The Inner Sanctum was collapsing.
The moment the contract had been formed, the ancient balance that had sustained the ruins for centuries began to unravel. It didn't happen slowly—it broke apart all at once, as if the very foundation of the labyrinth had been waiting for this exact moment.
Cracks spread across the massive stone walls like spiderwebs, glowing faintly with fading runic energy. The symbols that once pulsed with authority now flickered weakly, losing their purpose.
The sanctum… was dying.
At the center of the chamber, Aether stood quietly.
The contract mark on his hand pulsed once, releasing a faint glow of intertwined crimson and gold—then it stabilized, sinking beneath his skin as if it had always belonged there.
He could feel it.
The presence beside him.
It was no longer distant.
No longer sealed.
No longer something trapped behind layers of ancient magic.
