CHAPTER 497: DARK ELVES (4)

As they began to walk, the air thickened again. Not with heat, but with memory. Whispers drifted faintly through the Hollow, fragments of language older than any tongue, each syllable vibrating with divine resonance.

Nysha frowned, ears twitching. "They sound like prayers."

Lindarion’s gaze turned distant. "They are."

He reached out with his senses, letting his mana expand outward until it brushed against the Hollow’s pulse. In that instant, visions flickered across his mind: demi-gods standing in a circle of flame; elven ancestors kneeling before them; a bargain sealed with blood and roots. The Hollow Sun was no mere prison, it was a covenant.

Then the ground shuddered.

A low hum rose from the terraces around them, deep and resonant. The rivers of molten gold brightened until the light seared the eyes. From the fissures between stones, forms began to emerge.

At first they seemed like statues, humanoid shapes of blackened crystal, their eyes dull. But as the light struck them, they began to move. Limbs flexed, faces turned. Their eyes ignited with white fire.

Ashwing’s wings flared, scales bristling. "Those are not friendly worshippers."

Lindarion’s blade slid free with a soft, metallic sigh. "No," he said. "They’re sentinels."

The constructs moved in eerie synchrony, their steps soundless. Lines of pale light ran along their bodies, each bearing a rune that pulsed in unison with the Hollow’s heart.

[Warning: Unknown Hostile Detected.]

[Classification: Fathen Constructs — Type: Guardian.]

[Combat Power Index: Variable.]

Nysha spun her spear once, her stance low and fluid. "Orders, prince?"

"Hold formation," Lindarion said. His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp, predatory. "Don’t destroy them if you can help it. This place isn’t defending itself, it’s testing us."

Ashwing muttered, "You and your tests," but took position at Lindarion’s flank nonetheless.

The first wave came soundlessly, five constructs gliding forward with impossible grace. Lindarion met the center one head-on. His blade cut through the air, carving an arc of gold and shadow. The strike didn’t shatter the construct, it split it, light pouring from the fracture like molten glass.

Nysha’s spear followed, whirling into the gaps left by his strikes. Ashwing unleashed a burst of golden flame that drove the rest back, though the fire didn’t burn them, it was absorbed into their forms, feeding their glow.

"They eat mana," Ashwing hissed.

"Then we give them something indigestible," Lindarion replied.

He shifted his stance. Golden light flared beneath his boots, and for an instant, the Hollow responded, its energy harmonizing with his core. The lines beneath the ground brightened, linking to him. His system flared:

[World Resonance Detected.]

[Status: Temporary synchronization achieved.]

[Authority: Partial access — Tier II Root Node.]

The constructs hesitated.

Lindarion raised his sword, its edge wreathed in both gold and black. "By the light of the First Flame," he whispered, "and by the shadow that remembers it, yield."

He struck the ground.

The impact wasn’t an explosion, it was a command. The light surged outward in a wave that silenced everything it touched. The constructs froze mid-motion, their runes flickering, then dimming entirely. One by one, they knelt, bowing their heads in eerie unison.

The light faded. The Hollow fell silent again.

Nysha exhaled slowly, eyes wide. "They... obeyed you."

Lindarion looked down at the still-glowing sigils beneath his feet, his expression unreadable. "No," he said quietly. "They obeyed the Tree."

Ashwing drifted lower, his tone subdued. "Then maybe this place isn’t trying to kill us after all."

Lindarion looked toward the distant inverted tower again. "No," he murmured. "It’s guiding us."

Far above, the molten sphere pulsed once, deep, sonorous, alive. The pulse echoed through the Hollow, a heartbeat of ancient power that made even the air tremble.

And somewhere, far beyond their sight, deep within the tower’s heart, something stirred in answer.

The path to the inverted tower was carved from light itself. Each step Lindarion took left faint ripples in the air, like walking across the skin of a dream. The sentinels that had bowed now lined the edges of the terraces, motionless, their fire dimmed to a watchful glow. They did not hinder passage; they watched.

The nearer they drew to the tower, the stranger the world became. The rivers of molten gold flowed upward instead of down, spiraling toward the tower’s base, feeding it like blood into a heart. The air shimmered with the pressure of ancient enchantments, wards that had not decayed but merely slept.

Nysha’s eyes darted between the runes etched into the sky and the mirrored reflection beneath their feet. "This isn’t elven craft," she murmured. "Nor divine. It’s... both."

"Hybrid," Lindarion said softly. "The signature matches what the Demi-Gods once used when they walked among the Firstborn." His gaze lingered on a faint pattern weaving between the ascending veins of gold, shapes like trees, roots, wings. "This place was made before any single race claimed dominion."

Ashwing grumbled. "So basically, this is everyone’s fault."

Despite the grimness of the air, Lindarion almost smiled. "Essentially."

The last terrace ended in a vast chasm. Across it hung the tower, an obsidian monolith, suspended by bands of light that curved downward into the Hollow Sun above. The structure’s reflection shimmered below them, as if an ocean of light waited to swallow anything that fell.

At its gate, twin statues stood, each depicting an elf with wings of fire and eyes of night. Between them, an archway pulsed with liquid radiance.

Lindarion paused before it. His system flickered again.

[Proximity Alert: Gate of Resonance Detected.]

[Key Signature Required: Eldorath Lineage / World Tree Synchronization.]

[Status: Compatible.]

He raised a hand. The arch reacted instantly. The light bent toward him, threads of mana weaving around his arm like strands of silk. It didn’t feel hostile, merely curious, almost sentient. When his fingers brushed the surface of the gate, the world changed.

The air rippled, and then he was no longer standing before the tower.

He stood on a plain of endless gold. The Hollow Sun was still there, but now it burned above him instead of below. Shadows moved in the distance, vast silhouettes with wings that blotted out stars. And before him, kneeling in a circle, were elves, not like the ones of his era, but taller, luminous, their veins glowing faintly with divine light.

At the center stood a figure wrapped in silver fire. His face was hidden, but his voice carried like a song across eternity.

"...then it is agreed. The seal shall bind what was divided. Light and shadow, root and flame. The gods will fade, but the seed shall endure."

The kneeling elves raised their hands, and the air thickened with resonance. A tree sprouted from the void between them, its trunk crystalline, its branches made of pure energy. The World Tree, in its first bloom.

Lindarion’s breath caught. The vision was clearer than any memory. He felt the pulse of its roots, the weight of its promise.

Then, another voice. Smooth, familiar, filled with venomous grace.

"You think binding creation will stop decay?"

The silver-flamed figure turned. In the distance, from the horizon of light, walked a being cloaked in shadow and crimson. His steps didn’t echo; the world itself bent beneath them.

Dythrael.