The desert gave way to pale stone.
After days of walking, the dunes softened into a field of silver dust that glimmered like moonlight even beneath the sun. Each step hummed faintly, the land alive with echoes of ancient mana.
Rhea's staff pulsed with blue light as she scanned the air. "We're close. The resonance pattern's stable — almost rhythmic."
Arden wiped his brow. "You mean it's singing?"
"In a way, yes."
Lyn slowed his pace, eyes fixed on the horizon. The faint outline of ruins shimmered in the heat — arches, pillars, and an enormous circular gate half-buried in time.
Umbra's shadow stretched longer as they approached. —This is no city. It's a memory carved into the world. The first bond was not forged by choice, but by necessity.
"Necessity?" Lyn murmured.
—The world was breaking. Humanity begged the spirits to survive. What was given was not love. It was fear turned into alliance.
Rhea glanced back. "Sounds familiar."
Arden smirked faintly. "Everything old finds a way to happen again."
They crossed beneath the first arch. The air changed. It grew still — too still. The sound of wind vanished, replaced by a distant pulse that seemed to come from the earth itself.
The ground shimmered, and suddenly they stood within what looked like a living reflection of the past.
The ruins reformed around them — whole, shining, vibrant. Spirits of light and shadow floated through the air like fragments of dream. Humans knelt beside them, their hands pressed together, forming symbols of unity.
Rhea whispered, "A memory echo…"
Umbra's tone darkened. —No. This is the bond itself remembering.
Lyn stepped forward, drawn toward the massive gate at the center. The carvings upon it shifted as he approached, changing from ancient glyphs into something familiar — the same crest that burned on his hand.
"It's reacting to me," he said quietly.
Rhea's voice trembled. "The bond recognizes you. It's choosing."
The air rippled. A voice, soft as wind, filled the chamber.
—Child of broken seals… bearer of rebellion's shadow… why do you return to the place that birthed chains?
Lyn's breath hitched. "To make sure they never rise again."
—And if the world cannot exist without them?
He hesitated. The ruins flickered. The illusion of the past began to twist — the faces of the first tamers turned hollow, their spirits snarling, their unity dissolving into chaos.
Arden stepped back, hand on his sword. "What the hell—?"
Rhea's staff flared. "It's testing him! The memory's alive!"
The voice echoed louder now, resonating through the stones.
—Every bond is a chain disguised as trust. Break one, and you break the world again. Are you ready for that, Shadowborn?
Lyn clenched his fists. "If the world can't stand without chains, then it doesn't deserve to stand at all."
The gate flared. Light and shadow erupted outward in a storm of raw essence. Umbra surged from Lyn's back, wings of midnight spreading wide to shield the others.
For a moment, the world hung still — and then the vision shattered.
They stood once more in the ruined city, though now its silence was different. The hum had stopped. The land no longer pulsed with memory.
Umbra's form steadied. —It accepted your answer.
Rhea looked around, eyes wide. "The mana flow's stabilizing across the entire region. Whatever you did—it reset something fundamental."
Lyn looked at his hand. The crest faintly glowed, but the mark at its center had changed — the symbol now open, as if the circle had been broken.
"No more chains," he murmured.
Arden gave a weary grin. "You realize you might've just erased the world's oldest contract?"
"Good," Lyn said simply. "Maybe now the next one won't need blood to hold it."
Umbra's tone was softer than usual. —And if it does?
Lyn's gaze drifted toward the horizon, where new light flickered faintly — not divine, not corrupted, just… alive.
"Then we try again," he said quietly. "Until it doesn't."
The wind stirred gently, carrying the faint echo of the city's ancient song — no longer a lament, but something almost like hope.