Ancestral Lineage

"I'd prefer if you joined us rather than brooding up there," Ethan said suddenly, his golden eyes glowing faintly, as if peering through the mountain itself.

A deep rumble answered him. The mountain shuddered—not in fear, but in recognition—as something massive and ancient landed atop it with a quiet finality. The weight of its presence lingered for only a heartbeat… and then vanished.

In that same instant, a gust of warm wind swept through the chamber, carrying with it the scent of ash, cinder, and dragonfire.

And then she was there.

Empress Caldessa—known to her family as Barki, the Dragon Ruler of Flames—stepped into the room.

Her arrival was silent, but impossible to ignore.

Her long, fiery-orange hair flowed behind her in a high, untamed ponytail, catching the light like molten gold. Curved horns, dark orange streaked with obsidian, crowned her head like a war diadem. Her frame was a sculpture of power and beauty—muscular yet elegant, every inch of her forged by fire and battle.

She looked like a goddess of war.

But her face…

It was not the face of a conqueror.

Her expression wasn't fierce, wasn't regal—it was broken. Her orange eyes, usually blazing with unshakable pride, were now wide and trembling, rimmed with the threat of tears she'd sworn never to shed.

All her strength… melted in that moment.

She stood frozen, fists clenched at her sides. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Ethan smiled gently and opened his arms.

"Come here, Barki."

Her composure shattered. She moved—not with the grace of a warrior queen—but with the desperate speed of a woman who had waited too long.

She dropped to her knees beside the bed and crushed him into a tight embrace, her body trembling as fire magic pulsed erratically around her.

"You're real," she whispered, burying her face into his shoulder. "I thought I was dreaming again. I kept dreaming and waking up to nothing…"

Ethan held her tighter. "I'm here. I'm home."

Caldessa didn't respond with words. Just the sound of a choked breath and the feeling of twenty years of sorrow spilling free against his chest.

Around them, the other wives watched in silence—not with jealousy, but with shared understanding.

Each of them had carried a piece of Ethan's soul.

"Where's Tia?" Ethan asked, his voice suddenly cutting through the quiet reunion like a blade.

The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Clara's gaze dropped. Lisa froze.

Ethan's golden eyes scanned their faces. "Clara? Lisa?"

"She…" Lisa began, but the words caught in her throat. She looked to Carmen for help, her hands trembling slightly.

Carmen stepped forward, her voice low and burdened. "She disappeared. Two days ago."

"What?" Ethan's breath caught.

"We've been searching ever since," Carmen continued. "But even the Soul Mark isn't helping… it's like something's cloaking her."

"No… no, no, no…" Ethan muttered, shaking his head. "Don't tell me this…"

Then—suddenly—he bolted upright in the bed.

Power erupted from him like a storm unleashed.

His aura surged, wild and suffocating, drowning the room in raw pressure.

Across the kingdom, the skies dimmed.

Winds howled.

The mountains groaned.

Every being in Anbord, from the lowest soul to the highest archon, felt the sheer weight of it.

"Saint Realm…" Seraphis choked out, shielding herself instinctively.

Only Barki remained composed, though sweat beaded her brow. "Sss… he's still unstable."

"Shit—sorry," Ethan hissed, reining it in. The aura snapped back into his body, the air lightening, though the tension remained thick.

He exhaled, visibly rattled.

"What happened?" Seraphis asked, stepping closer. "Did you see something?"

"It's… Angitia," Ethan replied, his voice hollow. "She's gone."

The name alone made several of them freeze.

"You mean… her soul?" Andriel asked gently, crossing the room to him. "Are you sure, darling?"

Ethan nodded slowly, dread in his eyes. "Yes. She's not here. I've always felt her… like a quiet fire inside me. But now, there's nothing. No trace. And when I reached inward… the others didn't even realize she was missing."

"Gods…" Clara whispered.

"It's like she vanished from existence," Ethan said, his fists tightening around the bed covers. "And I don't know how."

The room remained quiet, but the atmosphere had changed.

The joy of his return now stood shadowed by fear.

And something darker had just begun to stir.

…

Madeleine bolted out of her living quarters, leaving purple trails of light in her wake as the hem of her royal robe fluttered behind her.

Her son was awake. Finally.

After two decades. Two long, aching decades.

