The storm had passed, but the valley still hummed — the faint echo of divine energy thrumming beneath the ground.
Lyn stood before the newly revealed doorway of light, its golden chains rippling like molten threads suspended in air. The others gathered behind him, the reflection of the entrance shimmering in a thousand fractured mirrors.
"This is it," Rhea whispered. "The temple beneath the Seal."
Umbra's shadow brushed the air around the portal. —The energy here… it's not pure light. It's decayed sanctity. Whatever's inside, it hasn't slept peacefully.
Lyn took a slow breath, raising his hand toward the chains. They parted at his touch, reluctantly — as though recognizing the crest burned into his chest.
"Then let's wake what's been waiting."
The light swallowed them.
A heartbeat later, the world inverted.
They stood in an expanse of shimmering glass that stretched endlessly in every direction. Beneath their feet flowed a slow current of pale blue — a river trapped under the surface, carrying fragments of memory like drifting stars.
Rhea knelt, touching the translucent floor. "It's… water. Frozen by divine will."
—A prison made of silence, Umbra murmured. —The gods sealed something beneath it.
Lyn walked forward, the reflection of his steps rippling across the glass like waves. In the distance, pillars of light rose from the depths — nine of them, forming a vast circle around a sunken throne.
And upon that throne sat a crown.
Not golden, not silver — but forged of shifting shadow and light, eternally balancing between the two.
The voice from before echoed faintly, distorted now, as though trapped between planes.
"The Seal must endure… the chain must hold…"
Lyn stepped closer. The mark on his chest flared with each word.
"You're dying," he said quietly, addressing the unseen presence. "Let me end it."
The crown pulsed once, a low hum resonating through the chamber.
"End… or renew?"
Lyn hesitated. "What's the difference?"
"In ending, you break what binds. In renewal, you become what binds."
Rhea's eyes widened. "It's offering you the Seal's power."
Umbra snarled. —And its chains. Don't forget that part.
Lyn's fingers curled into fists. "If I refuse?"
The river below them stirred. Shadows surged upward — faint outlines of beasts, each one tethered by golden cords. Their roars echoed through the crystalline void, a chorus of agony and remembrance.
"Then the world will collapse beneath its own weight."
The words struck like thunder. The glass cracked, spiderweb fractures racing outward.
"The Seals were meant to contain the world's origin — the first bond, the link between life and void. When we fail… that bond unravels."
Lyn looked down as the cracks spread beneath his boots, reflecting a storm of faces — tamers, beasts, and gods — all screaming wordlessly.
"Then I'll renew it," he said, voice low but steady.
Rhea gasped. "Lyn—!"
Umbra's voice dropped to a growl. —You're playing with divine fire.
"Maybe." Lyn stepped forward, into the light of the throne. "But fire's the only thing that ever changed anything."
The moment his hand touched the crown, the world convulsed.
A tidal wave of light and shadow burst outward, swallowing the temple. Rhea was thrown back; Umbra's form shattered into mist. Lyn screamed as the crown burned against his palm — not in pain, but in revelation.
Images flashed through his mind — a beast of endless eyes, a hand forging chains of stars, and a voice older than time whispering:
"You were never meant to tame. You were meant to remember."
The light faded.
When the storm cleared, Lyn stood before the throne — his right eye now glowing faint gold, the mark on his chest reshaped into a sigil of intertwined circles.
Rhea stared in disbelief. "You… you did it."
Umbra reformed beside him, its aura dim but steady. —He didn't just take the Seal. He became it.
Lyn turned to face them, his voice quieter now — resonant, layered, almost divine.
"Then the chains answer to me now."
He looked down at the glowing river below. The frozen current began to move again — slowly, then steadily — as if time itself resumed its breath.
The Sea of Glass was no longer silent.