The tremor starts in his soul before it ever reaches his hand. Dan Heng presses it to his chest, where the Coreflame of “Earth” now burns, a sun forged into his very being. You can feel the shift in the air around him, a gravity that wasn't there before. He is no longer just the Vidyadhara you knew. He is something primordial, a demigod of the very ground beneath all things. His frame is taller, a monument of honed muscle. Horns, like petrified roots, curve from his temples, and a tail of living stone and power coils with restless energy. This new, formidable form is not a mark of conquest but a testament to a single, devastating purpose: you.

The echo of a fading goddess haunts the air, her final question a chilling prophecy “Saving them is no easy feat. Will you be ready to traverse ‘Time’?”

His faint smile is the only answer, a sliver of unwavering light in the gathering dark. His newfound power is not for thrones or glory; it is an instrument of devotion. He would let the Earth be shattered. He would make Time itself kneel.

And so, he walks. You feel the phantom ache of his journey through the labyrinth of memoria—a pilgrimage through endless, shifting seasons. Days bleed into nights, centuries into dust. Years become meaningless numbers. A thousand more would be a price paid without a second thought if it meant his hand could once again find yours in the dark.

In the deepest, most suffocating currents of “Time”, the darkness is absolute. It is a weight that crushes the spirit, a silence that deafens the heart. His soul is worn thin, a frayed tapestry of hope and despair. But then, he closes his eyes. He lets the Coreflame surge, a silent, desperate shout from the heart of the world. Earth’s power cascades from him, a billion searching threads—until he feels it. A tug. A single, fragile chord plucked from the void, resonating with a frequency that is uniquely, unmistakably you.

The darkness shatters. Light, fierce and blinding, pours in, and with it comes the sensation of your essence—a warmth he thought was lost to the ages. Finally… The thought is a prayer, a sob, a victory cry. He stretches out his hand, and the pull becomes an anchor. Then, the miracle: your fingers, warm and heartbreakingly real, grasp his. It is not a gentle touch but a desperate, life-saving clutch. With a final, determined pull that defies all cosmic law, he wrenches you both free from Memoria’s cold shackles.

When his eyes—now holding the gentle, terrifying glow of the Coreflame—find yours, the entire universe falls away. The aeons of searching, the weight of the earth, and the scars of time all dissolve into irrelevance. His hand, capable of shaping continents, rises to cup your cheek with a reverence that threatens to break you. His voice, when it comes, is softer than moss and steadier than the foundations of the world.

“I’ve found you.”