The air in the high mountain pass didn't just feel cold; it felt empty.
Lys stood at the center of the stone circle, his breath hitching in his chest. For years, the monks had taught him that the Shin Dragon was not a beast to be summoned, but a fundamental law of the universe to be hosted. Today, the seals—heavy iron bands etched with silver mercury—felt ten times their actual weight against his forearms.
Opposite him, the air began to ripple. The invaders weren't human; they were husks of shadow, soldiers who had traded their souls for a fragment of the Dying Sun. They moved with a jerky, unnatural speed, their blades humming with a discordant frequency that made Lys's teeth ache.
"Release it, boy," the lead husk rasped, its voice sounding like grinding stones. "Let the Dragon out so we can feast on the divinity."
Lys didn't answer. He closed his eyes and looked inward, past his heartbeat, past his fear, until he reached the Great Well. Deep within the center of his spirit sat a coiled serpent of pure, white-hot geometry. It wasn't made of scales and bone, but of math and light.
"Observe," a voice boomed—not in his ears, but in the marrow of his bones.
Lys gripped the seals on his wrists. With a sharp twist and a mental command, he clicked the primary lock.