Nysha's tone softened. "Purpose is heavier when no one shares it."

Ashwing flicked his tail, interrupting with a huff. "If you two start brooding again, I'm flying off to find breakfast."

The tension broke, just slightly. Lindarion exhaled, almost a laugh. "Go, then."

The dragon grumbled, flapping away toward the treetops.

When he was gone, Nysha spoke again, her voice lower. "If you fall," she said, "I'll burn half the continent pulling you out."

He looked at her then, properly, golden eyes gleaming faintly under the morning light. "Then let's make sure I don't fall."

She nodded once, then turned to leave.

Lindarion stayed behind a little longer, watching the mist part where the sun began to burn it away. His thoughts drifted, not to Dythrael this time, but to Luneth.

He could almost hear her voice again, the cold precision she carried in every word, the quiet steel behind her composure. They had spoken rarely, years ago, when their realms still traded peace between them. Yet he remembered every word, every glance.

He had never known she cared. Never seen it. But he remembered the way her gaze lingered once, when she thought he wasn't looking.

And now she was in chains, somewhere far beyond his reach.

He closed his eyes. The divine warmth of the World Tree stirred faintly inside him, pulsing against the memory of her ice. "I'm coming," he whispered, too softly for anyone to hear.

The wind answered him, brushing through the leaves like a promise.

When he finally turned back toward the city, the preparations had already begun. Banners shifted through the mist, supplies gathered, armor fitted.

The Lorienyan elves moved with quiet efficiency, their songs muted but steady. Some of them looked toward him as he passed, not with fear, not even with awe, but with something simpler. Trust.

He walked among them without a word, his white cloak trailing faintly behind, gold light flickering beneath its folds.

The peace of Lorienya still held, but it felt fragile now, like glass under too much weight. In two days, it would shatter.

And when it did, the world would remember the name Lindarion of Eldorath, not as a wanderer, not as a savior, but as the flame that walked into darkness without hesitation.

Night came quietly. The city dimmed into soft green and blue lights. Lindarion stood on his balcony again, watching the stars. The constellations of his homeland were faint here, but he knew them by heart, the Hunter's Bow, the Dragon's Spine, the Twin Moons.

He remembered his mother's voice once, long ago, teaching him their names. He remembered Luneth laughing softly beside her, her usual calm broken by genuine mirth. For the briefest heartbeat, that sound returned to him, echoing faintly across time.

Then it was gone.

Ashwing returned and settled beside him again. "You're thinking about her."

Lindarion's gaze didn't move. "Yes."

"You're scared."

"Always."

The dragon tilted his head. "Good. Means you're still sane."

A faint smile touched Lindarion's lips. "You think so?"

"I know so." Ashwing's eyes gleamed faintly. "And you'll find her. You always do."

Lindarion didn't answer. He just lifted his eyes once more to the stars, those silent witnesses that watched all things rise and fall, and whispered to himself,

"Two days."

The wind shifted, carrying his words into the forest below. The roots of the World Tree stirred faintly in response, its ancient song humming deep beneath the ground.

And somewhere far away, beyond the corrupted plains and broken skies, a single chain rattled in the dark, as if it, too, had heard.

The two days passed like the brief silence before a storm.

By dawn of the second, the Lorienyan encampment stretched beneath the high platforms of the forest, rows of pale tents built between roots thicker than towers, glowing faintly with mana patterns.

Armor glinted dully in the filtered sunlight, and faint songs rose from the training grounds: the rhythmic chanting of elven war hymns. It wasn't the grand fanfare of human armies, but a quiet harmony, older and deeper, an invocation to the forest itself.

Lindarion stood at the heart of it all, overlooking the preparation from a raised terrace. His armor was lighter than before, woven from moonsteel and reinforced by the World Tree's sap, gleaming faintly gold beneath the morning light.

Across his back rested his blade Velirath and the bow the World Tree had given him, its string invisible until drawn. His presence alone bent the air slightly, like the pressure of deep water.

But it wasn't arrogance that filled the silence around him, it was reverence. The elves moved around him quietly, not daring to disturb the prince whose hair was white as dawn and whose eyes shone with living sunlight.

Ashwing was sprawled nearby, half asleep, tail flicking with restless energy. "Everyone's so tense," he complained. "You'd think they were marching into death."

"They are," Lindarion said softly, fastening the last clasp of his gauntlet.

The dragon cracked one eye open. "You could sound less poetic about it."

"I could. But I won't."

From below, Nysha emerged through the morning haze, her armor black and scarlet, cloak rippling behind her. She walked with purpose, her gaze sharp, but when she reached Lindarion's side, her tone softened. "The scouts reported again. The blight is spreading faster. A full league overnight."

Lindarion nodded slowly. "Then we won't reach it before it consumes the edge of the forest."

"No. But we can still stop it before it reaches the roots of Lorienya."

He turned his head slightly, studying her. "Do you believe that?"

She met his gaze. "I believe you can stop it."

Ashwing yawned again. "You know, that kind of faith makes him impossible to live with."

"Quiet," Nysha said dryly, flicking her fingers toward him.

Ashwing puffed a small ring of smoke, unbothered.

A messenger arrived, a young brown elf, his face pale beneath the glimmering canopy. "Prince Lindarion," he said breathlessly, bowing low. "The council sends their blessings. King Vaelthorn bids you take a fragment of the Tree's essence. It may shield you beyond the barrier's reach."

He held out a small vial. Inside, a single droplet of golden light pulsed like a heartbeat.

Lindarion took it gently. "Tell the king his gift will not be wasted."

The boy bowed and fled back into the bustle of the camp.

Nysha glanced at the vial. "A shard of the Tree's heart… They must truly fear what lies beyond."

"They should," Lindarion murmured. "The corruption spreads in silence for a reason. Power that hides does not sleep, it waits."

He slipped the vial into the folds of his armor, near his own core. The warmth of it sank through his skin, pulsing faintly with his own mana.