"I can see mana," he murmured.
Nysha blinked. "You could always sense mana."
"No." He turned to her fully. "Now I can see it."
Ashwing made a distressed squeak, which he tried to disguise as a dignified throat-clear. "Like… colors?"
"Colors. Shapes. Lines. Currents." Lindarion's eyes shifted—no longer simply gold, but threaded with faint white luminescence, as though a constellation had taken root in his irises. "The desert is breathing."
Nysha stared at him. Not afraid. But shaken.
"Lindarion… the Unwritten Path changed you."
He looked at her calmly. "Yes."
"And you don't look surprised."
"I'm not."
Nysha's jaw clenched. "Because the trial hinted at it?"
"No. Because power always costs something."
Ashwing groaned. "Can we PLEASE have this philosophical meltdown after we find shade? The sand is baking my scales like I'm a breakfast item."
Lindarion finally nodded. "Let's go."
They walked.
The desert wasn't silent anymore.