She had waited. Prayed. Cried in silence when no one could see. There were times she feared she would forget the sound of his voice, the warmth of his aura. If not for her other son—Trevor—keeping her grounded, she might've crumbled beneath the weight of loss.

But now…

She felt him.

Felt that blazing presence—majestic, powerful, whole. The very essence of her son: Ethan Kael'Dri Smith, the Crimson Emperor.

She would see him.

No matter what.

She tore through the inner sanctums of the royal palace, bypassing startled guards, her energy signature unmistakable. The marble underfoot cracked from the sheer force of her speed.

High above Antrim, the sky shimmered red and gold—echoing Ethan's aura. Every being in the kingdom was already whispering, sensing the impossible truth:

He lives.

A rush of memories flooded her—the day he was born under the Dragon Star, the first time he called her "Mama," the quiet evenings where he would rest his head in her lap, promising to protect them all. That promise had nearly killed him.

And now…

She burst through the final barrier, a sacred ward that had sealed off the Grove Chamber for two decades.

Inside, the air shimmered with power and reunion.

Harley sat by the bed, eyes still wet with tears.

Trevor stood tall, yet shaken.

The others—Carmen, Clara, Lisa, Seraphis, Barki, Andriel, Pisces, Elaine, Christel—formed a loose circle, silent, reverent.

And in the center… sitting upright, golden eyes glowing faintly, was him.

Ethan.

Madeleine's breath hitched. Her knees buckled slightly.

"Ethan…" she whispered, voice trembling.

His head turned. Their eyes met.

"Mom?" His voice was hoarse but filled with recognition and warmth.

She didn't wait.

She rushed forward, crossing the room in a blur, and fell to her knees beside him. Her hands cupped his face, tears already spilling freely.

"My baby… my sweet boy…"

"I'm here now," Ethan whispered, his voice thick. "I'm home."

Madeleine broke. Twenty years of sorrow and strength shattered in a sob as she pulled him close, cradling him like she had the night he took his first breath.

Around them, no one dared speak.

Not when a mother had finally gotten her son back.

Not when the High Empress wept.

…

Far away, in a land riddled with danger—where the very air tasted of blood and wild mana—four figures carved a path of utter carnage through hordes of beasts. Each swing, blast, or strike they unleashed tore through monsters as if uprooting trees from their roots.

"You all feel it, don't you?" one of them asked, his deep voice like the tolling of a funeral bell.

His onyx skin was a stark contrast against the scarlet sands of the battlefield, a living silhouette of death in motion. Four powerful arms moved with eerie grace, each one encased in glowing violet gauntlets that obliterated anything they touched.

Lamair Griswold—High Sovereign Thanatos, the Ancestor of Death.

His long purple hair danced wildly in the raging wind, and a manic smile spread across his face like a predator tasting blood for the first time.

"The King… no—the Emperor is awake. My liege…" said Jerry, his voice low and reverent.

His braided gray hair slashed like a blade, literally—severing a screeching creature in two with the force of a whip. Red-silver eyes gleamed with unrestrained power and something else—devotion. The beasts around him didn't stand a chance, torn apart by his mixture of technique and brutality.

"Ugh, Jerry, chill. You're scaring the wildlife," Reginald said with a crooked smirk.

His wine-colored hair ignited, red foxfire sparking across his skin as he shifted effortlessly into a massive three-tailed fox. The ground sizzled where his paws landed, the air trembling from the raw aura of his transformation. With a roar, he incinerated a dozen creatures in one go.

"Leave big brother alone," another voice chimed in calmly, yet with quiet danger.

Thomas, Jerry's younger brother. His short afro shimmered with black energy as tendrils of void shadow erupted from his back, sniping distant beasts like spears from the underworld.

His control was frightening—clean, precise, merciless.

The battlefield was silent within seconds, covered in beast remains and bleeding twilight.

Then, silence.

The four stood amidst the aftermath, their powers still humming.

Lamair's smirk widened. "So… what now?"

Jerry straightened, dusting his cloak. "Now we return."

Reginald cracked his neck, morphing back into human form. "Let's hope no one else beats us to hugging him."

Thomas just nodded, dark energy slowly retracting. "Let's go home."

Without another word, they turned toward the rift on the horizon—the gateway that would take them back to Anbord.

Back to him.

The Emperor had returned.

And so too would his shadows.