Nysha grabbed Lindarion's arm. "Stop. It's reacting to you."
Kherael tensed. "This is a recognition field. Old. Very old."
Ashwing whispered, "Recognition for who…?"
The canyon answered.
A voice rose from the depths—not breathing, not speaking, but vibrating through the bones of the earth.
"Child of the Severed Bloodline."
Nysha's hand flew to her dagger.
Ashwing hissed. "Nope. NOPE. Voices from holes are never good."
The rumble deepened.
"The Harbingers have spoken.
The desert has woken.
Show your face… bearer of the Interstice."
Lindarion stepped to the very edge of the canyon.
"…I'm here."
The canyon exhaled.
Sand blasted upward.
The stone walls trembled.
And something titanic began to rise.
First came the sound—like granite grinding against worlds.
Then came the pressure—gravity thickening, air cracking with static.
Then the shadow—vast enough to blot out the sun.
The wyrm emerged.
Not like a snake.
Not like a dragon.
Like a continent uncoiling.
