Chapter 387: Translations (5)
The chamber’s silence grew oppressive, stretching thinner with each passing breath. The humans fanned out reluctantly, their torchlight jittering against the murals of burning half-dragons. The black pit yawned at the chamber’s heart, swallowing even the firelight. Every flicker seemed dimmer the closer it drew to that abyss.
Lindarion stood at the edge, shadows licking across his boots like ink reluctant to move forward. His gaze pressed into the darkness, but it gave nothing back, no reflection, no depth, only a hungry void.
Ashwing stirred on his shoulder, claws scraping faintly as he shifted uneasily. It’s watching, the dragon’s childish voice whispered, unsteady. It doesn’t have eyes, but it’s watching. I don’t like it.
’Stay still,’ Lindarion answered. His mind brushed the dragon’s with the same practiced ease he’d had for four years, firm but not unkind. ’Fear feeds whatever lingers here.’
Nysha prowled the perimeter, her crimson eyes glowing faint in the dark. Her shadows stretched long and thin, brushing cracks in the stone. When they reached the wall murals, they shuddered and recoiled, curling back around her wrists.
"This temple wasn’t abandoned," she murmured. "It was... sealed."
The commander overheard, his jaw tight. "By what? Or against what?"
Nysha didn’t answer. She stared too long at the murals, and Lindarion noticed, the longer she looked, the dimmer her eyes burned. Shadows clung tighter to her like frightened children.
[System Notice: Detected—Residual Seals.]
[System Warning: Seal integrity... 12%.]
[System Fragment Recovered: Guardian protocols initiated. Failure imminent.]
The words bled across Lindarion’s vision, glitching faintly. He inhaled, grounding himself against the hilt of his blade. The system wasn’t wrong often. And when it gave numbers, they weren’t estimates.
Twelve percent meant something still bound this place. Barely.
Ashwing’s tail coiled tighter against his neck, little scales prickling his skin. ’Guardian? I don’t hear a heartbeat,’ he said, almost defiantly, as if daring the world to prove him wrong. ’If there’s a guardian, it should breathe. Everything breathes. Even stone.’
Lindarion’s eyes never left the pit. ’Not everything breathes the way you do.’
As if summoned by the thought, the chamber shifted.
A low rumble vibrated up from the pit, so deep it wasn’t sound but weight pressing against their bones. Torches guttered, flames shrinking to embers. The humans stumbled back with curses, steel half-drawn, their commander barking for formation.
From the pit’s depths, light stirred. Not flame. Not torch. A faint, pulsing glow, red as coals smoldering under ash.
[System Alert: Guardian Presence Detected.]
[Designation: "Sentinel of the Scorched Sun"]
[Classification: Residual Construct]
[Threat Assessment: High.]
The words seared across Lindarion’s sight. He drew a breath through his teeth. So it wasn’t a memory alone. Something still lived. Or had been forced to linger.
Ashwing whimpered faintly in his head, childish but urgent. ’It’s not alive like us. It’s... stuck. Like it never finished dying. I don’t want it to touch me, Lindarion. Don’t let it touch me.’
’I won’t,’ Lindarion thought back firmly. His eyes narrowed as shadows coiled tighter around his blade.
The glow rose.
A shape began to climb from the pit, first only an outline of claws hooking into stone. They were massive, but brittle, fractured, each talon glowing faint red beneath cracks as though magma still lived inside.
Then a skull surfaced, a dragon’s, elongated and hollow, eyesockets burning with ember light. But the bones weren’t true bone. They shimmered translucent, glassy, like melted crystal forced into a frame.
The humans broke ranks. Some cried out prayers, others curses. The commander roared at them, but even his sword trembled.
Nysha didn’t move. Her crimson gaze stayed locked, unblinking, her shadows taut with tension. "It’s not whole," she whispered. "It’s... a memory bound to stone."
Lindarion stepped forward, shadows whispering like blades unsheathed.
The construct pulled free from the pit, half dragon, half human, its torso skeletal but with warped arms still clutching a ceremonial staff melted into its grasp. Its wings were gone, only jagged stubs of charred bone jutting from its back. Every step cracked the floor, leaving scorch marks where its claws pressed.
The chamber pulsed with its presence, murals flaring faintly as if awakened by its return.
[System Notice: Guardian Hostility Level—Escalating.]
[System Directive: Neutralize or Evade.]
"Evade?" Lindarion muttered under breath. "You mock me."
Ashwing hissed in his head, voice breaking with fear. ’Don’t fight it! Please don’t! It’s older than me, older than you, older than—’
’Silence.’ Lindarion’s thought cut clean. He steadied the young dragon with one word. Ashwing quieted instantly, curling small, though his fear still pressed like heat against Lindarion’s mind.
The humans were crumbling. Some dropped torches, backing toward the stairwell. The commander raised his blade, but his knuckles whitened with every step backward.
Nysha flicked her gaze to Lindarion. "Well, prince? Do we run?"
The Guardian’s head tilted, ember eyes locking directly on him. The skull’s jaw split open, no voice, only a rush of heat bursting outward. The torches died completely. Darkness swallowed the chamber, save for the ember-glow of its body.
Lindarion’s shadows flared wide. "We don’t run."
The humans froze at the steel in his tone. Even Nysha’s lips curled faintly, half disdain, half approval.
The Guardian moved.
It struck faster than its broken frame should allow. Its staff carved an arc across the floor, stone cracking beneath the sweep. Lindarion met it with his blade, shadows bracing like a wall. The impact rattled through his arms, heat searing his skin. He gritted his teeth but didn’t falter.
He slashed back, lightning bursting from his sword in a blinding arc. The strike split the darkness, lashing across the Guardian’s skeletal chest. Cracks spidered through its form, but no sound came, only more ember light bleeding out like molten blood.
The humans cried out in awe and terror.
The Guardian raised its staff again, this time slamming it into the ground. Flame erupted in a ring, racing outward. Humans dove, some screaming as heat blistered their skin. Nysha’s shadows surged around her, cocooning her against the blast.
Lindarion stood unflinching as the fire licked at his cloak, divine affinity cooling the flames before they touched him. Shadows hissed, drinking the heat away.
[System Alert: Seal integrity collapsing—Guardian unstable.]
[Estimated Collapse Time: 00:07:12]
His eyes narrowed. This wasn’t a foe to slay, it was a fuse burning down.
"Ashwing," he murmured inwardly.
’Y-Yes?’ the dragon squeaked.
’Guide me to its weakness. You feel it. I know you do.’
Ashwing whimpered, then pressed closer against his neck. ’It’s not its bones. It’s not its fire. It’s the black sun inside. Behind its ribs. Hit that, and maybe... maybe it stops being angry.’
The Guardian lunged again, staff blazing. Lindarion dodged sideways, shadows stretching like wings to propel him. His blade lashed low, cutting into the ribs. Lightning seared across the cracks, and there, faintly, he saw it.
A mark. The black sun, scorched into the core of its chest.
"Found you," he whispered.