A final projection unfolded—this one not a memory, but a map.
A cosmic map.
Showing the locations of all remaining Primordial fragments—seventeen in total—scattered across continents and eras.
Nysha stared. "Those places… they match old ruins, sealed tombs, some forbidden zones—"
"One of them," Lindarion said quietly, "is beneath Sylvarion."
Nysha froze.
Sylvarion.
Her homeland.
Her responsibility.
Her voice went hoarse. "…Luneth's at risk."
"And Maeven," Lindarion added.
Ashwing flapped frantically. "Okay nope nope nope—no more cosmic revelations, we're done, I vote we go back to the forest and eat fruit forever—"
The cube's glow intensified.
Then, without warning, it detached from Lindarion's palm and lifted into the air.
Nysha grabbed her dagger. "What's it doing now—?"
The cube split open one final time.
A beam of light shot into Lindarion's chest—clean, painless, like being touched by starlight.
Information flooded his mind again.
A duty.
A design.
A path.
