He lifted his head.
For a moment, just one, his eyes didn't look like his.
Too bright.
Too knowing.
Too ancient.
But then the moment passed, and he exhaled slowly.
"I'm fine," he lied. "Let's move."
As they left the chamber, the stairs behind them disintegrated, sealing the path forever.
They were being pushed forward.
Toward the next truth.
Toward Dythrael.
And Lindarion could already feel the seal inside his chest, cracked, glowing, alive.
They began the descent in silence—
not the comfortable, steady quiet of companions traveling together,
but the heavy, watchful stillness of a structure that had just awakened.
The moment they stepped through the circular archway leading out of the Core, the air shifted.
Not wind—awareness.
The tower was no longer merely a construct of mana and ancient stone.
It breathed.
Ashwing was the first to speak, his voice a whisper.
"…Okay. So it wasn't judging me before. But it's definitely judging me now."
Nysha didn't respond.
