CHAPTER 475: VEYRATH (1)

Lindarion braced, the impact of Veyrath’s aura slamming into him like a tidal wave. His boots scraped against the stone, sparks flying where his power resisted the pressure.

Golden light burst from the sigils on his hands, weaving into concentric circles around his form, protective arrays manifesting instinctively.

Veyrath’s eyes gleamed. "Ah... you have learned restraint. Most would lash out. You fortify. Admirable. Predictable."

He raised one clawed hand and made a simple motion, an elegant, serpentine flick of his wrist. The runes on the walls shivered, then leapt free of their stone confines, swirling in the air like living calligraphy.

Each rune carried power, fragments of long-forgotten laws, and together they began to orbit him like a storm of silver scales.

Lindarion stepped forward, blade rising. "You test me, not fight me."

Veyrath smiled faintly. "A test is a fight, young heir. But not all fights are meant to end in blood."

He gestured again, and the runes dove toward Lindarion. They didn’t strike, they sought. Searching his mana signature, probing his limits, analyzing every fluctuation in his aura.

The system flared.

[Foreign process detected.]

[Attempting invasive synchronization.]

[Countermeasure deployed.]

Golden circuitry etched itself across Lindarion’s forearms, glowing like molten rivers beneath his skin. He swung his blade once, not to cut, but to command, the steel flaring with both shadow and light.

The arc of energy cleaved through the incoming runes, not destroying them but redirecting them, forcing them into a spiral that bent back toward Veyrath.

The demi-god’s grin widened. "Good. You think like a warden, not a weapon."

He caught the returning runes in one palm and crushed them. The resulting flare of energy filled the chamber with white fire, illuminating ancient murals across the vault’s walls, depictions of dragons entwined with elves, of trees growing from seas of stars. The air thrummed with a thousand forgotten prayers.

"Who built this place?" Lindarion demanded over the rising wind.

Veyrath’s answer was almost gentle. "Your ancestors. And mine. We were one, once."

He stepped forward. The scales along his shoulders shimmered like mirrored glass. "We shared breath with gods and burned with the same flame. Then arrogance split us. Elves sought purity. Dragons sought dominion. And the demi-humans, creations of both, were cast aside. You are the echo of that sin."

Lindarion’s grip tightened on his sword. "You think I carry their guilt?"

"I know you carry their potential." Veyrath’s voice deepened, resonant now with undertones of something divine. "You are born of union, not division. The last convergence. The question is whether you will repeat their mistakes, or transcend them."

His aura flared, filling the chamber with light and shadow both. His figure blurred, and suddenly he was behind Lindarion, whispering near his ear: "Show me which you are."

Lindarion spun. Blade met claw. The impact shook the vault.

The force of their collision rippled through the ground in concentric rings, scattering the residual runes like sparks. Veyrath’s expression shifted, interest sharpening into something approaching respect.

"Ah," he murmured, pushing back. "So the Tree’s heir does have teeth."

Lindarion didn’t answer. His eyes glowed like molten gold, and shadows coiled around him in disciplined arcs. Each movement was a reflection of control, not a single motion wasted.

Ashwing called from above, voice echoing off the vault walls. "Hey! Try not to blow up the ancient snake temple, yeah? Pretty sure it’s load-bearing!"

Veyrath’s chuckle rolled through the chamber, low and resonant. "I like that one. Keep him alive, prince."

The comment drew a flicker of irritation from Lindarion. He struck faster, this time his blade split into afterimages, threads of light weaving through air like filaments of dawn. Each cut sang with harmonic resonance, bound by his mana’s rhythm.

Veyrath parried them with bare hands, each block precise, elegant. The space between them folded with each clash, pressure bending light into halos of gold and black.

The demi-god whispered, almost conversationally: "Do you know why they called me Keeper of the Coiled Dawn?"

Lindarion’s sword rang against his arm. "Because you hoarded power that wasn’t yours."

Veyrath smiled thinly. "Because I learned the truth of beginnings. Every dawn is a coil, prince. Every light born from shadow must first devour itself."

He drove a hand forward, not to strike, but to touch Lindarion’s chest. The moment his claw made contact, the world seemed to invert.

[System Sync Disruption.]

[Partial Domain Breach Detected.]

[Warning: Consciousness Layer Shift — External Domain Overlap.]

Lindarion blinked, and the vault was gone.

He stood beneath a sky of serpentine stars, constellations coiling like living creatures. Below his feet stretched a sea of obsidian, reflecting the heavens in impossible detail. And Veyrath stood across the dark water, his form immense now, divine, each movement distorting the very fabric of the plane.

"This," he said, voice echoing across the impossible horizon, "is my memory. The last fragment of what your kind erased. Walk it, heir of light. And see."

The surface rippled beneath Lindarion’s boots. His system pulsed with distress signals, but his will remained iron. He stepped forward.

Veyrath’s gaze followed him, amused. "Good. You walk without hesitation. Perhaps you truly are your mother’s son."

Lindarion froze, but Veyrath only smiled knowingly.

The stars coiled tighter. The sea of black glass began to tremble. Somewhere in that infinite darkness, something vast stirred, a shadowed shape with wings that spanned constellations, older than either of them.

Lindarion’s breath caught. "What is that?"

Veyrath’s expression grew solemn. "That... is what your ancestors tried to forget."

The starlight dimmed. The world began to collapse inward, shattering like glass around the two of them.

And as the illusion fell away, the vault’s walls rushed back, carrying with them the echo of a thousand ancient voices whispering his name.

Lindarion’s blade flared gold again, grounding him back in reality. He exhaled slowly, steady, and raised his eyes toward Veyrath.

"Then show me," he said quietly, "why they were wrong to seal you."

Veyrath’s grin returned, faint but feral. "Gladly."

The chamber exploded into motion once more.

The world cracked open in light and pressure.

Stone peeled away from the vault walls, suspended midair as though gravity had forgotten its purpose. Streams of golden and black mana coiled through the fractures like living serpents, each strand vibrating with the sound of ancient hymns.

Lindarion’s boots slid half a step back against the shifting ground. The force pressing against him wasn’t killing intent, it was scrutiny. Every strand of his mana, every pulse of his core was being weighed and measured.

Veyrath’s eyes glimmered like suns behind mist. His tone was calm, deliberate. "Do not misunderstand this, little heir. This is not punishment, nor war. This is truth."

The demi-god flicked one claw.

The air detonated.

A wave of force so pure it couldn’t even be seen slammed through the vault. Lindarion barely had time to raise his blade. The strike didn’t hit him, it passed through him, unraveling the air, testing the structure of his very essence. His shadow rippled, stretching across the floor in unnatural directions.

[Warning: External energy resonance mapping in progress.]

[System deflectors at 72%. Stabilization required.]

Ashwing’s voice rang from above, alarmed. "He’s not even fighting you! He’s dissecting your damn soul!"

Lindarion’s teeth clenched. He forced his breathing steady, grounding his mana core. Gold light flared through the veins along his arms, forming concentric circles that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.

"Then let him see what’s inside," he murmured.