Ajal: Woven Through the Realms

The jungle fell unnaturally silent.

Not the hush of waiting predators. Not the stillness before a storm.

This was different.

As the scouting party of the Ironseed Sect pressed deeper into the heart of the Forbidden Expanse, every footstep echoed louder than it should. Every breath felt weighed down by something unspoken.

"Hold," said the silver-haired scout, her voice no louder than a whisper.

The others froze behind her.

They had entered a hollow grove—circular, strangely symmetrical, and at its center stood a stone throne, half-buried in moss and vines.

It radiated heat without fire. Pressure without weight.

A blackened crown of twisted ash rested atop the stone. It pulsed faintly with a rhythm that didn't match any living heartbeat.

One of the younger scouts, barely Level 50, stepped forward.

"Is this… the anomaly?"

"Not quite," the silver-haired leader said, narrowing her eyes. "It's a remnant. A trial site."

Suddenly—

FWOOOOOM!

The air rippled outward, distorting their vision. The crown ignited with violet flame, and from its base, a figure rose.

It was not Ajal, but a spiritual echo of him—formed during the Ash Crown Rite. Towering, shirtless, eyes like stars collapsing inward, runes etched across his chest in a spiral pattern that shimmered with cold fire.

The projection stood still, wings folded. But it watched them.

One of the scouts unsheathed his blade. "It's just a projection."

The echo turned its head slowly, locking eyes with the boy.

The projection's mouth opened. No words. Only a whisper—like ancient wind through dead halls.

"Unworthy."

CRACK!

The boy fell to his knees, weapon shattering in his hands as a burst of pure soul-pressure crushed him.

"Withdraw!" barked the silver-haired leader, activating a resonance ward with a snap of her fingers. Golden vines burst from her scroll, wrapping around the others as she pulled them back.

The projection didn't follow.

It simply raised one hand—and in it formed a spiral of violet flame.

It placed the flame gently on the crown.

Then it vanished.

FWMP!

Gone. But the heat remained.

--

As the shaken scouts stumbled into the treeline, the silver-haired leader whispered, more to herself than to anyone else:

"Whatever this place was… the one who claimed it isn't human."

And somewhere, high above the jungle canopy—

Ajal's eyes opened. His Soul Halo pulsed once.

"They touched the echo," Aurielle murmured into his thoughts.

"Good," Ajal replied, rising to his feet, "Let them wonder who I am."

He inhaled slowly, savoring the scent of wild mana and broken roots.

"I've learned what I can here. This land sheltered me, tested me… shaped me."

He looked out toward the horizon, where the Expanse began to thin into hill and broken plain.

"But the world won't come to me forever. It's time I go to it."

Behind him, Isirya appeared—gliding to the ledge on silent feet, her white robes trailing like mist.

"You've grown arrogant," she said coolly, folding her arms.

"No," Ajal replied. "I've grown curious. Big difference."

She eyed him with that unreadable, ancient stare.

"The world beyond the Expanse doesn't care about what you've done here."

"Good," he said. "Then it won't see me coming."

Isirya let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "When you leave, you do so alone. You can't rely on me to shield you anymore."

"I wasn't relying on you. You taught me what I needed to know. The rest… is mine to write."

She studied him for a long moment, golden eyes flickering with something close to pride.

"If you die before you become interesting," she said, turning away, "I'll be disappointed."

Ajal grinned. "Then you'll have to stay alive long enough to see what I become."

She vanished into the canopy, gone as suddenly as she arrived.

"And when they ask who you are?" Aurielle whispered, her presence as steady as ever.

He smiled faintly.

"I'll tell them I'm the one who doesn't fit into their numbers."

Aurielle's laughter was soft, fond.

"Good. Because this world has forgotten how to make room for miracles."

----

The silver-haired scout knelt before a projection altar, her body still shivering faintly. A glowing green circle flared beneath her.

A voice, distant and slow, answered through the projection.

"You were told to observe, not provoke. Explain."

"We didn't provoke it," she said, her voice tight. "The trial site responded on its own. We encountered a sovereign echo—spiral-marked. It addressed one of our own. Crushed him with pure pressure. No contact. No spells. Just... will."

Silence.

Then.

"Describe the figure."

"Draconic. Young. Reptilian wings. Sovereign spiral etched in flame on the chest. It was not a spirit. It watched us."

A longer silence.

"Withdraw. Reinforcements are being rerouted. Do not engage. Mark the site and vanish."

She bowed her head. "Understood."

The projection dimmed. The scout exhaled shakily, rising to her feet.

"This isn't an anomaly," she whispered to herself. "It's a beginning."