A voice stirred—not spoken aloud, but carried through sensation and understanding.
You walk freely where others shaped by fear once tread.
The ground shimmered beneath their feet, briefly showing echoes of figures long gone—beings who had tried to command, to dominate, to define.
They tried to bind what could only grow.
Caria's hand tightened around her hilt. "And what happens to those who try again?"
The presence paused, considering.
They are remembered.
Not punished. Not destroyed.
Remembered.
Rhys stepped forward, feeling the weight of that word settle into his chest. "We're not here to claim this world," he said quietly. "We just want to understand it. To walk with it. Help it become what it chooses to be."
Silence stretched.
Then, slowly, the light shifted.
The great form at the center of the basin began to change—not expanding, but focusing. The swirling energies condensed, becoming clearer, more defined. Not into a body, but into a sense of self.
