Ancestral Lineage - Chapter 452

Chapter 452: Strength of the First Primord (Final)

“W-Who?” His voice cracked. His aura fluctuated violently.

He wasn’t just afraid.

He was terrified.

The presence ignored him.

“I’m sorry you had to witness this, my daughters,” the voice said, warm yet unbearably distant, like the sound of a father whose hands had shaped universes. “But it was necessary. For you… and for him.”

The pebble pulsed again. Ethan’s broken body flickered, threads of golden-silver light stitching around him like the first strokes of a divine brush.

“The other three will join you soon, and you will be complete. Until then… witness the birth of a true being of Order.”

The sky split open, not ripped, not torn.

It opened, like a curtain drawn aside by an invisible hand.

Starlight poured through. Cold beyond cold. Silence beyond silence.

And the voice spoke one final time, each word bending the world into reverence.

“My son… Ethan Voryn Aetherforge Kael’Dri.”

Leon turned slowly, because something told him that if he moved too fast, his mind would shatter.

What he saw stole every breath he would ever take.

A dragon. Not a dragon.The dragon.

It filled the heavens. Not metaphorically. Literally.

Its scales were a mosaic of molten lava and dark crystals, each one shining with a law older than time. Its wings stretched across continents. Its shadow covered the world. It didn’t roar; its presence existed, and that alone nearly forced Leon to kneel.

And atop the dragon stood eleven women.

No, eleven forces.

Their eyes glowed with such immense power that the world distorted around their gaze. Their auras merged into a single terrifying harmony: love, fury, anguish, devotion, divinity.

Tear stains marked their cheeks.

But their faces were carved in raw, unfiltered wrath.

They didn’t look at Leon like he was an enemy.

They looked at him like he was an insect who had dared touch something sacred.

And then he saw her.

Pisces.

Her hair floated in a slow halo, whipping in a wind that wasn’t there. Her eyes, those normally soft, watery blue eyes, were now glowing abyssal oceans filled with storms. Pure killing intent radiated from her body with such potency that the colossal dragon beneath her bowed its head slightly, acknowledging her fury.

Leon felt his knees weaken.

His sister. His beloved sister. His last fragile thread of sanity.

She wasn’t sad.

She wasn’t conflicted.

She was livid.

A cold, final, absolute rage burned in her gaze, an emotion deeper than hatred.

Her aura slammed into Leon like a tidal wave of divine wrath.

Leon’s voice trembled.

“…Li…Lisa…?”

Her eyes narrowed in a way that promised something he had never imagined she could offer.

Not forgiveness. Not pity. Not even hatred.

Judgment.

The kind that Saints couldn’t give. The kind gods feared.

And Leon finally understood:

He hadn’t just provoked Ethan.

He had provoked all twelve women who loved Ethan more than the universe itself.

And now?

Now the cosmos itself was watching.

…

What is a singularity?

No… who is a Singularity?

Saint Realm beings, with their bodies woven from laws and their souls pressed from compressed divinity, were called singularities because they warped reality simply by existing. They bent causality. They influenced probability. They were gravitational centers of fate.

Primogenitors were also singularities, a different breed. Ancient. Mythic. Their bloodlines were the blueprints of entire races. Their breathing shaped ecosystems. Their instincts shaped history.

But what was a Saint…

Who was also a Primogenitor…

Who was also something far older than both?

That answer hung suspended in the air, glowing, humming, pulsing:

The silver-gold orb.

The singularity he created during one of his earliest, most reckless training sessions. Back when he was still learning what his body was, what his soul was, what the Paths whispered to him in the dark. Back when “singularity” was only a concept he toyed with, not a destiny pressing against his ribs.

And now that very orb, his first brush with a truth he had not understood, floated above his dying body, shining like a newborn star.

Its pressure shook the world.

The seas outside the dimensional battlefield trembled.

Mountains bowed.

Even Leon’s Chaos Avatar flickered in hesitation.

Then the orb cracked.

Not physically, conceptually.

Like a law breaking open.

Two lights poured out of it, spiraling like twin dragons rising from an egg too small to ever hold them.

One side gold.

One side silver.

The gold glow pulsed in wide, sweeping waves, steady, warm, but impossibly vast. It made the world calmer, structured. Laws stabilized around it. Gravity straightened. Space aligned. Reality reeled as if trying to salute it.

This was the Primord.

His lineage.

His blood.

His ancient authority.

A golden star forged from the very first spark of order.

The silver glow was tighter, sharper, almost ethereal, less a light and more a concept given shape. It pulsed in quick flashes, each one rewriting the battlefield’s rules for a heartbeat before returning them.

This was the Saint.

His path.

His ascension.

His mystic truth.

A silver star shaped by enlightenment and will.

The two lights circled each other, weaving an intricate helix above Ethan’s corpse-like form. Each pass pulled threads of energy from his torn limbs, knitting them together in patterns too perfect to be mortal, too ancient to be newly formed.

His missing arm reformed, not as flesh at first, but as a luminous golden outline, then filled in with starlit muscle and primordial bone dusted with silver runes.

His shattered ribs curled back into shape like vines regrowing under spring sunlight. His spine straightened with the authority of a being refusing to bow ever again.

His blind eye… the one burned out from overuse… didn’t simply heal.

The silver light slid into the socket like a needle threading fate. The gold wrapped around it, forging a pupil that wasn’t just an eye.

It was a lens through which order itself would watch the world.

His skin regained color.

His fur stripes brightened.

His heartbeat returned, slow, thunderous, ancient.

The three interlocking golden rings on his forehead shimmered, melting, reshaping, rising into a crown that was not symbolic but functional: a conduit for primordial command.

The air thickened.

Reality warped around him like metal softening under a forge.

His aura didn’t explode outward. It sank, like gravity increasing around a star that was collapsing into a new form of existence.

Then, the gold and silver separated fully.

They hovered above him like twin halos.

And then they descended.

The gold sank into his heart, fusing with the Primord core he had always held but never fully understood. His chest lit up with ancient symbols, lines of power that predated civilization.

The silver sank into his soul, igniting the Saint core with pure mystic flame. A network of silver veins spread across his body like constellations awakening.

He inhaled, quietly, gently.

But the world heard it like a second creation.

Space bent.

Time flickered.

Concepts realigned.

And Ethan rose.

Slowly.

Inevitably.

No longer broken.

No longer fading.

No longer dying.

A being made of two truths.

Two origins.

Two destinies.

Merged.

The Primord.

The Saint.

The Singularity.

The Son of the Voice.

And all of it radiating from him in steady, regal waves.

Ethan Voryn Aetherforge Kael’Dri opened his eyes.

One gold.

One silver.

Order and Mysticism braided in flesh.

And the world, every living, dying, and hidden thing, felt the rise of a king whose existence rewrote the meaning of power.

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