The chamber was still, save for the hum of energy that thrummed beneath the stone beneath their feet. Kaelen felt the weight of Aenys' words like a heavy mantle around his shoulders. Judgment. It rang in his mind, louder than any ringing gong.
She stood before him, a figure of incomprehensible age and power, her form shimmering like a living star. Her crystalline armor pulsed with an inner light, casting ghostly reflections across the chamber. The air seemed to thicken with an unsettling clarity, as though the world around them was suddenly too sharp, too focused. Too alive.
"I don't understand," Kaelen said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Aenys' eyes, glowing like twin suns, locked onto him. "You don't need to. Understanding is not required for what comes next. Only the strength to endure it."
Her words were weighted, heavy with the certainty of someone who had witnessed centuries and survived apocalypses. Kaelen swallowed, feeling the edges of his thoughts sharpen in response to her gaze. He fought the impulse to look away.
"Then what is Cindarion?" he pressed. "What was it meant to be?"
Aenys raised her hand, and the light around her flickered. The entire room seemed to pulse, and for a moment, Kaelen felt as though the walls themselves were breathing. The relics of a forgotten age, the massive spires, and the floating sarcophagus, all began to resonate, casting a thousand long shadows against the stone.
"You think Cindarion was ever meant to bring salvation? To unite the Isu, to save humanity? It was never about saving anyone." Her voice was like a breeze, calm but forceful. "Cindarion was an experiment. A decision made by the Isu—by the first of us—to determine whether the mistakes of the past could be undone."
Her words lingered in the air like a dark cloud. She was right. Thessara had never spoken of it so plainly, but Kaelen had suspected. He had always sensed the weight of something greater buried in the Isu history, something darker than he'd been told.
"It was about control," Aenys continued. "About deciding who had the right to live and who had the right to die. The core of the experiment was choice—who would decide, and who would wield that power."
"Who's in charge of that choice now?" Kaelen asked. "Velion?"
Aenys' eyes narrowed, but she didn't respond directly. Instead, she took a slow step toward him. Kaelen tensed, instinct urging him to take a step back, but he stood firm. He couldn't afford to flinch, not now.
"Velion's survival was not a mistake," she said, her voice turning colder. "He was meant to be a counterbalance. A response to the choices that were made. His mind, his will, were twisted—part of the process. But his existence is part of what comes next. He will do as he was created to do."
"What comes next?" Kaelen asked, feeling the storm of anxiety swirling in his chest.
Aenys raised her hand again, and the room seemed to darken. Shadows stretched longer, and the air grew heavier, pressing against Kaelen's chest. "The fragments of Cindarion were never meant to be scattered. The decision to separate us—Saerene, Thessara, myself—was to allow us to grow independent. To test how we would each respond to being incomplete."
"And now we have to come together," Kaelen said, piecing the words together in his mind. "To unite the fragments before Velion can?"
Aenys' eyes flickered, a brief, pained shadow passing through them. "Perhaps. But it will be a test of more than just unity. You believe this is a race for survival. You are mistaken."
The room grew colder still, as though the walls themselves could feel the ice settling in Kaelen's veins. "Then what is it, Aenys?" he asked, barely able to form the words. "What's the purpose of it all?"
She met his gaze, her eyes piercing into him like daggers. "It is judgment, Kaelen. Judgment on humanity. Judgment on the Isu. Judgment on us all."
A chilling silence descended. No one moved. No one breathed.
Kaelen felt his heart pounding in his chest, the sound deafening in his ears. He thought of the others—Ruan, Lysenne, Saphira—and Thessara, still standing near the back of the room. They had followed him here, walked into this unknown, trusting him.
But Kaelen didn't feel like the leader anymore. He didn't feel like the one who could save them all. What Aenys had said—judgment—had wiped away any remnants of certainty he had carried. There was no salvation waiting at the end of this path. Only choices, made by hands far older than his own.
"Then we're doomed," he said quietly. "None of us can choose the fate of the world. Not even you."
Aenys did not answer immediately. She tilted her head, her gaze deepening, as though searching something within him.
"Perhaps," she said at last, her voice softer now, but carrying a sense of finality. "But you, Kaelen, you are different. You are not bound by the chains of the past. You carry the shadow of Vael'Ruun. That is your power. And that is your curse."
The light around her flickered once again, growing brighter, more intense. "The truth, the core of Cindarion, lies buried deep within you. You have only to awaken it."
Kaelen shook his head, the weight of her words sinking deep into his mind. It was too much. They were not simply fighting for survival. They were fighting for something far older, something far more dangerous than he could comprehend.
"I don't have the answers, Aenys," he said, his voice strained. "I don't even know what's real anymore."
The chamber seemed to quiet, and Aenys smiled—just the faintest curve of her lips.
"Then you have much to learn."