusky fog. The trees grew denser, older, their trunks thick with moss that shimmered faintly as if absorbing the last vestiges of sunlight.

And still, the dark current flowed beneath them, threading through roots and stones, whispering like something alive.

Lindarion closed his eyes briefly, letting his mana sense extend outward, like casting a net through water.

He felt movement. Not life, but consumption. Dozens, no, hundreds, of smaller currents being siphoned into a singular, distant pulse.

And then, beneath it all, a voice.

—not words, not speech, but something that brushed his consciousness like the breath of a sleeping giant.

"Return what was taken..."

His eyes snapped open.

Ashwing jerked slightly midflight. "Did you hear—"

"Yes."

"That wasn’t just in my head, was it?"

"No."

They broke through the mist and into a clearing of shattered stone, a long-forgotten ruin, its pillars overgrown with roots but faintly glowing with residual mana. The air shimmered like heat haze, warping the light.

Lindarion dismounted, landing soundlessly. He felt the hum grow stronger here, as though the ground itself were a living organ pulsing beneath his boots.

At the center of the ruins lay a circular depression filled with stagnant mana, not golden like the World Tree’s essence, but deep crimson, thick as molten iron.

[System Notice: Residual Mana Pool — Unknown Origin.]

[Corruption Index: 87%. Source Classification—Draconic/Divine Hybrid.]

Lindarion’s heart went still.

He remembered the carvings beneath the Tree. The dragons entwined with elves, creation mirrored in balance. This energy... it was the same lineage, but twisted.

He knelt beside the pool. "This isn’t Dythrael’s work," he said quietly. "This predates him."

Ashwing’s voice trembled. "Then what is it?"

Lindarion’s eyes glowed faintly, gold bleeding into the crimson reflection. "Something that was meant to stay dead."

The pool stirred.

A ripple spread across its surface, and faint shapes began to rise, figures of mana, indistinct, whispering fragments of a language long forgotten. They circled him, half-light, half-memory, bound by the crimson current.

Nysha’s warning echoed in his mind. You’re too calm for someone who just found an ancient reactor feeding on the Tree.

He raised his hand, energy gathering. "Let’s find out how deep this goes."

The crimson light flared, swallowing the clearing whole.

And far away, in the deepest chambers of the Lorienyan council hall, the World Tree’s heart pulsed once, like thunder beneath the earth.

The crimson light burned outward, devouring shadow and sound alike.

For a heartbeat, the world disappeared.

When Lindarion’s vision steadied, he was standing somewhere else.

The ruin was gone, replaced by a vast open plain under a sky of molten red. Great black spires rose from the horizon, glimmering like obsidian veins, and rivers of liquid mana carved their way through the scorched ground. The air smelled of iron, salt, and something ancient enough to remember the first breath of creation.

Ashwing was nowhere to be seen.

[System Notice: Anomaly Detected — Temporal Displacement (Partial). Localized Pocket Plane.]

[Stabilizing Host Core Resonance... Success.]

Lindarion exhaled slowly, testing his balance. His senses stretched outward, tracing the threads of power woven through the air. The energy here was immense, raw and untamed, but unlike anything he had felt even under the World Tree. It wasn’t just draconic or divine. It was both, bound together by something older than either.

He took one cautious step forward, boots crunching over black dust that shimmered faintly with dying sparks of mana.

A whisper rode the wind again.

"Return what was taken..."

Lindarion’s jaw tightened. "Show yourself."

The red horizon pulsed once, like a heartbeat. Then again. And then the ground cracked, mana spilling upward like blood through stone.

From it rose a figure, or rather, the impression of one, an echo bound by light and memory. Its form shifted between scales and armor, between wings and roots, as though unable to decide whether it was dragon or elf or both.

When it spoke, the air trembled.

"You wear the light of the Tree."

"And yet your soul bears the mark of the First Flame."

Lindarion’s hand hovered near his sword, though he did not draw it. "You’re no shade. You’re bound to this place."

The echo tilted its head. Its eyes, two white voids rimmed with red fire, blinked once. "Bound? No. Preserved."

He narrowed his gaze. "Preserved for what?"

"To remember."

The air distorted again, and suddenly visions cascaded through his mind, not his memories, but fragments of something far older. He saw cities of gold and marble built in the skies, dragons coiling through clouds of silver flame. Elves with wings of light walking beside them, shaping forests into living citadels.

Creation, before the sundering.

And then, ruin. The same light turning inward, consuming its bearers. The dragons burning. The elves screaming. The world collapsing into fire.

The echo’s voice became a storm.

"Balance was the law. Creation and Destruction, flame and root. But greed shattered it. The Flame tore free, and the Tree bound it. Now both rot beneath the surface of this age."

Lindarion’s heart pounded, his mind racing. "You’re saying the World Tree and the Flame, they’re connected."

"Two halves of the same soul."

His breath caught. "Then the corruption spreading through Lorienya—"

"—is not invasion. It is awakening."

A cold wind swept through the plain, stirring the red dust into spirals that glittered like embers.

Lindarion stepped forward. "Then why call to me?"

"Because you are born of both."

The words cut through him.

He felt his pulse slow, his golden eyes reflecting the crimson horizon.

"I am elven."

"You are bound." The echo’s voice thundered now, cracking the air. "The Tree blessed you. But the Flame chose you. You carry its seed within your core, dormant, waiting."

The weight of that truth sank into him like a blade.