The Spire of Wings did not feel victorious.
It felt unstable.
Snow drifted across cracked crystal. Dragons circled higher than before, wary now—not of Ethan, but of what stirred beneath them.
Ethan stood at the edge of the half-repaired seal, frostfire dim but steady around his frame.
The System pulsed quietly.
[Seal Integrity: 63%]
[Ancient Entity — Dormant State: Unstable]
[Time Until Pressure Resurgence: Unknown]
Kaelith crossed her arms, dark flames coiling slowly around her shoulders.
"So that's our future problem."
Lysarra knelt briefly, pressing frost-laced fingers against the crystal floor. Ancient runes flickered faintly under her touch.
"It was never meant to weaken," she said softly. "The Council believed the Tyrant myth had faded."
Velytharion's massive form settled nearby, golden wings folding with deliberate control.
"It did not fade," the elder dragon said. "It endured."
Ronan stood at Ethan's side.
"Human kingdoms will feel that surge too."
