The desert stretched before them in fractured waves of ochre and black, the ground scarred by ancient battles and newer ones layered carelessly on top. Broken constructs lay half-buried in the sand, their cores long since looted or shattered. In the far distance, heat haze distorted the horizon, but Lindarion could feel movement beyond it, subtle shifts in mana density that hinted at patrols, beasts, or something worse drifting through the wastes.
He closed his eyes briefly, reaching inward. His mana core responded instantly, no longer flaring violently but unfolding like a disciplined engine. The inheritance sat beneath it, integrated but restrained, a silent presence that did not demand use. He checked himself carefully, methodically, the way his father had taught him as a child after every dangerous breakthrough.
Stronger, yes. Sharper. But still himself.
