The darkness beneath the chamber moved. Slowly at first, like ink spreading through water, then faster—rippling, coiling, alive. The fragments screamed inside me, not with pain, not with fear, but with recognition.
It's here… they hissed.
The ground trembled violently, cracking under the force of its presence. Runes etched into the altar flared violently, then shattered, sending shards of energy flying like meteorites. I stumbled, barely catching myself as the fragments surged outward, shielding me. My wings—now fully formed as a single, unified force—glowed like molten light piercing shadow.
Lysara's voice came faintly from the corner of the chamber, distant but steady. "Eryndor… whatever this is… it's not just testing you. It's claiming the fracture."
I clenched my teeth, summoning every ounce of control I had left. We are alive. We fight. We rise.
The shadows beneath the chamber roared, forming shapes that defied reason—colossal, shifting, incomprehensible, with a presence that made even the Watcher seem small by comparison. Their movement pressed against the edges of my mind, probing, seeking weakness, and whispering… tempting… daring me to falter.
I gritted my teeth. "You won't control me!" I shouted. My voice echoed unnaturally through the chamber, amplified by the fragments' resonance. The energy around me flared, spiraling outward in a storm of flame, water, shadow, and clarity.
The shapes recoiled—but only for a moment. Then they surged upward, filling the chamber, their sheer scale threatening to crush reality itself.
And then I felt it—an awareness deeper than the Watcher, older than creation, and infinitely patient. The ancient presence beneath the chamber had fully awakened. Its voice wasn't sound—it was a weight, pressing into my consciousness, curling around my thoughts:
"Eryndor… bearer of the fracture… you will either rise or break. Choose carefully."
The fragments screamed again, pulsing violently, almost splitting apart. Their consciousness mirrored my own: It knows us. It sees us. And it hungers.
I clenched my fists, wings expanding. Then we show it we are alive.
The altar trembled. Shards of broken sigils floated in the air, spinning around me like a storm of knives. I could feel the ancient presence probing through them, seeking a way to touch the fracture directly. Pain lanced through me as the fragments flared in defense, but it was not enough. The presence was too vast, too intelligent, too aware.
And then, in the center of the darkness, a form began to emerge. Not solid, not yet—but tangible enough to see.
It was enormous.
It was ancient.
It was waiting.
The fragments recoiled in unison, screaming: It has come. It is here. And it knows us.
I steadied myself, feeling the weight of every battle I had fought, every fragment I had claimed, every power I had resisted.
This is the moment, I thought. Everything before this was just preparation.
The shape fully emerged, its form shifting and impossible, eyes—or what could be called eyes—burning with intelligence, hunger, and a promise of annihilation. The air thickened, pressing down, bending light, warping sound.
And then… it spoke, not in words, but in presence:
"Eryndor… the fracture is mine."
The fragments pulsed violently, and I could feel them pushing back, alive, screaming in defiance.
I spread my wings fully, the storm of elements around me coalescing into a weapon, a shield, a living armor. My voice cut through the chamber, sharp and unyielding:
"I am Eryndor.
The fracture is mine.
And I will not yield."
The darkness shivered, the ancient presence paused, and the chamber trembled violently—
And then everything went silent.
For a heartbeat.
Then a shadow moved beneath the floor, stretching upward, faster than thought, massive beyond comprehension…
And the story ended there.