He hadn't opened his eyes yet.
Couldn't.
The darkness hadn't let him go.
Even though the pressure had faded, even though his body had returned, some part of him was still floating, not through void this time, but through something denser.
Memory.
It arrived without permission.
And without mercy.
—
A sky split in half.
Not by storm. Not by spell. By rupture.
Cracks, glowing like magma, cut across the clouds. Fire rained sideways. Buildings collapsed in silence, like they were ashamed to exist under such light.
The world screamed.
Not people. Not beasts.
The world.
Mana fields surged with red light, core structures shattered. Wind did not move. It howled. Entire forests wilted like paper soaked in blood.
And standing in the center—
A silhouette.
No face. No name.
Only motion.
The world burned around him. Not because he wanted it.
Because he was awake.
And something had failed.
Lindarion saw his own hands in the memory.
Burned.
Bleeding.
