The Primeval Era-Chapter 78: The Primal Surge! I

It was a shock to hear about how things had unfolded and gone for worse from her Master.

But Damian looked at the Holy Daughter, and a moment after her face had been ashen, it cleared up.

Her eyes changed.

He saw the pupils within them flash, those wing-shaped whites pulsing with Mana as she straightened up. An air of grandness and ancient attitude that very few Anointed Ones held became reinstated within her.

As if nothing had happened.

As if she hadn’t just learned that her empire was falling apart and her master might be dying.

He sighed internally as he remembered those types of eyes.

His mother had those same eyes when she decided to take everything on her shoulders. When chaos erupted around her and others crumbled, she had stood tall with that same look of quiet resolve.

When he saw this in the Holy Daughter, he was dismissive of her less.

She was, after all, the Holy Daughter of Stone. A title equivalent to his own as if things had gone according to plan, she would have inherited the Covenant of the First Stone.

The heir to an empire.

Just like him.

But with how things were unfolding, she was likely the target of a heavy coup months or years in the planning. Her life hung by a thread. Her protector was wounded and fleeing. Her enemies had allied across empire lines to end her existence.

And what could be in the Purple Stone Tribe that could save her?

He didn’t much believe in prophecies and destinies. Surely it was not him. And he didn’t sense anything on the Roaring Stone Mountain that could mask signatures and auras...

As he was thinking of this, with a bearing of majesty and an extraordinary air of an Anointed One that very few could possess, the Holy Daughter turned toward them.

Her wing-shaped pupils were steady.

Her voice was calm and measured.

"My name is Serala. I hold the distinction of the Holy Daughter of Stone within the Covenant of the First Stone, and I carry the Wings of the Radiant Dawn within my Existence."

She spoke without arrogance, but with the natural confidence of someone stating facts rather than boasting.

"I have stumbled upon your tribe and put you all in danger through circumstances beyond my control. For this, I apologize."

She paused, and her gaze moved between Damian and Grandmother Essun.

"But if you would be honorable and kind, I would seek to stay here for a time until the situation outside becomes clearer. I will not be a burden. I will contribute however I can. I only ask for shelter and discretion."

Her chin lowered slightly.

"Please."

...!

An Anointed One.

The Holy Daughter.

Slightly bowed her head!

Grandmother Essun’s eyes went wide as she looked between Serala and Damian with an expression that seemed to say she was witnessing something that would make for excellent stories later.

Damian looked at Serala with a calm gaze.

He remembered all the death and destruction that came when he was also a target just like her. The running. The hiding. The years spent pretending to be something less than what he was so that the monsters hunting him would overlook him.

He had been hiding here this whole time.

Now she would also have to hide.

Who knew if either of them would ever get what they wanted? 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

But for now...

He sighed.

"Remain in Dross clothes and act like all the Tribesmen here. Blend in so that if there is a passing monster from the Covenant, you don’t get the whole tribe obliterated alongside you."

His eyes were steady on hers.

"Keep your head down. You can leave when you want."

...!

His words were heavy.

Shockingly, it seemed like he, who was supposed to be a Dross young man in ragged clothes, was giving orders to the Holy Daughter!

And Serala...

She calmly nodded at his words.

She listened.

She watched his figure like a hawk as he turned to leave, her wing-shaped pupils tracking every movement with an intensity that went beyond simple curiosity.

She wondered...

Just who was this young man?

—

Far from the Purple Stone Tribe, near a mountain that dwarfed all others in its region, a massive floating vessel hung suspended in the sky.

Rings of chaotic Mana surrounded the mountain below it, swirling patterns of energy that spoke of concentrations far beyond what normal territories could hold. This was one of the great mountains of the Lands of Stone, a colossus that had stood since before the first tribes learned to walk upright.

And above it, a vessel waited.

It was not a temple like the one the Saint of Stone had traveled upon. It was something else entirely.

Something built for war.

The vessel was crafted from a single piece of obsidian-black stone that had been shaped and hollowed through techniques lost to most of the Lands. Its form was simple in the way that predators were simple, all clean lines and efficient angles without ornamentation or excess. No decorative carvings adorned its surface. No symbols of heritage or history marked its hull.

It was a massive stone blade given the ability to float.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Beneath its flat bottom, runic circles shone with crimson Mana, ancient symbols that pulsed in rhythms matching some vast heartbeat. The light they produced gathered and condensed into something that looked like a cloud of power, a platform of pure energy that held the massive stone aloft as easily as wind might hold a leaf.

The vessel hummed with contained force.

It thrummed with the promise of devastation!

And aboard it stood an army.

At the rear of the vessel’s deck, rows of Warriors stood in perfect formation. Their armor was metallic, plates of that rare material fitted and joined with precision. Their weapons were similarly wrought, spears and blades that gleamed with edges sharper than anything stone could achieve.

These were Organ Sanctification Warriors!