Ancestral Lineage-Chapter 127: The Shrouded Vision

The chamber was silent save for the steady crackle of torches burning with crimson flame. Shadows danced across the stone walls, their forms contorting and twisting, as though alive. At the center of this forsaken room stood a woman, a figure of both dread and allure. Her crimson hair fell like a river of fire down her back, cascading in untamed waves. Her skin was black as the void, so dark it absorbed the faint light, leaving her form outlined in otherworldly contrast.

From her brow sprouted two curved horns of obsidian, sharp and smooth, tapering to deadly points. Her eyes glowed, molten red against the abyss of her skin—depthless, burning, and ancient. She stood still, staring at nothing, yet seeing everything.

The woman’s breath trembled faintly, a sound too human for a being like her, as she stretched her blackened hand over a pool of swirling mist—a divination altar, carved deep into the earth itself. The mist writhed, pulsing, taking on a vivid red glow as it began to tremble under her influence. A whisper of energy curled around her fingers, biting into her skin like a lover’s scar.

Her voice, deep and melodic yet strained, echoed softly in the chamber.

"Show me... what lies beyond."

The mists shivered violently and then, like a still pond disturbed, the surface rippled. A vision unfolded.

At first, it was only light—an eerie crimson glow that filled her senses and consumed the darkness of the altar. Slowly, from the haze, shapes began to emerge. Then, he appeared.

A man stepped forth; his figure outlined against the blood-red light. He was tall and lean, and his presence carried a haunting stillness, as though the air around him feared to move. His hair matched hers in color, yet it blazed even fiercer—a mane of wildfire against the pale starkness of his skin. It was as if he had been carved from pure, unblemished ivory, a living marble statue whose surface reflected nothing.

And his eyes. Red as blood, as flame, as rage. Yet something deeper lingered there—a sadness, infinite and still, like a wound so old it had forgotten how to bleed. He stood alone in a vast, barren landscape that stretched endlessly in all directions, its surface cracked and ash-colored beneath his bare feet.

As she gazed at him, the woman’s breath caught in her throat. A strange feeling rippled through her chest; one she had not allowed herself to feel in countless centuries. Recognition. The aching ghost of a forgotten bond clawed at the edges of her heart. It couldn’t be, she thought. And yet—it was him. Or at least, it felt like him.

Her long-lost love. The one who had been ripped away, leaving her soul shattered, her very existence hollowed out. He had been her mate, her other half. A love forged through time, eternal, unbreakable. And yet, she had lost him to the cruel machinations of fate. Even now, the thought of him was like a knife twisting in her chest, reopening a wound that had never truly healed.

The man in the vision—this pale, crimson-haired figure—felt the same. His presence echoed with the same fire, the same unspoken pull that had once bound her to her soul mate. The way he stood, unyielding and quiet, how his red eyes burned with grief and longing—it was like staring at the shadow of a memory, a ghost given form. Her hand trembled over the altar, her black claws digging into her palm as if to anchor herself.

Could it really be him?

In the vision, the man tilted his head, as if sensing her. The barren world around him shifted subtly as the mists revealed more. Cracks widened in the earth at his feet, and embers drifted upward, carried by winds that blew without sound. Ash clung to his hair, his shoulders, yet he stood unshaken. The faintest movement in his chest told her he was breathing, alive, yet somehow lifeless at the same time.

The woman’s lips parted, her voice faltering. "Is it... you?"

The man didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His red eyes locked onto her unseen gaze, piercing through the veil of vision, and for a single, soul-crushing moment, she felt him. A wave of raw, unfiltered emotion washed over her—a pull so familiar it brought her to her knees.

He reached out his hand. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his pale fingers extended into the air, toward her. The gesture was simple, but it held a weight she couldn’t bear. He was reaching for her, just as he had so long ago—back when the world still held meaning, back when they had been whole.

