Ashwing noticed first. "It's syncing with you again. I hate that. I hate all of this."
Nysha ignored his panic; her gaze was fixed on the walls. "These markings… they're not language. They're diagrams. Or memories."
She touched one of the glowing lines. It rippled outward like water disturbed—images swirling briefly across the surface, a vast battlefield under three suns, a colossal serpent made of starlight, a sphere of golden fire falling from the heavens, a humanoid silhouette dissolving into motes of brilliance.
Then the wall stilled, and the images faded.
Nysha pulled her hand back quickly. "They're showing us what happened here."
"Not just what happened," Lindarion said. "What was lost."
The corridor widened suddenly into a chamber—not vast, but intimate in its enormity, the kind of place where sound dared not echo. Runes shaped like spirals and constellations floated in the air, weightless and slow, orbiting a circular dais in the center of the room.
