Seris approached carefully. "My prince… what happened below?"
Lindarion stepped fully into the sunlight, the last echoes of the trials humming faintly in his veins.
"We found the truth the ancients hid," he said. "And the path to Luneth is clearer now."
Nysha nodded once. "We're going to need every ounce of preparation. The labyrinth was only the beginning."
Ashwing climbed onto Lindarion's shoulder again, exhausted but still trying to look brave. "Yeah. And next time, if a cosmic entity asks you to 'face your truth,' just say no. Or at least eat something first."
Despite everything, Lindarion laughed quietly.
A rare sound.
A grounding one.
Then he looked toward the distant southern horizon—toward Tirnaeth, toward the warlines, toward the looming shadow of Dythrael's return.
"Rest tonight," he said. "At dawn, we march."
The desert wind swept past them, carrying with it the faint tremor of something vast shifting beneath the world's surface.
The third trial was over.
