CHAPTER 516: TRIALS (5)

"I can see mana," he murmured.

Nysha blinked. "You could always sense mana."

"No." He turned to her fully. "Now I can see it."

Ashwing made a distressed squeak, which he tried to disguise as a dignified throat-clear. "Like... colors?"

"Colors. Shapes. Lines. Currents." Lindarion’s eyes shifted—no longer simply gold, but threaded with faint white luminescence, as though a constellation had taken root in his irises. "The desert is breathing."

Nysha stared at him. Not afraid. But shaken.

"Lindarion... the Unwritten Path changed you."

He looked at her calmly. "Yes."

"And you don’t look surprised."

"I’m not."

Nysha’s jaw clenched. "Because the trial hinted at it?"

"No. Because power always costs something."

Ashwing groaned. "Can we PLEASE have this philosophical meltdown after we find shade? The sand is baking my scales like I’m a breakfast item."

Lindarion finally nodded. "Let’s go."

They walked.

The desert wasn’t silent anymore.

The wind whispered in patterns—structured, rhythmic, like breath passing through a giant throat beneath the dunes. The sand beneath their feet throbbed occasionally, almost imperceptibly, as if reacting to Lindarion’s presence.

Nysha glanced sideways at him. "Tell me honestly: is something following us?"

"Yes," Lindarion said without hesitation.

Ashwing squeaked again. "IS IT BIG—?"

"No," Lindarion said. "Not yet."

Nysha shot him a glare that was half panic, half exhausted irritation. "Not yet!?"

Lindarion slowed. "We’re approaching the ridge."

She squinted ahead—and finally saw it. A jagged line of stone rising from the sand like the exposed spine of a buried beast. Beyond it, the shimmering haze thickened, its mana signature almost mirage-like.

"That’s where the presence hides," Lindarion said.

"Shouldn’t we avoid the presence?" Ashwing asked.

"If we avoid it," Lindarion said, "it will follow us."

Nysha swore under her breath. "Perfect."

But Lindarion didn’t look distressed. His expression was unreadable—too calm, too calculating. The fragment had threaded a kind of clarity into his thoughts.

He walked until they reached the shadow of the stone ridge. The air changed immediately—cooler, quieter, as though the ridge itself muffled the desert’s breathing.

Ashwing settled on his shoulder, panting. "This is better. This is great. This is—"

And then he froze.

Nysha froze too.

Because something was standing at the ridge’s far end.

A figure leaning against the stone, arms loosely crossed, face hidden beneath a hood of cloth wrapped in layers.

Its aura didn’t move.

It didn’t breathe.

It had simply been waiting.

Nysha reached for her dagger. Ashwing’s scales lifted in warning.

Lindarion’s voice did not waver. "I know you’re not here by accident."

The figure slowly tilted its head.

A raspy voice answered.

"I was waiting for you, successor."

Nysha stiffened. "That voice—"

Ashwing backed up. "Nope. Nope nope nope—"

Lindarion’s eyes narrowed.

Because he recognized the mana signature woven within the words.

Not Veyrath.

Not the Devourer.

Something from the trial chamber.

Something that shouldn’t have been able to leave.

Lindarion stepped forward.

"What followed me out of that ruin?"

The hooded figure lifted its hand.

And beneath the cloth—

faint cracks of white light pulsed like veins.

"You chose the Unwritten Path," the being said. "So now the Unwritten follows."

And then the hood lowered, revealing—

a face shaped like his own.

But twisted with fractures of light.

A mirror that wasn’t a mirror.

A future that wasn’t a future.

Nysha whispered, horrified:

"Lindarion... that thing looks like you."

The echo-being smiled with a mouth made of shifting light and shadow.

"Of course I do."

Its eyes opened—

and they were identical to Lindarion’s.

"It’s because," it whispered, "I’m the part of you that didn’t die."

The air around the ridge didn’t just tense—it twisted. The very grains of sand vibrated in place, trembling as though the desert itself recognized the impossible thing standing before them.

Nysha stepped in front of Lindarion without even realizing she had moved, daggers drawn, stance razor-sharp. "That thing is not you."

The echo-being tilted its head, amused. "Not him... yet."

Ashwing flared his wings, whispering frantically into Lindarion’s ear. "Do NOT engage. Do NOT talk. Do NOT even BREATHE in that direction. That is a metaphysical nightmare in physical form."

Lindarion ignored him.

He took one step closer.

The echo-being didn’t react with hostility. If anything, it looked almost... satisfied. "You’re calmer than I expected," it said. "Most who witness their unchosen self unravel. You don’t."

"I’ve seen worse," Lindarion replied, voice even.

Nysha shot him a look that wordlessly screamed: When!? How!? Why!?

The being extended its hand—not aggressively, but almost invitingly. White cracks of light pulsed beneath its translucent skin, spreading like fractures across glass.

"You opened the path," it said. "You accepted the second inheritance. That means I can exist now. I can return."

Lindarion’s eyes narrowed. "Return to what?"

"To the place I was carved from."

Nysha’s jaw clenched. "Explain. Now."

The echo-being looked at her with amusement. "Impure blood. Tempered well. Stubborn. Good instincts."

Nysha bristled. Ashwing nearly combusted. Lindarion’s mana pulsed once—subtle, but sharp enough to make the being stop speaking. It smiled again, as if pleased by the reaction.

"You want answers," it said. "Fine."

It raised its hand—and the desert responded.

The dunes around them shifted, pulling inward, forming a massive swirl of sand that rose into a towering cyclone before compacting into a flat, shimmering plane—like a mirror made of stardust and dust.

Lindarion felt the mana pattern before it finished forming.

A memory projection.

A truth-seal.

The being stepped into the shimmering dust-mirror, and its form sharpened into something clearer—still him, but older, heavier, with scars carved by decisions he hadn’t made.

"This world," the echo-being began, "was not meant to have just one Lindarion."

Nysha’s breath caught. "What do you mean ’one’?"

"There were three paths set for you before birth," the echo said. "One chosen by your father. One sealed by your mother. And one..." Its eyes—his eyes—glowed brighter. "One erased by Dythrael itself."

Ashwing flapped in agitation. "ERASED? The Devourer erased a version of him!? WHY?"

The echo-being tapped its chest with a slow, deliberate gesture. "Because I existed. Because I was born first."