Chapter 112: The Leash
Leon’s voice echoed softly through the cavern, syllables rough with dust and age. The names scraped his throat as he spoke them—foreign yet familiar, like echoes of his own bloodline. Each word ignited a symbol along the spiraling root-line, black light burning faintly beneath the tree.
"Thornek. Vael. Harun of the Eastwatch. Emryn, daughter of Red Vale. Marek of the Hollow..."
He continued, and the cavern responded.
The dead whispered.
Not aloud. Not with words. But the pressure changed. The roots stopped pulsing and started breathing again. One of the chains overhead shuddered, dust trickling down. The second crown shifted slightly, a tremor running through the blades that encased it.
Tomas stepped back. "Leon, how many more?"
Leon didn’t stop. The names came faster now, his tone hollow. Repeating. Reaching. Summoning.
Mira tightened her grip on her wardstone. Its glow flared with every name, as if verifying truth. But something else happened too.
The creature at the edge of the dark—the remnant, the guardian—took a step forward.
Leon faltered.
The next name hovered on his tongue. But it didn’t come from memory. It came from within. Not inherited—lived.