CHAPTER 491: MEMORIES (3)

The Depth wasn’t dark anymore. It was radiant, blindingly so, endless plains of crystalline growths rising like jagged mountains, all shimmering with prismatic color.

Rivers of light ran through the valleys, and from above hung fragments of shattered worlds suspended in slow motion, each rotating around the heart of the realm: a colossal sphere of pulsing light, chained to the ground by roots of blackened metal.

Ashwing gaped. "Okay... that’s new."

Nysha’s breath caught. "Those chains... they’re divine."

"Not just divine," Lindarion said softly. "They’re alive."

As if in answer, the nearest chain shifted slightly, its movement accompanied by a sound like an entire mountain sighing. From its surface crawled faint, runic patterns that glowed, faded, then reignited in sequence.

The system flared.

[Primary Seal Identified: Axis Core Restraint.]

[Contained Entity: Dythrael — The Devourer of Dawn.]

[Integrity: 0.02%. Imminent Failure Predicted.]

Nysha froze. "...Zero point zero two?"

Lindarion’s hand went to his chest. His heart felt heavy, resonating with the seal’s weakening pulse. "He’s waking up."

The realization spread between them like a chill. Even Ashwing fell silent, his usual sarcasm lost.

Beneath the radiance of the Depth, something vast stirred. The chains shuddered, the rivers of light flickered, and for the first time since entering, the air carried a sound that wasn’t wind, it was breathing.

Slow, deep, ancient.

Lindarion whispered, almost to himself, "Mother... Luneth..."

The world shuddered again, and a voice like the grinding of worlds filled the air, distant yet near, resonant enough to shake their bones.

"Little heir... how long have you hidden from me?"

Ashwing’s scales flared with light. "That—"

"I know," Lindarion said grimly. "It’s him."

The Depth darkened as the chains began to move. Not breaking yet, but remembering what it felt like to.

The radiance stilled. The air thickened as if the realm itself drew in a long, shuddering breath. Lindarion’s vision flickered, for a single heartbeat, the Depth around him fractured into glass-like panels of light, each one showing a different moment in time.

And through them, he saw.

Not the present, but the First Epoch.

Ashwing’s voice cracked in disbelief. "What, what is this?"

Nysha’s pupils dilated. "A temporal echo. The Depth is forcing us to witness what it remembers."

The sky of the past unfolded before them, crimson and silver, split by rivers of fire. Mountains were torn open, their veins of mana exposed like wounds. The great forests of the world burned in green flame, and the oceans themselves steamed as the heavens cracked.

At the center of it all stood a figure that eclipsed the horizon.

Dythrael.

He was not monstrous in shape, no beast or abomination, but something terribly human, and terribly wrong.

His body was that of a god sculpted in light, but his wings were made of unraveling worlds, each feather a fragment of a dying star, bleeding darkness and radiance both.

His hair fell like molten gold, yet his face was veiled in shadow so deep it seemed to devour thought itself.

The ground trembled with every syllable he spoke.

"The Flame betrayed its maker."

The memory flared. Armies gathered beneath him, not mortals, but demi-gods, serpentine, avian, draconic. Among them Lindarion saw familiar faces, faint echoes of those who now existed only in legend. The early gods, the Firstborn Houses, the Architects of Creation, all united, their auras burning like small suns against his impossible brilliance.

And among them, a woman.

Her presence struck Lindarion like the breath of wind before a storm. She stood at the head of the host, clad in woven light and living silver, her hair pale as moonfire. Her voice, when she spoke, was clear, cold, and resolute.

"Enough."

Nysha whispered, "Is that—"

"—the First Queen," Lindarion finished quietly. His throat was tight. "Aelirien, Mother of the Dawn."

The vision unfolded like a storm trapped in glass.

Aelirien raised her staff, a fragment of the World Tree itself, its root still pulsing with life, and struck it against the burning ground.

The world answered. Rivers of light burst from the soil, weaving together into colossal seals that wrapped around Dythrael’s body like bands of starlight.

The sky screamed.

Dythrael spread his wings, his laughter echoing across eternity. "You bind flame with chains of ash. You think me fallen, when I am simply unfinished."

He raised his hand. Light shattered. The first seal cracked.

Hundreds of demi-gods died in that instant, their bodies turned to constellations that burned away before they reached the ground.

Ashwing’s voice trembled. "This, this isn’t a battle. It’s extinction."

Nysha’s hands clenched around her arms. "No wonder the world forgot."

The vision deepened. Lindarion felt the mana of the realm pulling at him, dragging his senses closer, until he stood among them, unseen, intangible, but there.

He could feel the heat of the first dawn-fire, the despair, the relentless awe of standing before something no creation should ever have faced.

Then he saw himself.

Or someone who looked like him.

Not the prince of Eldorath, but an elf crowned in gold and black, eyes blazing like suns eclipsed. The aura was unmistakable, ancient, divine, and achingly familiar.

Nysha gasped softly beside him. "That... that can’t be you."

"It isn’t," Lindarion said quietly, though his voice shook. "It’s who my blood remembers."

The ancient version of himself, the First Flamebearer, raised his sword. The same blade Lindarion carried now, but older, heavier, its edge alive with shadows that sang.

He joined Aelirien in striking the final seal. The sound that followed was not thunder, it was creation itself groaning.

Light engulfed Dythrael, tearing through his body like veins of molten time. The god screamed, his voice a thousand truths breaking.

"You cannot end what was never born!"

But Aelirien answered, her tone both sorrowful and absolute. "No. But we can bury you."

And they did.

The seals converged, forming the chains Lindarion had seen moments before, vast roots of divine metal and dying light, each burning with a fragment of the First Flame. They drove into Dythrael’s chest, his wings, his heart.

He fell.

The world broke with him. Mountains collapsed into the sea; the stars themselves dimmed as if mourning.

When the light faded, there was silence.

The gods who remained stood at the edge of the crater, their forms already fading, spent from the sealing. The First Queen knelt, pressing a trembling hand to the earth. "Forgive us," she whispered. "May your chains never fail."

And then the vision cracked.

The light fractured back into shards, swirling around Lindarion and the others before collapsing into his chest, his mind, his blood.

He stumbled, gasping as the weight of what he’d seen settled in his bones.

The system whispered in response:

[Memory Sync: Completed.]

[Revelation Logged — The First Sealing of Dythrael.]

[Corruption Traces Detected: Active within bloodline of subject.]