The chamber at the heart of the temple pulsed with a dim, unnatural glow. The walls rose higher than the eye could follow, carved with runes that seemed to slither when stared at too long.
In the center of the vast hall lay the fragment, an obsidian shard hovering above a broken pedestal, edges humming with a vibration that wasn't sound so much as pressure on the bones.
The squad of humans slowed, their earlier chants and whispers snuffed out by the oppressive weight of the place. Some crossed themselves, others clutched their weapons tighter, but none dared step closer.
Lindarion's eyes locked on the fragment. It was not a relic of faith or culture. It was a wound in the world. His system stirred the instant his gaze met it, glyphs flashing at the edge of his vision, warnings he had never seen before.
Nysha hissed under her breath, shadows writhing along her fingertips. "That thing isn't just old stone."
Ashwing shifted inside Lindarion's cloak, his small scaled body pressing tighter against him. His voice rang inside Lindarion's mind, unusually sharp for the normally playful dragonling. "Don't touch it. Don't. It feels wrong. Wrong like… like teeth in the dark."
But Lindarion already knew he couldn't leave it. The shard called to him, not as a lure, but as something that recognized him.
He stepped forward.
The humans didn't stop him. Some even fell to one knee, whispering his name like prayer. They believed he had come here to claim what was his, some destined artifact. None of them saw the tension running through his frame, the faint tremor in his hand as he reached for it.
His fingers brushed the shard.
The world split.
Error messages screamed across his vision, jagged, broken things that tore through the clean interface of his system.
[ALERT: Unauthorized System Fragment Detected]
[WARNING: Core Integrity Compromised]
[Process: Forced Integration Initiated]
The shard dissolved in his palm, bleeding into his veins like molten glass. His back arched, a guttural sound ripping from his throat as his body convulsed. Power crashed through him in waves, too vast, too alien, clawing at every nerve.
Blood burst from his nose, his eyes, his ears. His heart hammered like it wanted to tear free of his chest.
Ashwing screamed in his mind, terrified. "LINDARION! LET IT GO! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!"
Nysha lunged toward him, shadows spreading in panic, but the air around him warped violently. Lightning snapped, frost crawled, fire seared, void bled, all his affinities flaring at once, out of control. The blast hurled her back against the wall.
The humans fell to the floor, covering their heads, crying out that their savior was being consumed by a curse.
Still the system howled.
[Core Sync: 12% → 47% → 71%]
[WARNING: Vessel Instability Detected]
[Overload Threshold Approaching]
His vision fractured, the chamber breaking into shards of light and shadow. He felt himself tearing, every bone cracking under the weight of something older, sharper, crueler.
And then Selene.
Her voice slipped into the chaos, not a shout, not a command, but a whisper of warmth. "Master. Breathe."
The word anchored him. His lungs dragged in air through blood. His vision steadied just enough to keep him tethered as the storm raged.
[Integration 93%… 97%… COMPLETE]
The shard's essence buried itself into his core.
Then came silence.
Lindarion collapsed to one knee, hand pressed against the stone floor, chest heaving. His blood steamed where it hit the ground, veins still faintly glowing with unstable energy.
The final messages appeared before him.
[Fragment Assimilation Successful]
[New Skills Acquired:]
-Draconic Ascendancy (Passive)
-Void Rend (Active)
-Blood Rebirth (Trigger)
-Chrono Lock (Active)
[System Expansion: Ancestral Protocols Unlocked]
[Conflicts Detected: Current System vs Original Framework]
[Stability: Unknown]
His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. Each new word seared itself into his mind, not just new powers, but a reminder that he was no longer bound only to the system he'd always known. Something deeper, something ancient, had taken root.
Ashwing's voice shook with fear, tiny but desperate. "What did you do? You… you feel different. Like fire and claws and, and too much."
Nysha staggered back to her feet, crimson eyes burning as she stared at him. "What happened?" Her tone was sharp, but beneath it, fear.
The humans whispered in awe, some pressing foreheads to the floor. To them, he had not been cursed. He had been chosen.
Lindarion pushed himself upright, every muscle screaming. He forced his breathing to steady, his face cold, unreadable. "Nothing," he said flatly. "The shard is gone. That is all."
No one questioned him. Not here. Not now.
But the truth burned inside him. His body thrummed with power he could not yet measure, power no one must ever see. Not Nysha. Not Ashwing. Not the humans.
He tightened his grip on his sword and turned toward the shadowed corridor that led deeper into the temple. "We move."
The humans obeyed without hesitation, rallying to their prince, their savior. Nysha lingered, eyes narrowing, but she said nothing. Ashwing's small claws dug into his cloak, silent now but trembling.
And Lindarion walked forward, the echo of the system still whispering at the edges of his mind, cold and sharp:
Ancestral Protocols: Directive One Awaits.
The torches hissed low in the stale air. Stone corridors stretched into blackness, carved by hands long dead, their edges too precise to be natural. The humans lingered near the last chamber's threshold, eyes darting as if the walls themselves might awaken.
No one spoke loudly. Even Nysha kept her shadows tight against her frame, crimson gaze sharp but wary.
Ashwing's claws scratched faintly against Lindarion's shoulder, his lizard form perched like he always preferred. But his tail twitched, nervous, restless.
"Lindarion…" his voice came in the prince's mind, childlike and low. "…it feels weird here. Not scary. Just… like the walls are… watching."
Lindarion's hand brushed against the scaled body absently, not comfort but steadying. "Stay quiet, Ashwing."
The dragonling huffed, a puff of smoke curling unseen from his tiny maw. He obeyed, though Lindarion felt the unsettled pulse of his thoughts pressing at the edges of his own. Ashwing could feel the new weight in him. Not the details. Just the wrongness.
The others moved cautiously, the commander at the front with two soldiers close behind. Their blades trembled faintly in their hands, not from exhaustion, but from reverence edged with fear.
"Your Highness," the commander said, voice low as gravel dragged across stone. "We should leave this place. There's nothing for us here but ghosts."