CHAPTER 509: THE HEART

The echo staggered three steps back.

Nysha’s eyes widened. "He pushed it—actually pushed that thing—"

But the echo didn’t seem hurt.

Only... intrigued.

Its chest split open wider.

And the core inside brightened.

The entire cavern tilted.

A wave of crushing presence rolled outward—the pressure of a deity’s corpse, a remnant of a being that had once devoured faith itself.

Lindarion’s knees hit the ground. His arms trembled. His gold-shadow helix flickered. The air thickened like tar, making every breath a fight.

Ashwing screamed, "DON’T LET IT IN YOUR HEAD—IT FEEDS ON DOUBT—"

Too late.

A vision slammed into Lindarion like a falling star:

His mother, Luneth—

not dying—

watching him with disappointment.

With fear.

"You shouldn’t exist," the vision whispered.

"You bring disaster with you. You are the fracture in fate."

Lindarion’s fingers dug into the stone.

"Fake," he snarled.

"You’re not her."

But the echo swallowed his voice, drowning it under another illusion—

Nathan bleeding out in the snow,

Seris turning her back on him,

Elara stepping away coldly,

Nysha fading into darkness.

"You bring ruin to all you touch."

The echo advanced slowly, savoring the moment.

Lindarion’s aura sputtered. His breath hitched.

Nysha slammed her fist against the barrier. "Stop it—STOP—that’s not him—he’s stronger than this!"

Ashwing clawed at the runes, voice cracking. "GET UP, LINDARION—IT ISN’T REAL—YOU KNOW IT ISN’T REAL—"

But the illusions were perfect.

Too perfect.

Because they were built from his memories.

His fears.

His secrets.

The echo towered over him, one claw rising to end the trial.

And then—

A sound.

A heartbeat.

But not his.

The golden thread wrapped around Lindarion’s arm—the one tied to the titan core—ignited.

A low hum vibrated through his bones.

Through the chamber.

Through the illusions.

The pressure fractured.

The hallucinations shattered like glass.

Lindarion stood.

Straightened.

Lifted his head.

And when he opened his eyes—

They burned with pure gold and deep shadow.

Not swirling.

Not mixing.

Aligned. Fully synchronized.

Nysha’s breath caught.

Ashwing whispered, "Ohhhh no. He’s doing That Thing. The scary thing."

Lindarion raised one hand.

Gold gathered, radiant enough to illuminate the entire cavern.

Shadow coiled, dense enough to swallow the light whole.

He spoke calmly.

Coldly.

"Trial or not—

Nothing wearing Dythrael’s shape will ever break me."

The echo hesitated.

Just one step.

But enough.

Lindarion vanished.

A streak of gold-shadow light cut through the cavern—faster than thought, faster than any mana technique Nysha had ever seen. He reappeared behind the echo, his fist buried in its side.

The echo convulsed.

Its core cracked.

A shriek tore through the chamber, shaking the very foundation of the desert. Runes dimmed. Crystals flickered. The ground quaked.

Lindarion didn’t let up.

He lifted his other hand and pressed it over the broken core. His voice was a whisper of steel:

"Trial complete."

He crushed it.

The echo imploded into a storm of dissolving shadow, collapsing inward until nothing remained.

Silence followed.

Complete. Utter. Crushing silence.

Then—

The barrier shattered like glass.

Nysha rushed forward without hesitation. "Lindarion!"

Ashwing slammed into him immediately afterward, gripping his hair like a lifeline. "DON’T DO THAT AGAIN. EVER. YOU ALMOST DIED, YOU STUPID BRILLIANT MAN."

Lindarion stood there, breathing hard, sweat dripping—but alive.

Then he looked up.

The ceiling of the cavern had split open.

Above them, light poured down.

And in the center of the room, where the echo had fallen, a pedestal rose slowly—bearing a crystal the size of a heart, glowing with a soft white-blue radiance.

The monolith’s voice echoed faintly from above:

"Claim the Heart.

And walk the path of the Shifting Graves."

Nysha stared at the crystal with wide eyes.

Ashwing whispered, trembling, "Is that... is that what I think it is?"

Lindarion stepped toward it.

Expression calm.

Resolve unwavering.

This was only the beginning.

The moment Lindarion’s fingers closed around the crystal, the entire desert exhaled.

A low, resonating hum rolled through the stone beneath them—deep, ancient, and powerful, like the pulse of a sleeping colossus awakening after an age-long slumber. The white-blue light of the crystal flared, flooding the cavern with brilliance so intense that Nysha had to shield her eyes.

Ashwing clung to Lindarion’s shoulder, wings curled tight. "PUT IT BACK—PUT IT BACK—IT’S DOING THE THING—THE ’WORLD ABOUT TO EXPLODE’ THING!"

Lindarion didn’t let go.

He could feel the crystal’s energy weaving into him—seeking something within his core, testing its resonance.

The voice from earlier whispered again, soft as drifting dust:

"Successor... attunement recognized."

Nysha lowered her dagger as the trembling slowed.

Her eyes narrowed. "It responded to you specifically. Not me. Not Ashwing. Just you."

Ashwing scoffed. "WHY would it respond to me? I’m adorable, not divine."

Lindarion tightened his grip on the Heart.

It was warm... warmer than it should be. Almost alive.

The runes carved across the cavern walls ignited one by one, forming spiraling constellations of light. Lines connected them, creating diagrams no human scholar could ever interpret—maps of mana, of history, of purpose.

Then the floor rumbled again.

Not violently—deliberately.

Slow.

Measured.

The stone beneath them shifted away, rearranging itself like a puzzle unlocking. Stairs emerged, leading upward toward the newly cracked ceiling.

Nysha whispered, "It’s guiding us out."

Ashwing clicked his tongue nervously. "Which can ONLY mean bad things. Trials don’t guide you to safety—they guide you to the next horrible ordeal."

Lindarion looked up at the ascending stairs, the faint light drifting down through the fissure above.

"It’s not done," he said quietly.

"This was only the first layer."

Nysha nodded grimly. "The titan said to follow the shifting path. We’re not at the end of it yet."

The three of them began to climb.

The air grew warmer as they ascended, losing the metallic, suffocating weight of ancient mana. Crystals along the stairway flickered awake as they passed, recognizing the Heart in Lindarion’s hand.

Ashwing whispered, "So, uh... should we talk about the giant illusion monster that tried to break your soul?"

"No," Lindarion said.

"Good," Ashwing replied. "Because I had nothing helpful to say anyway."

Nysha shot him a glare. "This isn’t a joke. The echo pressed directly on his core. That isn’t something even high-star sorcerers can block."

Lindarion didn’t stop climbing.

He didn’t look back.

"It wasn’t me it wanted," he said.

"It was the Heart."