Lindarion paused before one of them. The mural showed two beings, one of fire, one of shadow, locked in a dance that was neither battle nor embrace. The runes below were half-erased, but he could make out a few fragments: "Balance bound in flame and void. When one falters, the other devours."

He brushed his fingers lightly over the stone, feeling the pulse beneath it. "So they knew."

Ashwing tilted his head. "Knew what?"

"That the ley network was never just energy," Lindarion murmured. "It was consciousness, a weave of wills. They balanced chaos with order, destruction with renewal." His golden eyes narrowed slightly. "And now one side has been devoured."

Ashwing made a low, uneasy sound. "You mean Dythrael."

"Or what he serves."

That silenced the dragon.

They walked for hours more, the silence broken only by the slow rhythm of dripping water and the distant hum of mana currents. Occasionally, the tunnel widened into small chambers, some empty, others filled with the fossilized remains of demi-humans, their draconic features frozen in eternal repose.

Lindarion knelt by one of the bodies. The bones were elongated, the ribs broader than an elf's, the skull bearing faint traces of horn ridges. The skeleton's hands were clasped over its chest, holding what looked like the fragment of a crystalline staff.

Ashwing peered closer. "What happened to them?"

"They sealed themselves in," Lindarion said softly. "When the corruption spread, they became conduits. They let the leylines burn through their bodies to stabilize the flow. It bought the world time."

Ashwing's voice was small. "That's… awful."

"It was necessary." Lindarion rose, his expression unreadable. "They must have known their deaths would keep the surface from collapsing."

"Still doesn't make it less awful."

"No," Lindarion agreed quietly. "It doesn't."

They pressed onward until the tunnel opened into a vast underground plain, a hollow space so enormous it seemed a second world lay hidden beneath the first. Crystalline stalactites hung from the ceiling like teeth, glowing faintly blue. In the distance, ruins sprawled across the cavern floor, the remnants of a once-mighty city.

Ashwing's eyes widened. "That's…"

"The Demi-Human capital," Lindarion said. "Aerynth."

The city was a marvel even in ruin. Towering spires curved like dragon wings, their tips fractured but still majestic. Bridges of crystal connected structures that defied natural geometry, built not for human eyes but for beings who saw the world through the flow of mana itself.

The streets were paved with hexagonal stones that shimmered faintly, as though remembering the footsteps of those long gone.

But amid the beauty was decay. Black roots, not of plants, but of corruption, crawled across walls, digging into stone and crystal alike. The air shimmered faintly with residual mana, heavy and metallic on the tongue.

Lindarion moved through the streets in silence, his golden eyes scanning the shadows. Every corner whispered with old energy, faint voices that lingered just beyond hearing. Some pleaded, some warned, some sang lullabies in languages no longer spoken.

He paused beside a fountain, dry and cracked, where once water and light might have danced in harmony. A single droplet of black liquid still rested at its base, swirling faintly with energy. Lindarion extended his hand and let it hover just above the surface.

A vision flashed through him, not words, not images, but sensation. Screaming wind. A sky split open. Fire raining like rain. A thousand voices crying out as one, then falling silent.

He drew his hand back sharply. The droplet dissolved into mist.

Ashwing landed on the fountain's edge, his scales bristling. "You saw something."

"The fall," Lindarion said quietly. "The moment Dythrael struck them down."

He turned, scanning the distant end of the city. There, beyond the collapsed spires, lay a great stone gate, circular, etched with countless runes that pulsed faintly in sequence, like a heartbeat.

"That's the ley core access," he said. "If any fragment of their will remains, it'll be there."

Ashwing fluttered his wings uneasily. "And if there's something else waiting?"

Lindarion's expression didn't change. "Then it's already waiting for us."

They moved forward again, weaving through fallen towers and shattered archways. Occasionally, echoes flickered in the corner of Lindarion's vision, ghostly outlines of demi-humans walking, laughing, training. The city remembered, even if it no longer lived.

As they neared the gate, the ground began to tremble faintly. The ley current beneath them pulsed erratically, and from the cracks between the stones, faint tendrils of green light began to seep upward.

Ashwing hissed, his wings flaring. "Something's waking up."

Lindarion drew his blade in one fluid motion, the faint hum of voidlight running along its edge. "Then let it rise."

The gate's runes flared all at once, and the cavern filled with sound. A deep, resonant tone, like a drum struck beneath the earth, rolled through the ruins. The stones shook. The air thickened.

From the fissures across the floor, shapes began to emerge, humanoid, twisted, made of crystallized mana and bone. Their eyes burned with emerald flame, their bodies cracking and reforming as they stepped forward.

Ashwing's voice was small but fierce. "Corrupted guardians."

Lindarion's eyes narrowed. "No. Fragments of souls bound to ley energy, reanimated by Dythrael's rot."

Dozens of them now surrounded the gate, their movements jerky, like puppets pulled by broken strings. Their mouths opened in unison, and a chorus of whispers spilled out, not sound, but vibration.

Lindarion raised his sword, light gathering at its edge. "Ashwing," he murmured, "stay above. If I fall, burn everything."

Ashwing's throat glowed with a faint ember. "You won't fall."

Lindarion smiled faintly. "Then watch."

He stepped forward. The first guardian lunged, and light erupted.

The first blow landed like thunder. Lindarion's blade cut through crystal and bone in a single fluid motion, releasing a burst of green energy that evaporated before it touched the ground. The corrupted guardian fell in two halves, dissolving into fragments that hissed as they scattered into the air.

But that was only the beginning.

The rest moved in unison, no breath, no thought, only command. They lunged with jerking grace, their crystal bodies shimmering with unnatural light. Dozens became hundreds, pouring from cracks and shadowed archways, drawn by the pulse of the ley core itself.