Her blackened fingers rose instinctively, mirroring his movement over the altar, as though she could breach the chasm of time and pull him back to her side. Her throat tightened.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The man’s expression remained unchanged—solemn, aching, and infinite. Around him, the darkness deepened. Cracks in the earth widened, and shadows began to creep upward, swirling at his feet. The winds began to howl. His figure flickered, like a flame struggling against a storm. And still—his hand remained outstretched.

Tears, something she hadn’t shed in centuries, pricked at the corners of her eyes. She felt him, not just in the vision but in her very being. A bond that time had torn apart now strained to mend itself, fragile and desperate. It hurt to look at him, to see him swallowed by the darkness, and to know she could do nothing.

The wind howled louder, the cracks spreading like spiderwebs. The shadows crawled up his body, wrapping around his ankles, his knees. And still, his gaze never wavered from her. His lips moved, silent against the storm, but she saw the word he formed.

"You."

A sob tore from her throat. "No..." Her voice cracked. "Come back!"

The vision snapped.

She stumbled backward from the altar, her chest heaving as if she had been dragged from the depths of the abyss. The mists recoiled violently, swirling back into the stone like smoke. The torches in the room flickered wildly before returning to their steady burn.

She fell to her knees, her crimson hair cascading over her face like a curtain. Her claws dug into the stone, splintering it beneath her fingers. Tears streamed silently down her dark cheeks, gleaming like rubies in the firelight.

"Why?" she whispered hoarsely. "Why now? After so long... why show me this?"

Her molten red eyes stared blankly ahead; her thoughts consumed by the vision. The ache in her heart was unbearable, the pull of that connection as real and vibrant as it had been when they were together. And yet, he was beyond her reach, trapped in some unfathomable void. Find adventures on novelbuddy

Her gaze lifted toward the altar, her voice barely a whisper.

"I will find you."

The chamber fell silent once more, save for the steady crackle of the crimson flames. But now, the air felt different, heavier, charged with unspoken resolve. For the first time in an eternity, she allowed herself to hope—a dangerous, fragile hope that burned brighter than the torches around her.

She would not lose him again.

No matter what it took.

...

The interior of the hover bus was quiet and sleek, the soft hum of the engine blending with the rhythmic hiss of air gliding past the tinted windows. The Tyrants sat scattered in pairs or small clusters, talking idly, but Ethan remained in his seat, head tilted lazily against the window. His crimson hair fell loosely over his shoulders, catching the faint sunlight that crept in. Beside him, Lamair sat upright, arms crossed, his eyes shut as if he were taking a nap.

To anyone else, Ethan appeared relaxed, lost in the tranquility of the ride. But within his mind, he was anything but alone. A familiar warmth spread across his consciousness—a connection he cherished more than anything.

"Are you comfortable, love?" Clara’s soft voice echoed first, like a tender caress in the back of his mind.

Ethan smiled faintly. "More comfortable now that I can hear you. I was starting to think you all abandoned me."

"Oh, please," Lisa teased, her voice filled with playful affection. "You love the peace and quiet when we’re not in your head."

"Maybe," Ethan quipped back. "But I love you all more."

Clara chuckled, a soft sound that made Ethan’s chest ache pleasantly. "Careful with that tongue, mister. You’re going to make Lisa think she’s special."

"I am special," Lisa countered, laughing lightly.

"Specially loud," Harley added with a teasing grin in her voice. "Speaking of, guess who’s on healer duty today?"

Ethan raised an eyebrow despite himself. "You’re working during the outing? I thought your school didn’t allow it."

Harley sighed dramatically. "Yeah, lucky me. The headmistress requested me specifically to watch over the second years of Anbord Mage Academy. Babysitting duty, but I’ll manage."

"Is that so?" Carmen’s voice joined the mix then, but it was softer, gentler than how she spoke as the formidable principal of Anbord Mage Academy. Around Ethan and the others, Carmen was different—less poised authority, more affectionate teasing. "You didn’t mention this when we talked last night, Harley. What are you scheming? Wait... wouldn’t you be with Ethan then?"

"I’m always an open book, Carmen," Harley shot back with mock innocence. "I just didn’t want to ruin your evening. Hehe!"

