My life, which should have been forfeit, was now a "unique, strategically valuable asset." The words echoed in the silent chamber, a cold comfort. I had been spared from execution not out of mercy, but out of a pragmatic, calculated assessment of my potential usefulness. I wasn't a person they had saved; I was a weapon they had chosen not to dismantle. I didn't know whether to feel relief or a deeper, more profound sense of dread.
Ashe seemed to sense my turmoil, but his expression remained that of a scholar moving on to the next chapter of a lecture. "Let us be clear, Kael. The stay of your termination does not absolve you of the danger you represent. It merely changes how we intend to manage it."
His gaze sharpened, becoming pedagogical. "The Lineage Orb itself is not a forbidden item. It is a cursed one. While dangerous to possess, it is not, strictly speaking, illegal. Many high-ranking Adventurers have, over the years, acquired them, hoping to harness their power. The primary issue, as you have witnessed, is the constant, unwavering attention they draw from Lineage Monsters." He paused, his grey eyes pinning me in place. "Tell me. In your own understanding, why do you believe that is?"
The question was a test, a pop quiz in a class I had never signed up for. I thought back to the wasteland, to the howls of the High Orc, to the way the cursed item in my pocket had felt like a beacon in the darkness.
"It… it emits something, doesn't it?" I answered, my voice hesitant. "A signal. Like a scent that only they can track. They're drawn to it, but I don't know why."
"A half-correct, though poetically simple, assessment," Ashe conceded with a slight nod. "You are right. It does emit a signal, a specific data-frequency that resonates with corrupted Founder-class entities. But you are missing the most crucial part of the equation: the motive."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly, drawing me into the core of the lesson. "A Lineage Monster, Kael, is a being of pure, instinctual hunger. But it does not hunger for flesh or blood. It hungers for data. For power. For a return to the wholeness it has lost. The Lineage Orb, the crystallized echo of a fallen Founder, is the single most potent source of compatible, high-grade data in existence for them."
My eyes widened as the horrifying implication dawned on me.
"When a Lineage Monster consumes an orb," Ashe explained, his voice grim, "it does not simply get stronger. It evolves. It integrates the fallen Founder's skill data into its own corrupted code, becoming something far more intelligent, far more powerful, and far more dangerous. A single, successful absorption could elevate a standard Lineage Monster to a threat on par with a Fallen Founder. That is why they are so relentless. They are not just hunting you; they are hunting their own ascension."
He was about to continue, a deeper, more academic light entering his eyes as if he were about to explain the very mechanics of this dark evolution, but he was cut off.
"Enough."
The word was spoken by Krauss, the Builder. It was not loud, but it carried an absolute, undeniable finality that instantly silenced Ashe.
"The history lesson is irrelevant," Krauss stated, his gaze fixed on me, his pragmatism a tangible force in the room. "We have the situation. We have the agreed-upon solution. My work on the new district's foundation cannot wait for a dissertation on theoretical monstrosities." He looked at Ashe. "Let us proceed."
Ashe's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of annoyance from the scholar interrupted mid-lecture. But he inclined his head in agreement. "Very well. The time for discussion is over."
He turned his full attention back to me. "Kael. Step forward into the center of the chamber."
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. The sentencing. The "management" of the threat I represented. I did as he commanded, my boots making no sound on the polished black stone floor. I came to a stop in the exact center of the room, directly under the highest point of the crystalline dome. I felt terribly small and exposed, a single, flawed data-point in a perfect, ordered system.
The four Founders stood from their chairs, moving to form a perfect square around me. Gezir, the silent mountain. Lunet, her playful energy now a focused, golden aura. Ashe, a pillar of cold, grey order. And Krauss, a conduit of the deep, solid power of the earth. The combined pressure of their presence was immense, a gravitational field that seemed to bend the very air around me.
They raised their hands in unison, and the chant began.
It was not a language I could understand, but I felt the meaning of it in my bones. It was a symphony of power, a harmony of four distinct, fundamental forces. Ashe's voice was a dry, precise recitation of code. Gezir's was a deep, resonant rumble of unyielding strength. Lunet's was a melodic, ringing chain of command. And Krauss's was a low, foundational hum, the sound of the world itself being given shape.
As their voices rose in unison, the air in the chamber grew thick, crackling with a visible white energy. It coalesced above me, forming shimmering, ethereal tendrils of pure, white light.
The binds.
They descended upon me, not like ropes, but like ghosts. They passed through my clothes, through my skin, a touch of absolute, invasive cold that sank deep into my very being. They were not binding my body. They were binding my soul.
The moment they made contact with my core, a splitting, white-hot agony erupted in my skull. It was a pain beyond any physical measure, a shriek of feedback from my own corrupted data.
And the voice returned.
Not the weary, sorrowful whisper of Helias Rogue from before, but a raw, furious, and cornered roar of pure defiance.
NO! the voice bellowed inside my head, a desperate, primal scream of a caged god. THIS POWER IS MINE! IT IS OURS! YOU WILL NOT SHACKLE ME!
The white binds tightened, their cold light intensifying, and the Founder's echo within me fought back with a ferocity that threatened to tear me apart from the inside. The binds were a cage of pure order, and the echo was a storm of raw, untamed chaos. I was the battlefield where these two impossible forces were waging war.
My vision swam with static. The headache became a physical pressure, as if my skull were about to crack open. The combined assault of the external sealing and the internal rebellion was too much.
My knees buckled. A strangled cry of pain escaped my lips, and I collapsed to the cold stone floor, my hands clutching my head, caught in the crossfire of a war for my own soul.