Two Keystones locked into place. Valdris’s breathing eased.

Valdris shuddered. A low, ancient voice echoed in Elara’s mind: “They came for my heart-flame, little one. Do not let them take it. If the Keystones fail… sever my spine. Let me die a drake, not a husk.”

Elara looked up. Through the mists of the Gorge, she saw them: . Not ordinary drakes. These were shard-wyrms—twisted, serpentine creatures with crystalline growths bursting through their skulls. They didn’t roar. They screamed in harmonic frequencies that made reality splinter.