Somewhere deep within the Tide woven Pavilion, beyond coral labyrinths and breathless light, Feng Xian burns.
He stands within a chamber of shifting embers, eyes closed, breath slow. A hollow circle of obsidian surrounds him — the Crown's imprint — while illusion-flames rise like dancers around him. They test resolve, memory, will.
But now, they flicker. The chamber dims.
Then…
The Pulse.
A deep stone-thrum cracks through his ribcage. Not his. Not flame.
It hums from beneath, as if a continent-sized heart had begun to stir.
Feng Xian opens his eyes.
His breath catches — the fire dies back. The Crown's light flickers, and in its place… an image forms in the smoke:
A creature of obsidian scale and molten core, half-buried in forgotten symbols, moves across the seabed… following something. Him.
He stumbles back, sweat breaking across his forehead. He knows that aura. He's never met it — but in the Seed core's memory, in the Echo-Dreams, and in the ancient murals beneath Zaryss, he's seen the shape:
The Stone-Beast Without Name.
A guardian of Tshepo's age. A sentinel bound to watch the Fire-Blooded… and end them if they fell to madness.
His flame answers, flickering wild. The Pavilion's chamber cracks under pressure. Old wards hum. One explodes.
Then — a voice.
Not his. Not the Crown's.
"It walks again," the voice whispers in an ancient tongue.
"And if you burn too brightly, child of ember… it will not ask your name before it ends you."
Feng Xian steadies himself. A breath. He closes his eyes and calls to the fire within, not to wield it — but to temper it.
"Let it come," he says, quiet.
"But I will not burn alone."
From far above, the Leviathan's spine trembles.
From the coastline, Lan'Fei watches the beast change direction