The chamber shook violently, runes pulsing like a heartbeat gone mad. My wings—still alive with molten light and shadow—quivered under the strain of the fragments' power. Every pulse they emitted vibrated through my chest, through my spine, through my very soul.
The altar was no longer just testing me. It was forcing me inward, into the fracture itself. I felt the fragments tearing at the edges of my mind, pulling me, reshaping me, trying to understand me… or perhaps to dominate me.
Lysara's voice echoed faintly in my thoughts. Hold on, Eryndor. Remember who you are.
I clamped my eyes shut. My vision split, fracturing into shards of light and shadow. Flames danced across the corners of my sight, water shimmered like mercury, shadows coiled and writhed, clarity cut like sharp glass. And in the center of it all… the fracture.
It pulsed like a heartbeat, alive and aware. I could sense it thinking, reacting. It whispered to me—not words, but intention:
"We are the fragments. We are the divinity left behind. We are your power… and your curse. Choose. Become one… or be consumed."
I gritted my teeth. "I will not be consumed!" I shouted. The fragments surged in response, twisting into a vortex of energy that lifted me slightly off the ground. Pain lanced through me as if every nerve, every bone, every drop of blood were screaming.
Then the chamber changed. The walls melted into darkness, replaced by endless fragments of light, shadow, water, and fire, stretching infinitely. I was standing in the fracture itself—a realm of pure raw divinity, both beautiful and terrifying.
And I realized the truth: the ancient presence from beneath the battlefield… the one that the Watcher, the primordial, and even the fallen deity had sensed… was here. Watching. Waiting. Testing.
It whispered through the fragments: "Eryndor… claim what is yours… or be claimed."
The fragments writhed violently inside me, pulling toward the edges of my mind. One by one, I saw visions:
The Watcher's eye above, massive and unblinking.
The primordial lurking beyond the battlefield.
The fallen deity, scarred but alive, observing from the shadows.
Lysara, burned and terrified, reaching for me.
And finally—a glimpse beneath the fracture itself. A darkness so vast it felt infinite, and something stirring inside. Something waiting… patient… intelligent… hungry.
I staggered, struggling to breathe. The fragments screamed in warning, in delight, in challenge.
We are alive. We are yours. We are not afraid.
I clenched my fists, summoning every ounce of will. The energy coalesced around me into a blinding form, wings now solid, not just four elements but a singular, unified manifestation of power. The fragments flowed seamlessly through me, obeying not instinct or hunger, but my command.
And I spoke, not to them, not to the altar, not to the presence—but to myself:
"I am Eryndor. I am the fracture. I am alive. And I decide what we become."
The infinite void around me trembled. The ancient presence stirred deeper, sending ripples through reality itself.
And then the world screamed.
The fragments screamed in unison, echoing the call. The altar vibrated violently, runes fracturing and collapsing.
And at the edge of my vision, something moved—a shape beyond comprehension, rising slowly from the darkness beneath the chamber.
The fragments pulsed in terror and recognition.
It has come for us.
And in that instant, I understood: nothing I had faced before—neither Watcher, primordial, nor fallen deity—was even close to what awaited me next.
The fracture itself was alive.
And so was the one who had been waiting all along.