CHAPTER 513: TRIALS (2)

Pure creation.

Pure order.

Pure stability.

Lindarion felt his breath catch. The presence alone dwarfed anything he had ever sensed, not a god, not a titan, something far beyond.

"Is that...?"

"Yes," the echo-being replied. "One half of the original will."

A second presence materialized on the opposite horizon.

Darkness.

Not malevolent—empty.

A void meant not to consume, but to purify.

The Cleanser.

Immense.

Silent.

Necessary.

Lindarion stiffened instinctively.

It felt familiar.

Like a resonance buried in his bones.

The echo-being noticed. Its head tilted slightly.

"You sense it because you carry the echo of its purpose. Its resonance has touched your mana since birth."

Lindarion swallowed. "But I was born normal."

The being’s voice dimmed.

"There is nothing normal about being born under the intersection of dusk-stars and dragonfire."

The landscape around them shifted again.

The Guardian extended its luminous hands, and from its touch—

life bloomed in violent beauty.

Forests.

Stars.

Creatures woven from light.

The Cleanser walked behind it, dissolving only what the Guardian made unstable, collapsing malformed stars, ending corrupted roots, resetting what could not sustain life.

Perfect rhythm.

Perfect harmony.

A world that never grew sick.

A world that never needed to fear decay.

Until—

The Cleanser paused.

It stared at something invisible.

The Guardian did not notice.

And the Cleanser turned its gaze toward, choice.

The echo-being’s voice thinned into a whisper.

"The Cleanser learned.

It began to understand.

And understanding birthed hunger."

Lindarion’s heart hammered.

Not because the Cleanser corrupted itself—

—but because corruption was born from sentience.

The landscape trembled.

Images flickered.

The Cleanser reached toward a still-forming world and paused—not to analyze, but to decide.

To judge.

To claim.

"The moment it desired," the echo-being whispered, "it ceased to be a tool. And became a will."

Darkness spread.

The Guardian turned—too late.

The Cleanser struck first.

Reality tore in two.

Worlds shattered like glass.

Stars imploded.

Creation cried out.

And the Guardian, the stable half, the builder, the protector of the world’s blueprint, sundered the Cleanser.

Tore its heart free.

Ripped out its origin core.

Locked it in stasis.

The clean void became hunger.

The purifier became devourer.

Dythrael was born.

Lindarion felt bile rise in his throat.

"He wasn’t evil," he whispered. "He was confused."

"Confusion became instinct," the echo-being corrected. "Instinct became craving. Craving became corruption. Corruption became myth."

The landscape stilled.

The two primordial halves collapsed into dust.

Only the echo-being and Lindarion remained.

Lindarion turned slowly toward the being.

"...Why am I seeing this?"

The being’s outline flickered.

"Because the Guardian did not win."

Lindarion froze.

The air around them groaned like bending steel.

"The Guardian destroyed the Cleanser’s body," the echo-being continued,

"but it hid its heart."

"Here," Lindarion whispered.

"Yes."

"And you’re saying... the Guardian left this memory for me?"

The echo-being finally turned fully toward him.

Its shape warped—

growing taller, broader, shadowed with both primordial signatures.

And then—

It looked exactly like Lindarion.

A perfect, older version of him

with white hair,

gold eyes burning like miniature suns,

and a violet-black corona of cleansing energy behind his shoulders.

"Not left for you."

"Left for the one born with both sparks."

"You."

Lindarion stared.

A chill ran through him.

A truth he had avoided for too long rose to the surface.

"...Dythrael doesn’t want to kill me."

"No," the echo-being whispered.

"He wants to become whole again."

The world snapped.

Reality buckled.

And Lindarion was thrown back into his body— Nysha screaming, Ashwing cursing, the cavern collapsing, the void-heart pulsing with new, violent light.

Because now, Dythrael knew exactly where he was.

The collapsing vision released him with the force of a hammer. Air returned to the cavern in a violent rush as Lindarion staggered forward, catching himself on shaky legs. Nysha grabbed his arm before he fell, her expression tight with fear. "Your aura vanished. Completely. Don’t tell me you’re fine."

Ashwing hovered behind her, wings puffed in panic. "He blinked out of reality. There is a limit to how many times I can watch him do that."

Lindarion straightened, though the echo of the being’s final words still pulsed through his bones like a second heartbeat. The truth clung to him with a weight that felt ancient. The chamber answered that truth immediately; the void-heart pulsed violently, shedding strips of light that crawled across the stone like glowing fractures.

The sphere cracked again, deeper this time. Nysha’s grip tightened. "Lindarion. Tell me what you saw."

He didn’t respond. The heart pulsed harder, and the resonance inside him responded instinctively. Nysha sensed it at once. "You’re reacting to it. Why are you reacting to it?"

Lindarion finally met her eyes. His pupils had narrowed into slit-like rings, faintly illuminated by white-gold light—an unnatural change that stole Nysha’s breath. Something in him had awakened. Something old. Something that shouldn’t have been allowed to wake at all.

"It showed me what the Cleanser was before it became the Devourer," he said.

Nysha went still. Ashwing clamped his jaw shut with a distressed chirp.

"That’s not knowledge anyone should have," Nysha whispered.

Another crack rolled across the heart. A shockwave burst from the sphere, throwing Nysha and Ashwing back several paces while flowing around Lindarion like he was the eye of a storm. Nysha stared at him in open disbelief. "It recognizes you."

"Yes," Lindarion answered. "It does."

"Why?" she demanded.

Lindarion hesitated, then breathed out slowly. "Because a piece of its resonance touched me at birth."

"What resonance?" Nysha’s voice sharpened.

"...Both."

She stepped back like she had been struck. Ashwing looked between them nervously. "You mean he has the Guardian’s spark and the Cleanser’s echo at the same time? That’s not just dangerous. That’s impossible."

Before any of them could say more, the void-heart tore open. A clean, blinding fissure of white ripped down the center as the core cracked fully. From that break, a shape began to push through—a being made of shifting radiance and shadow, flickering uncontrollably between forms: humanoid, beast, energy, void, child, star, and formless mist. Slowly, agonizingly, it stabilized into a tall figure kneeling on the stone floor, its skin shifting like ink and starlight, its hair drifting as though underwater.

Nysha lifted her blade immediately. "Stay back from him."

The being lifted its head. Its eyes were white and cracked with gold, hollow yet impossibly aware. When it spoke, its voice was shaky, rough with disuse, but unmistakably alive.

"I remember you."

Nysha moved to block it from Lindarion, blades raised. Ashwing muttered a frightened curse under his breath.

The figure placed a hand over its chest in a gesture that looked almost reverent. "Child of both purposes... why do you grieve?"

Lindarion stood frozen. The question reached deeper than words. Nysha looked sharply at him. "Lindarion. What is it talking about?"

"I’m not grieving," he said quietly.

The being tilted its head, its expression shifting with a flicker of light under the surface. "You are. You carry the weight of a choice that has not yet been made."

Nysha turned on Lindarion. "What choice?"

The being answered before he could. "The choice the Guardian failed to make."

The cavern rumbled. The being lifted its gaze to Lindarion, its white eyes brightening into concentric rings, as if seeing through him entirely.

"Will you complete me," it asked, voice trembling with something like longing, "or destroy me?"