The moment Thazir vanished beyond the horizon, the mask began to crack. Sagiri remained standing atop Zaira's head, but only barely. The crimson glow in his eyes flickered. His breathing grew uneven. Every movement of the beast sent fresh agony through his body.
The five relics were not meant to be awakened together and certainly not wielded by someone who carried the echo archive. They were greater in power than one person, and they had not learned to coexist.
The Archive had broadened too quickly. Too violent. Knowledge, power, memories, and authority had been forced into a vessel that should have spent months, perhaps years, adapting.
Half a year of meditation would have been the minimum. Half a year of isolation. Half a year of silence. Instead, he had gone to war with the South days after his awakening. To save Azir. To save his squad. Now the price has come due. Every nerve in his body felt as though it were being torn apart.
