The desert stilled again as the spear of light hovered above him.
Then—
it shattered.
Not exploded.
Not faded.
Shattered.
As if the world itself rejected the intrusion.
Kherael gasped. "Impossible—! That was High Celestial Essence—only a god can dispel—"
"It wasn't dispelled," Lindarion murmured. "It was denied."
Nysha stared at him. "By what?"
"The inheritance," he said. "The choice I made. The domain is adapting."
The desert wind picked up again, this time naturally.
Ashwing peeked out from his hair. "So… does that mean the gods can't spy on us now? Or does it mean they're gonna send, like, ten more spears because they're mad?"
Lindarion didn't answer immediately.
He felt the shift.
The tightening of the air.
The faint pressure of a presence trying—and failing—to settle its gaze upon him.
"They can't see me," he said. "Not clearly. Not anymore."