Carmen hummed, clearly unconvinced. "Somehow I doubt that." Her voice turned tender as it addressed Ethan directly. "You’re quiet, my love. What’s on your mind?"

"Nothing," Ethan replied softly, his tone calm but affectionate. "Just enjoying listening to you all. It feels like home, even if we’re scattered across different academies and buses right now."

Andriel’s smooth, soothing voice joined the conversation, filled with warmth. "That’s because we are home, Ethan. You carry us wherever you go, and we carry you."

For a moment, Ethan let the words sink in. They always knew how to reach him—how to remind him he wasn’t alone. It was a bond stronger than anything he had ever known.

"Look at you all being sentimental," Lisa teased. "Should we hold hands and sing next?"

"Don’t tempt me," Ethan replied dryly, drawing light laughter through the link.

"Not in the middle of a bus full of Tyrants," Harley added. "You’d ruin your fearsome image, Ethan. Can’t have that, can we?"

Ethan smirked. "And here I thought you all loved me for my charm and good looks."

"Oh, we do," Clara replied. "But the brooding glare doesn’t hurt either."

Carmen chimed in softly. "I don’t need the brooding glare. I just need you here, Ethan. That’s enough."

Her words struck something deeper in Ethan, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the warmth of their shared presence.

But suddenly—it struck.

A sharp, searing pain exploded in his head and heart without warning, a piercing force so intense that his entire body froze. The pain dug deep, like molten needles threading through his skull and stabbing his chest with every heartbeat.

Ethan’s breath hitched, his red eyes fluttering open as his hand instinctively gripped the armrest. His knuckles turned white as he fought to suppress any visible reaction. He couldn’t let anyone see.

"Ethan?" Clara’s voice came through the link, laced with concern.

His vision blurred slightly, but he forced himself to respond, his voice steady despite the agony. "I’m fine. Just a headache."

"You sure?" Andriel’s tone sharpened with concern, her calm voice faltering for a moment.

Ethan exhaled slowly, grounding himself against the overwhelming pain. "Positive. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine."

The ache continued to burn like a distant fire, the dull throb lingering in his chest even as the worst of it faded. And in the quiet aftermath, a flicker of something else passed through his mind—an image.

A woman. Crimson hair cascading down shoulders as dark as the void. Her red eyes burned like twin stars, staring through him—into him—as though she knew every scar etched across his soul.

The image was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a hollow, unshakable sense of dread. Ethan’s heart pounded unevenly, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, an unfamiliar sorrow pressed against his chest.

"Ethan?" Carmen’s voice came again, softer now, as though she could sense the tension he was hiding.

Ethan forced himself to relax, leaning back against his seat. "I’m fine," he murmured. "Just tired."

Carmen paused for a moment before replying, her tone laced with tenderness. "Rest, my love. We’ll all be here when you wake up."

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Andriel added quietly, "Don’t push yourself, Ethan. Even you need a break sometimes."

Ethan smiled faintly, though the ache still lingered beneath the surface. "I’ll rest when this outing is over. Until then, you all keep behaving."

"Where’s the fun in that?" Harley replied with a playful tone, trying to lighten the mood.

Clara laughed softly. "You’ll see us all soon. Just stay out of trouble until then, Ethan."

The telepathic connection slowly faded into a comforting hum, their voices retreating but never truly gone. Ethan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Beside him, Lamair cracked an eye open, glancing at Ethan’s tense posture. "You sure you’re okay?"

Ethan didn’t look over, simply nodding as he stared out the window. "I’m fine."

Lamair grunted, unconvinced, but said nothing more.

Ethan watched the clouds drift past as the bus sped toward its destination, his golden eyes unreadable. The pain had dulled, but the image of the woman and the strange sorrow she’d brought with her lingered like a shadow at the edge of his mind.

He didn’t know what it meant, or why it had felt so real.

But deep down, Ethan knew that something had changed—something was stirring beyond his understanding. And whatever it was, it was coming for him.

He just didn’t know when.