The chamber shifted.
A pulse of mana flickered along the walls—
as if the tree itself reacted.
Several councilors stiffened.
Kael's jaw clenched.
Nysha went very still beside him.
And the Matriarch…
her silver eyes narrowed, the light inside them flickering like distant lightning.
"So," she murmured.
"That confirms it. The south trembles not because something stirs—
but because someone intends to tear open the forgotten gates."
Lindarion frowned.
"Someone?"
"Yes," the Matriarch said.
"The one who once hunted the gods.
The one banished beyond the mortal veil.
The last of the Prime Seraphim turned devourer."
Ashwing swallowed loudly.
"Please tell me you're describing someone who died a very, very long time ago."
The Matriarch's gaze sharpened.
"No.
He sleeps beneath the ruins of the Dawnspire,
awaiting a fracture in the world large enough for his return."
Lindarion felt the tremor again—
the pulse far to the south.
"Who is he?" he asked quietly.
