CHAPTER 490: MEMORIES (2)

The system blared again:

[Temporal Stress Threshold Exceeded.]

[Fragment Synchronization Possible.]

Ashwing coughed. "Tell me you’re not thinking of syncing with that!"

"I’m not," Lindarion said. "It’s offering itself."

Indeed, the barrier of his mana wasn’t breaking, it was absorbing. Each pulse of light that struck it became information, memories, emotion. He could feel it: the divine panic, the Demi-Human rebellion, the desperate creation of seals to keep gods from collapsing upon their children.

Images surged through his mind.

A young elven priestess etching runes into the bark of the first Tree.

A serpent-shaped god, the same presence as Veyrath, standing before a council of flame and light, his scales cracked, his eyes defiant.

A figure cloaked in void, watching it all unfold.

Then, fire.

The entire plain erupted in golden conflagration. Not destructive, but cleansing. The last memory of divinity burning itself to seal what could not be destroyed.

Lindarion fell to one knee, gripping his head. The world bent around him like melting glass.

Nysha reached for him, voice distant through the roar. "Lindarion! What’s happening?"

He could barely hear her. The system’s voice filled his thoughts:

[Core Resonance Achieved.]

[You have absorbed a Fragment of the First Age.]

[New Skill Unlocked: "Chrono Sigil — Remembrance."]

[Effect: Temporarily anchors user in stabilized timeline. Duration: 30 seconds.]

The noise stopped.

Everything froze, fire, sound, movement, all held in suspended stillness. The world was glass again, clear and perfect.

Lindarion exhaled shakily, golden light bleeding from his eyes. The flames danced inches from his face, unmoving. Time itself had bowed.

Ashwing stared in disbelief. "You just... stopped the world."

Lindarion’s reply came quiet, controlled. "No. I just remembered how it once stopped itself."

The stillness cracked.

Light surged back in an explosion of motion. When it faded, they were no longer in the golden plain but back within the cavernous vault, kneeling before the Triarchs.

The eldest of them inclined his head slowly. "You have seen what even gods fear to recall."

Lindarion rose, steady. "Then you know I understand what lies below."

The Triarch’s voice was a whisper of stone. "Understanding is not the same as surviving it."

"Perhaps not," Lindarion said, his tone calm but unyielding. "But it’s enough to know the cost."

The elder’s gaze lingered on him, then shifted to the faint gleam still pulsing in his chest, the residue of the Chrono Sigil. "The Tree has chosen its vessel well... though it may yet regret it."

Ashwing huffed. "We’ll try not to make a mess."

The ghostly figure didn’t smile, but his tone softened slightly. "Then go, bearers of burden. The second gate awaits. Beyond it lies the Depth where chains still sing."

The gates opened again, this time into darkness. Pure, unbroken, endless.

Lindarion looked once toward Nysha and Ashwing. "We continue."

Nysha nodded once, resolute. "We continue."

And so they stepped into shadow, toward the heart of what the gods had buried and the world had forgotten.

The descent into the Depth was unlike any other passage Lindarion had taken. It didn’t lead downward through rock or root, nor through the twisting veins of the world, it led through memory itself.

At first, the darkness was simply absence: a silence so deep it consumed thought. But then came texture. The shadows began to ripple, becoming mist, then liquid, then something between the two, a translucent current of shifting images. Every step forward brought flashes of light and form, cities dissolving into dust, stars collapsing, faces of those long forgotten murmuring half-words before vanishing again.

Ashwing’s wings twitched uneasily as he perched on Lindarion’s shoulder. "This place smells like... endings."

Nysha’s expression was unreadable, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. "Not endings," she said softly. "Remnants."

The path solidified beneath them, becoming a bridge of faint, shimmering light suspended in endless dark. Beneath it, rivers of mana flowed like liquid galaxies, carrying fragments of history and soul-stuff through the depths.

Lindarion’s system flickered alive in his vision:

[Entering Sub-Realm: The Depth.]

[Classification: Divine Residuum Layer — Chronic Decay Detected.]

[Warning: Time distortion factor x4. Prolonged exposure will cause memory erosion.]

"Lovely," Ashwing muttered. "So if we stay too long, we forget ourselves?"

Lindarion’s tone was calm but firm. "Then we don’t stay long."

As they advanced, faint shapes began to coalesce on either side of the bridge, spectral figures standing motionless, like statues carved from pale fire. They wore armor that seemed grown from their bodies, etched with runes that pulsed faintly as the group passed. Their faces were serene, untouched by decay.

"The Guardians of the Depth," Nysha murmured. "They were once divine sentinels."

Lindarion glanced at them as he walked. "Now they’re echoes, bound to a duty that ended eons ago."

He paused when one of the sentinels’ heads turned, just slightly, as if following his movement. Its eyes, pale and hollow, flared faintly with blue light.

Then, a whisper.

"He returns."

The others responded, one by one, their voices weaving into a haunting chorus that echoed through the dark.

"He returns. The flame-bearer. The child of the sealed dawn."

Ashwing hissed softly. "They’re talking about you."

Lindarion said nothing. His eyes, glowing faintly gold, were fixed ahead where the bridge bent toward an immense gate suspended in the void. It was unlike the earlier ones, it wasn’t carved or forged, but grown. Layers of crystalized mana and black stone intertwined, veins of silver light pulsing like veins beneath skin.

As they neared, the system flickered again:

[Gate Signature Detected: Axis Seal — Prime Resonance.]

[Requirement: Soul Verification — Holder of World Tree Fragment.]

The gate trembled as Lindarion approached. The golden sigil over his heart, the remnant of the Chrono fragment, flared, sending arcs of light outward.

The sentinels’ chorus grew louder, almost reverent now.

"The flame-bearer seeks the chain. The chain that binds the dawn."

Nysha stepped closer to Lindarion, her voice low. "They’re warning us."

"I know." He placed a hand on the gate. "But we go regardless."

moment his palm touched the surface, the entire structure came alive. The veins of silver light spread outward, splitting into thousands of luminous tendrils that reached across the void like searching roots. The bridge beneath them pulsed in answer, anchoring itself to the gate.

Then, silence.

The sentinels bowed their heads. The gate opened soundlessly, revealing an interior of cascading light and shadow, shifting like water. It wasn’t an entrance so much as a transition.

They stepped through.

Instantly, the world changed.