The faint blue glow of the glyphs still lingered in the cracks of the chamber when Daniel stirred. His breathing was even now, his mind calmer than it had been since entering the realm. The Tempest Flow hummed within him—lightning not raging, but listening.
Mira sat cross-legged beside a small cluster of crystals, her daggers laid neatly before her. Each breath she took dissolved a wisp of shadow from her body, fusing it back into her core. David, not far away, was carving runic lines into a piece of earthstone, his Titan Glyph Art radiating a deep golden hue. The air was peaceful… almost.
Then the Codex flared once—an alert, soft but urgent.
> [ENERGY SIGNATURES DETECTED: UNKNOWN BIOFORM — 87 m NORTH]
Daniel's eyes opened, pupils flashing silver. "We're not alone," he said quietly.
Mira rose instantly, the calm of cultivation replaced by silent readiness. "You mean more of those spirits?"
He shook his head. "No. These are alive."
They moved in formation—Daniel at the front, David close behind, Mira slipping through the dim edges of the corridor. The tunnel wound downward, its walls etched with swirling murals of lightning and stone. Each step carried the echo of a heartbeat not their own, as though the realm itself breathed.
At the end of the corridor, a thin light filtered through an opening. They stepped out—and froze.
A vast valley stretched beneath an amber sky, hidden deep within the legacy realm. Ancient trees of translucent bark reached upward like spears of glass. A river of liquid light flowed through the center, its current humming with spiritual energy. And scattered along the ridges, moving with measured grace, were people.
Not spirits. Not constructs. People.
Their skin bore faint lines of glowing silver, like veins of metal beneath flesh. Their eyes reflected the elements—earth-brown, storm-blue, ember-gold. When they saw the outsiders, they didn't speak. They simply watched.
Mira whispered, "So this is what the mist was hiding."
One of them—taller than the rest, hair streaked with metallic gray—stepped forward. His armor was crafted of overlapping crystal scales, each piece humming faintly with residual power. He held no weapon, only a staff crowned by a dull crystal orb.
"You are not of the Eryndor line," he said. His voice was deep, calm, carrying the weight of old command. "Why do you trespass upon the Sanctuary of the Fallen Blood?"
Daniel took a step forward, lightning faintly crackling beneath his skin. "We came through the trials," he said. "We were chosen by the Codex."
A murmur passed through the gathered people, a sound like wind across metal. The elder studied him, then lifted his staff. "Chosen… that word has not been spoken here in ten generations."
David clenched his fists. "Generations? You've been here that long?"
The elder's gaze flicked to him. "Time outside moves differently. For us, it has been ages. We are the Kynari, the descendants of Eryndor's last warriors. When our master fell, this realm sealed itself, and we were bound to guard his secrets until the rightful heir arrived."
The Codex pulsed on Daniel's arm, reacting to the name. Faint runes shimmered across his skin, responding like recognition. The Kynari saw it, and many dropped to one knee instantly.
A young woman among them spoke, her voice trembling. "The Codex answers! He bears the storm mark!"
Mira's eyes widened, then she smirked softly. "Guess that confirms it."
Daniel wasn't sure whether to feel pride or unease. "We didn't come here to rule anyone," he said carefully. "We seek understanding—Eryndor's teachings, his purpose. The storm led us here."
The elder lowered his staff, eyes thoughtful. "Purpose is found through trial, not words. If you wish to learn of our master, you must prove you can bear the legacy he left behind."
He gestured toward the distant cliffs. There, half-buried in the rock, stood an enormous gate shaped like intertwined dragons of light and stone. Its center was sealed by a thunderbolt of solid crystal.
"The Gate of Truth," the elder said. "Beyond it lies the Memory of Eryndor. But it will not open for mere willpower. It opens only for those whose hearts have no shadow between them."
Daniel exchanged glances with Mira and David. They had fought, bled, and nearly died together, but this sounded… deeper.
"What kind of test is it?" Mira asked.
The elder's lips curved in a thin, almost sorrowful smile. "It is not I who will test you. The gate reads the truth in your soul. It will show you what you fear most—and whether you will still walk forward together once you've seen it."
He turned away. "Rest tonight. At dawn, the trial begins."
The Kynari dispersed, leaving the trio alone beside the river of light. David sat heavily on a stone. "Soul-reading gates. Perfect. Because we haven't nearly died enough times already."
Mira laughed quietly. "You sound like you're complaining."
"I am," David said, though his grin betrayed him.
Daniel crouched near the water, dipping his fingers in the luminous current. It was cool, alive with the whisper of lightning and memory. His reflection stared back—eyes like storms, exhaustion etched deep, but resolve unwavering.
He murmured, "Eryndor… what did you really see in this world?"
The river's current responded with a faint pulse, like a heartbeat answering a question left hanging between worlds.
Above them, the amber sky flickered once—silent lightning tracing a sigil Daniel didn't recognize. The Codex warmed against his skin, translating its pulse into a single word:
> [ACCEPTED.]