The silence in the underground chamber was absolute, save for the rhythmic, bioluminescent pulse of Lyra's mark. The obsidian pool at the center of the room didn't just reflect the dark; it seemed to breathe with it.
Lucian stood a few paces back, his hand hovering near the hilt of Ebon-Tooth. He was a creature of the shadows, but even he looked unsettled by the raw, ancient energy vibrating through the stone floor. This wasn't the refined, disciplined magic of the Spire. This was the source—the unedited power of the Void.
"The visions," Lucian said, his voice echoing in the vast space. "They aren't just memories, Lyra. This place is a trial. The First Anchors didn't just take power; they had to prove they could contain it without shattering."
Lyra stepped closer to the liquid black surface. "The Oracle told me I was a vessel. A cup to be filled. But the voice in the water... it said I was a bridge."
