CHAPTER 468: JOURNEY (2)

Lindarion’s gaze flicked down. The ground beneath the apparition pulsed faintly with black veins, not natural corruption, but concentrated mana lines woven in a pattern. They spread outward like a net, reaching into the forest’s heart.

"A projection field," he whispered. "Whoever created it... used her essence as a template."

Ashwing hissed softly. "So Dythrael?"

"Or something that serves him."

The apparition stepped forward. Her feet didn’t disturb the ground, not even a hint of displacement. Her eyes, though, those were alive. They searched him as if she were remembering something half-forgotten.

"You shouldn’t have come," she said.

Her tone was quiet, not threatening, mournful.

"I didn’t come for safety," Lindarion replied. "I came because I won’t let the world burn while I still draw breath."

"You’ll die," she said. The voice wavered, like a candle struggling against a draft. "You’ll die like he did."

Lindarion’s hands clenched. "Who?"

The figure didn’t answer. Instead, her body flickered, her form breaking apart for a heartbeat, then reforming. When she spoke again, it wasn’t Luneth’s voice anymore. It was deeper. Male. Cold.

"You still carry your father’s arrogance."

Ashwing bristled instantly. "Dythrael."

The world around them darkened, shadows creeping up from the earth, swallowing the forest. The air thickened, heavy with that same wrongness Lindarion had felt since entering the southern reach.

Lindarion didn’t draw his sword. He stood perfectly still, his golden eyes locking onto the projection. "So you’re watching me now. I wondered how long it would take."

The voice chuckled through the mist, not booming, not loud, but suffocatingly certain.

"Watching? No, little sun-born. I merely dream. The world quivers in my sleep, and even gods tremble at my breath. You... are nothing but a ripple."

Lindarion’s expression didn’t change. "A ripple can erode mountains if it never stops."

That earned a pause, then quiet laughter, soft and venomous.

"I see your father’s eyes in you. The same fury. The same refusal to kneel. Tell me, did he ever tell you how he begged?"

Ashwing’s tail lashed violently. "Liar!"

The mist shuddered as the projection turned its false gaze toward the dragon. "Little hatchling," it said. "Your scales still shine too brightly. You’ll learn, in time, that your master’s defiance is a curse he will pass down to all who follow him."

"Enough," Lindarion said. The word came out calm, but the ground beneath his boots trembled slightly, reacting to his restraint. "You use her form. You speak in borrowed voices. If you were truly awake, you wouldn’t need to hide in mist and memory."

The projection’s eyes, once Luneth’s, now glowed with silver fire. "Bold. Arrogant. Pointless. You stand at the edge of the second dawn and still think will alone can shape the tide."

Lindarion reached into the air, and shadows gathered around his arm, slow, deliberate, forming the outline of a blade that glowed faintly with light from within. "I shape what stands in front of me. You’re no tide."

Ashwing’s voice flared in his mind. "Wait! If you hit it, it’ll retaliate through the mana field—"

Too late. Lindarion moved.

His strike was silent, one clean arc that cut through fog and light both. The air split with a low hum as the projection’s body fractured into shards of luminous dust. The black veins beneath the soil cracked apart, the lines disintegrating like ash in wind.

The forest exhaled all at once. The shadows receded. The silence returned.

Ashwing landed on the ground, sniffing. "It’s gone. Completely gone."

"No," Lindarion said softly. "Not gone. Just... dispersed. It was anchored to a ley line. Someone’s watching through it."

The dragon frowned. "You think Dythrael can see through the roots of mana now?"

"I think he’s learning how."

For a moment, they stood in the empty clearing, the last remnants of the illusion flickering out like dying embers. Then Lindarion sheathed his sword and looked south again. The air there shimmered faintly, dark red, heavy with distance and danger.

"Come," he said. "We’ll rest an hour, then move again. The next boundary should be the edge of the Verdant Expanse."

Ashwing grumbled but followed, wings flicking with irritation. "And here I thought Lorienya was supposed to be the last peaceful place left."

Lindarion glanced up at the dim glow filtering through the canopy. "Peace never lasts. It only changes form."

As they walked back toward their camp, the wind stirred once more, faint but heavy, whispering through the branches.

A single phrase reached Lindarion’s ear, spoken in a voice that was both Luneth’s and not.

"You can’t save what’s already been claimed."

He stopped only long enough to whisper back, "Then I’ll take it back."

And the forest answered with silence.

The Verdant Expanse stretched before them like a sea of rotting emeralds. Once, it might have been beautiful, lush plains of knee-high grass rippling beneath a sun that kissed every blade with gold. Now, it was an open wound in the land.

The trees stood half-dead, their bark pale and weeping with black resin. The soil steamed faintly where the sun touched it, and every gust of wind carried the faint, metallic taste of mana that had turned sour.

Ashwing circled overhead, his small form gleaming in the dull light. "Smells awful," he complained. "Like someone boiled mana until it went bad."

"It’s corruption," Lindarion replied. His voice was even, though his eyes scanned every motion in the grass. "When the ley lines twist too long without balance, this is what happens. Life survives, but only by consuming itself."

He crouched, touching the soil with gloved fingers. The texture was wrong, too soft, almost pulpy, and warm as living flesh. The ground pulsed once beneath his hand, faint but deliberate.

Ashwing landed beside him, peering down. "It’s breathing."

Lindarion withdrew his hand and wiped it clean on his cloak. "Yes. Which means something large is buried beneath."

They moved carefully across the field, their boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. Around them, broken pillars jutted from the ground, remnants of demi-human architecture. Scales of dragon bone were etched into the stonework, faded by time but still glimmering faintly with residual enchantment.

"The demi-dragons built this region as a sanctuary," Lindarion murmured. "It was supposed to stabilize mana flow for their kind. But when they vanished..."

"Everything went crazy," Ashwing finished. "Like someone cut the strings holding the world together."

Lindarion gave a small nod. "And if this corruption is spreading, then Dythrael’s influence may already be seeping through the old conduits."

They walked for what felt like hours. The sky above them turned a sickly bronze as the day waned, and with every step the air grew heavier. The faint hum of mana built beneath their feet, a resonance that vibrated through their bones.

Finally, they reached the edge of a ravine. The ground fell away into a vast, glowing chasm lined with roots as thick as city walls. Light bled upward from the depths, green, gold, and violet, weaving together like veins of fire.

Ashwing fluttered to the edge and peered down. "It’s... huge. I can’t even see the bottom."

"It’s one of the ancient arteries," Lindarion said quietly. "The ley lines that carried mana to the southern lands. The demi-humans must have built their cities around it. Now..." He gestured to the pulsating roots. "...it’s a conduit for something else."