CHAPTER 145 — THE WHITE FILAMENT
The desert vanished.
Not gradually.
Not gently.
Long Hao stepped past Zehell's reaching hand and into the cave once more. The dragon did not move to stop him. It only watched, violet eyes reflecting a depth older than worlds.
The rune stone stood behind it.
The Anchor.
Ancient.
Monolithic.
Carved with spirals that seemed to breathe faintly under the dim cave light. The hollow circle at its center pulsed—not black this time, not silver.
White.
Not the white of light.
The white of absence before color.
Zehell's voice echoed faintly behind him.
"Long Hao—"
He didn't turn.
Not because he didn't care.
But because if he looked back—
He might hesitate.
His palm hovered inches from the stone.
The dragon's voice drifted through the cavern like distant thunder.
"You stand before origin."
"You seek truth."
He exhaled slowly.
"I do."
"Then touch."
His hand pressed against the rune stone.
For a heartbeat—
Nothing.
Then—
Resonance.
