The weight of inevitability pressed on Lindarion's shoulders—but beneath it, something fiercely alive stirred in him. Not fear. Not dread.
Conviction.
"You're telling me I can restore the original Dythrael," he said. "Undo the Celestials' mistake."
"I am telling you," the being replied, "that you may be the only one who can."
The white space trembled, as if echoing his heartbeat.
"And what happens," Lindarion asked, "if I accept the second heart?"
The being did not soften its tone. "You will gain clarity. And responsibility. The seed's influence will deepen. You will feel what it feels. Remember what it remembers. You will not become Dythrael—but you will no longer be fully separate."
"And if I refuse?"
The being's answer was immediate.
"Then the Devourer will awaken with its corrupted identity intact—and when that happens, you will be the first thing it seeks."
Lindarion stood still.
He didn't tremble.
He didn't falter.
He didn't doubt.
All paths converged here.
