Lindarion straightened slowly, the realization sinking in like frost. "The seal wasn't just external. They used their own blood… their own lineage… to anchor it."
Nysha turned to him sharply. "Then you—"
"—are one of the anchors," he finished. "That's why he knows me. Why he feels me."
The air around them dimmed again. The vision faded, leaving only the faint afterimage of the chained god in the distance.
Ashwing exhaled shakily. "So that's the truth of your blood, huh? A king's curse dressed as divinity."
Lindarion's gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "Not a curse. A responsibility."
He turned, and as he did, the Depth itself began to tremble again, not in violence, but in recognition. The seals that once bound the memory shimmered faintly, acknowledging his presence.
For the first time, he understood the weight of his lineage, not as a gift, but as a promise made at the dawn of all things.
A promise that was running out of time.
The Depth screamed.
