"It's not meant to be liked," Lindarion said quietly. "This was built as a convergence chamber. They used to anchor energy here, hundreds of channels, all pouring into one core."

"Used to?"

He glanced toward a nearby wall. The runes there had melted together, forming a pattern like eyes that had wept molten silver. "Now it bleeds instead of binds."

The air grew warmer as they descended, tinged with the scent of ozone and ash. The walls curved inward until they finally opened into a massive hollow, a cavern vast enough to hold a city.

At its center hung a suspended orb of raw mana, larger than any building above ground. It floated in midair, anchored by streams of energy that arced from the walls like tendrils. The light it gave off was not pure. It flickered between gold and green, streaked with black veins that pulsed like infection.

Ashwing whispered, "Is that the core?"

"It was." Lindarion's voice was low, reverent and wary all at once. "Now it's something else."

They stepped onto a series of floating platforms, remnants of demi-human architecture, still half-functioning. Each one hummed faintly beneath Lindarion's boots, reacting to his presence as though remembering an ancient authority.

When he reached the central bridge, he stopped. The energy ahead was suffocating now, a living presence pressing against his chest.

He lifted a hand, eyes glowing faintly as he extended his senses. His perception stretched outward, threads of mana mapping every current, every distortion. And what he found beneath the surface of the core made his heart still.

There was a consciousness.

It was faint, fragmented, whispering through the mana flow like a voice buried beneath centuries of static. But it was there. Something was thinking.

Ashwing sensed it too. "There's… someone in there."

"Yes."

"Alive?"

"Not in the way we understand it."

A voice, soft and distorted, brushed the edges of Lindarion's mind. "…You… came back…"

His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, though he did not draw it. "Who are you?"

The voice shivered through the air, rippling the surface of the core. "…Guardian… broken… I held the line… until the shadow came…"

"Dythrael," Lindarion murmured.

The voice flickered again, as if recoiling at the name. "…He fed on us. Turned flame to hunger. I am what remains."

Ashwing whispered, "It's one of the guardians… isn't it?"

Lindarion nodded. "The demi-humans built them to maintain the network. But if Dythrael found them…"

"Then he corrupted them," Ashwing finished grimly.

The orb pulsed again, brighter this time. Cracks spidered across its surface, leaking tendrils of green-black flame. "…He is coming… through the rift below… I cannot hold it much longer…"

Lindarion's eyes narrowed. "Then I'll seal it myself."

He stepped forward, placing one hand against the barrier of the core. The energy burned cold and hot at once, chaotic, unstable. His aura flared instinctively in response, gold light meeting corrupted green in a storm of conflicting resonance.

Ashwing leapt back, wings flaring. "Lindarion—"

The sound that followed was deafening, a single note that shook the cavern, splitting the floating platforms in half. The core shuddered violently, and the entire chasm trembled with it.

Lindarion pushed deeper, his mana weaving through the corruption like threads through fabric. His expression remained calm, but sweat traced a faint line down his temple.

He could feel Dythrael's touch within the energy, a signature he would never forget. Cold. Calculating. Mocking.

It whispered through the current, taunting him. "You can mend what I've already claimed?"

Lindarion's voice was quiet, resolute. "I can try."

He summoned the light of the World Tree from within, a fragment of Elyndra's gift that shimmered deep within his core. The golden radiance flared outward, pure and living. Where it touched the corrupted mana, the black veins began to shrivel, retreating with shrieks like dying embers.

Ashwing shielded his face with one wing, squinting. "You're burning through too much—"

"Silence."

The word carried power.

For a brief moment, the cavern's light turned blinding white. Every rune reignited, ancient symbols pulsing with renewed strength. The cracks sealed, not completely, but enough to still the shaking.

When the light finally faded, Lindarion fell to one knee, breath steady but deep. The orb hovered quietly above, its color now a calm, steady gold laced with faint green, balanced, for the first time in centuries.

Ashwing approached hesitantly. "You… did it?"

"For now."

The dragon tilted his head. "Then why do you look like you just swallowed lightning?"

"Because I touched his presence again." Lindarion rose, his eyes gleaming with cold purpose. "And he knows I'm coming."

Ashwing swallowed. "…South, then?"

"South."

Lindarion turned toward the exit tunnel that spiraled deeper into the earth. The guardian's voice whispered one last time, faint and broken: "…Thank you, Child of the Tree… but beware… the southern heart no longer sleeps…"

The prince didn't answer. He only looked down into the dark below, where the air seemed to breathe and the light did not reach.

And then he stepped forward.

The tunnels stretched for miles, narrow arteries of stone winding through the bones of the world. The air was heavy with the scent of mineral and decay, damp with the slow drip of condensation from ceilings so high they disappeared into shadow.

Faint glimmers of bioluminescent moss painted the walls in soft green hues, just enough to mark the path.

Lindarion's boots made no sound. His presence was muted, restrained, even his aura suppressed to a whisper. He moved like water through the dark, his senses stretched outward, feeling every pulse, every shift in the subterranean currents.

Ashwing fluttered beside him, small wings stirring faint dust into motes of silver light. "You sure this is the right way?"

Lindarion didn't answer at first. His gaze flicked to a thin, shimmering thread running along the ground, a vein of dormant mana, glowing faintly like blood beneath skin. "Yes. The current flows south from here. If the guardian's words were true, the next nexus lies beyond these caverns."

Ashwing's tail twitched. "You realize we're basically walking into the beating heart of a corrupted line, right? No lunch breaks, no naps, no pretty elf girls. Just—"

"Darkness," Lindarion finished. "And answers."

The dragon sighed, puffing a small smoke ring. "You and your answers."

They continued downward, the path spiraling through crumbling stone bridges and hollowed chambers that once housed demi-human engravings, murals of dragon-winged figures wielding staffs carved from pure crystal. Some of the images were shattered, others melted, and still others covered in black marks that pulsed faintly, as if alive.