The light receded, and sound returned like the slow heartbeat of the world.

Lindarion stood on smooth marble, ancient, polished, unmarked by age. Around him stretched a vast hall of impossible geometry, its walls curving like the inside of a shell. Thin golden lines pulsed through the stone, veins of mana still alive after millennia. The air smelled faintly of ash and rain.

Ashwing hovered, eyes wide, wings half-folded. "This… isn't a ruin," he whispered. "It's like they built it yesterday."

Lindarion's gaze swept the chamber. "No dust. No decay. This place was sealed by time itself." He reached out and brushed a column, his touch made it hum softly, the mana veins brightening as though recognizing him.

At the center of the hall stood a dais shaped like an open hand, fingers curved upward. Suspended above it, weightless, floated a crystal sphere the size of a man's head. Inside it swirled faint gold mist, pulsing faintly in rhythm with Lindarion's own heartbeat.

He stepped closer, his boots whispering against the floor. The walls shifted subtly as he moved, scenes flickering into being along the golden veins, images of winged figures and half-dragon warriors standing beneath a vast silver sky. Battles, rituals, laughter, and fire. A civilization that had once danced with gods.

Ashwing landed lightly on the dais railing. "Is this what the Demi-Humans guarded? A… memory?"

"Not a memory," Lindarion murmured, eyes narrowing. "A core."

He reached out to the sphere. The moment his fingers brushed its surface, light flared, white, blinding, pure.

[Aether Signature Detected.]

[System Interface Synchronizing…]

[Warning: Foreign Code Detected.]

[Analyzing—]

The voice in his mind was mechanical yet ancient, like a choir of whispers inside glass. The light wrapped around his hand, threading into his veins. His golden irises flared, and lines of runic light began crawling up his arm, etching themselves into skin before fading.

Ashwing tensed. "Lindarion!"

He didn't answer. The light deepened until it felt alive, humming through his bones. He saw flashes, not memories, but visions. The Demi-Humans standing before a storm that burned the world. The rise of a figure cloaked in shadow, eyes of molten gold, voice heavy with judgment.

Then, silence.

Lindarion staggered back a step. The sphere's light dimmed again, returning to a gentle pulse. The runes beneath his skin retreated. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself.

Ashwing fluttered anxiously. "What was that? Did it, did it just talk to you?"

"It wasn't language," Lindarion said softly. "It was… understanding."

He turned back to the sphere, and his voice lowered further. "This isn't just power. It's a record. A fragment of the world before the world."

The chamber trembled faintly, as if in agreement.

On the far wall, a doorway revealed itself, arched and alive with faint blue symbols. It hadn't been there a moment ago.

Lindarion sheathed his sword, eyes fixed on the door. "Come."

Ashwing hesitated. "You sure we should just walk into the glowing mystery door?"

"Curiosity," Lindarion said, stepping forward, "built every empire worth remembering."

"Yeah, and also destroyed half of them," Ashwing muttered, but he followed anyway.

The door opened into a long corridor. Unlike the first hall, this one was dark, lit only by the faint shimmer of mana running through etched lines on the walls. The further they walked, the quieter it became, until even Ashwing's wingbeats sounded muffled, like sound itself bowed to the place.

When they reached the end, they found another chamber, smaller, circular. In the center stood a statue: a woman with wings half-folded, her face serene, her hands cupped as though holding something long vanished.

Around her were carvings in an ancient tongue. Lindarion knelt, fingers brushing one of the runes. As he touched it, his mind filled with voices, echoes layered across time.

"…our strength wanes… the sky burns… the Pact must be sealed…"

"…if the First Flame falls, then let our memory guard it…"

"…we were gods once, and still we die as mortals do…"

He withdrew his hand, eyes heavy. "This is where they made their last stand."

Ashwing landed on the statue's shoulder, tail curling nervously. "Against what?"

Lindarion's gaze moved to the carvings. "Something that burned even gods to ash."

A pause.

Then the sphere behind them, the one in the first hall, flared again. A deep note filled the corridor, vibrating through the floor and bones alike.

Ashwing flinched. "I don't like that sound."

"It's not anger," Lindarion murmured. "It's calling."

He turned back toward the hall, eyes narrowing. "It knows I'm here."

"Who?"

"The memory."

He walked back into the larger chamber. The sphere's light had changed, no longer gold, but pale blue. Runes unfolded from its surface like petals opening, spreading lines of light across the floor. They converged beneath his feet, forming a sigil.

[Aether Synchronization Complete.]

[World Signature Updated.]

[Access Granted: Demi-Human Archives, Tier I.]

Information flooded him, streams of knowledge written not in words but in feeling: the Demi-Humans' creation, their bond with dragons, their manipulation of mana veins that wove through the planet's soul. He saw their rise, their arrogance, their final war when they sought to claim the Breath of the World itself.

And he saw how they fell.

A single figure, the same shape he had glimpsed in his vision within the World Tree, turning their own power inward, sealing their essence in the roots of the world so that the flame could not consume everything.

Then the light died.

Lindarion stood silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Ashwing fluttered beside him. "So… what did you see?"

"History," Lindarion said quietly. "And a warning."

He turned toward the far wall, where another set of runes began to shimmer faintly. The path ahead was opening, revealing deeper corridors leading further into the heart of the world.

He reached up to rest a hand on Ashwing's head. "Let's see how deep the gods buried their mistakes."

The dragon grinned nervously. "You really don't get tired of this kind of thing, do you?"

Lindarion gave the faintest hint of a smile. "Not when every secret brings me closer to ending this."

The doors opened once more, and the light swallowed them as they descended further, past memory, past silence, into the places where even the Demi-Humans dared not tread.