The descent took them deeper than the air itself seemed to want to go.

The marble floor became black stone, smooth, glassy, humming faintly beneath their feet like the veins of a living creature. The glow of the golden veins dimmed to silver, and the faint scent of ozone lingered in the air, sharp and clean, like rain before lightning.

Lindarion slowed his pace as the passage widened into a circular vault. The ceiling was lost to darkness, its height impossible to judge. Runes spiraled across the walls in concentric circles, pulsing with slow, deliberate rhythm, each throb like the heartbeat of something immense buried far below.

Ashwing hovered uneasily. "I don't like this place," he muttered. "It feels like… like something's watching us."

Lindarion's hand went instinctively to the hilt of his blade. His golden eyes glinted in the dim light. "Something is."

Then, without warning—

[Warning: System integrity fluctuation detected.]

[External interference identified.]

[Source: Unknown—Type: Divine/Hybrid Signature.]

The words flashed through his vision in sharp crimson. His mana core pulsed violently, flaring through his body in waves of golden light before stabilizing again.

Ashwing hissed and darted backward, wings flaring. "What the hell was that!?"

"Something old," Lindarion murmured. "And awake."

The air thickened. The shadows stretched along the walls, writhing like serpents. From the center of the vault, the black stone rippled, then parted like liquid silk.

A shape emerged.

At first, it was only an outline, a tall, thin figure with elongated limbs, each movement fluid, deliberate, serpentine. When the light of the runes touched him, the shadows peeled away, revealing pale flesh with scales of onyx and gold winding up his arms and neck. His eyes were narrow slits of molten amber, unblinking and patient.

He wore tattered ceremonial robes, once regal, now scorched with time, and from his back coiled two vestigial wings, translucent like those of a dragonfly, fluttering faintly in the stale air.

His voice, when it came, was like silk dragged across stone, smooth, melodic, but carrying the edge of something far older.

"Ah… I was wondering when you would arrive."

Lindarion's eyes narrowed. "You know me?"

The being tilted his head, his mouth curving into something between a smile and a sneer. "Not you, little heir of light. But I know what sleeps within you. The resonance of that tree… and the blood that burns with dragonfire. You reek of old promises."

[Aether Reading Stabilized.]

[Designation Detected: Entity 'Veyrath, Keeper of the Coiled Dawn.']

[Classification: Demi-God / Serpentine Lineage.]

Ashwing blinked rapidly. "Keeper of the what now!?"

Veyrath's golden eyes shifted toward him lazily. "Ah. A dragonkin. Diminished, but not without charm. You smell of twilight flame. Tell me, child of ash, do you even remember the sky your kind once ruled?"

Ashwing's wings flared defensively. "I remember enough to know you're giving me the creeps."

Lindarion stepped forward, sword half-drawn. "What are you doing here?"

Veyrath's grin widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Waiting. Watching. Counting the days until another who bears the mark of both bloodlines steps through this gate." His gaze sharpened suddenly, slitted pupils narrowing on Lindarion's face. "You carry the World Tree's blessing… and something else. Something not born of this era."

The prince didn't answer, but the faint hum of his mana filled the chamber.

Veyrath laughed softly, a low, melodic sound that coiled through the air like smoke. "Oh, don't look so tense, little dragon-child. I am not your enemy."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I expect nothing," Veyrath replied smoothly, turning slightly to gaze at the glowing runes around the chamber. "Belief is a mortal luxury. I am here because your kind, your ancestors, sealed me within this sanctum when they realized the Demi-Humans could no longer control their own creations."

He spread his arms, and the faint shimmer of divine energy rippled across his skin. "They called me the Keeper. But they feared what I kept."

Lindarion's eyes flicked to the runes. "A prison."

"A promise," Veyrath corrected, his voice now soft, almost reverent. "I was to guard what remained of their essence, their knowledge, their flame. But as centuries passed, I learned something curious."

His gaze returned to Lindarion, unblinking. "The seal weakens when the Tree awakens. When you awaken."

[Warning: Foreign mana attempting synchronization.]

[System Barrier Active.]

[Containment Protocol Engaged.]

Lindarion's system flared again, golden sigils flickering across his vision. Veyrath's smile twitched. "Ahh… so it speaks to you, does it? A little parasite of data clinging to your soul. Curious. I had one once, long ago. It whispered of eternity. It lied."

Ashwing's tail lashed. "You're insane."

"Perhaps," Veyrath said, unfazed. "Or perhaps clarity looks like madness to those still bound by time."

Lindarion raised his sword fully now, its shadow-edged blade catching the faint light. "What do you want from me?"

Veyrath's wings unfurled slightly, his voice lowering into something almost intimate. "Nothing. Not yet. You are a herald, young one. A bridge between what was and what will be. I would simply see… whether you are worthy of what sleeps beneath your feet."

The runes flared suddenly. The entire vault vibrated as mana erupted from the floor in coiling streams of light, circling the serpent-demi-god like a halo.

Ashwing flapped backward with a curse. "Oh, come on, you just had to provoke him!"

Veyrath's voice echoed now, layered with something vast, resonant. "Let us see, heir of Eldorath… if you are still merely mortal."

Lindarion's core surged in answer, his veins lighting with gold and shadow, wings of light flaring faintly from his back for a brief, blinding moment.

The air cracked like thunder.

And in that soundless instant before collision, the ancient vault of the Demi-Humans trembled awake for the first time in ten thousand years.

The thunder of mana met silence so complete it felt deafening.

Lindarion didn't move at first, his stance rooted, steady, the air around him folding inward like it feared to touch him. His blade sang quietly, a low resonance that harmonized with the deeper hum of his core. Veyrath stood opposite, head tilted, the faint curl of his lips betraying amusement more than malice.

"You channel the World Tree's essence through flesh," Veyrath murmured. "I had forgotten how reckless your kind could be."

The floor rippled again, reacting to the demi-god's breath. Stone became liquid for a heartbeat, reflecting both figures in warped, twisting shapes. Then Veyrath struck, not with claws or steel, but with will. The mana in the air bent, pressing downward as though the very world sought to kneel.

Ashwing tumbled backward, cursing. "Oh, hells no, nope, nope, I'm staying out of that." He flared his wings and darted upward, hiding among the higher shadows of the vault.