Chapter 44: Embers of the Black Sun
The wind screamed as the Spires of Darn'khel collapsed behind them.
Ashen and Lysanthe stood at the edge of the crater, watching as the temporal storm swallowed the remnants of the fractured city. Time itself recoiled—threads retreating like snapped cords. The third Cipher fragment had been absorbed, and with it, the unstable anchor of the spiral tower lost all cohesion.
But the mark now burned in Ashen's chest, pulsing like a heartbeat made of stars.
Lysanthe adjusted her cloak as the wind quieted. "You're radiating enough energy to destabilize low orbit. We can't stay here long."
Ashen nodded, eyes distant. "I saw the Vault… Lysanthe. I saw it. Buried in the corona of a black sun, sealed behind temporal locks older than this galaxy. The Cipher wasn't just made to find it—it was made to suppress it."
Lysanthe frowned. "You mean it's not just hidden. It's imprisoned."
He turned to her, jaw tight. "Yes. And the Stellar Chaos Dragon—my predecessor—was the one who sealed it there. To keep something inside."
She hesitated. "What?"
Ashen exhaled. "I don't know yet. The vision ended before I could see. But I know this much: the Vault isn't a vault at all. It's a tomb. And whatever lies inside… it's still alive."
Lysanthe's expression darkened.
Their ship—The Murmuring Spark—hovered nearby, hidden under a phase cloak. Ashen tapped the comm and summoned the boarding ramp. As they walked up, he turned briefly and stared once more into the collapse.
Three down. One more step forward. The Vault… then the truth.
But truth, as always, had a cost.
—
Meanwhile, within the High Conclave's orbiting citadel…
In the veiled core of Elyss'arum, the Elder Seat trembled. Twelve veiled figures surrounded the Astral Table, their forms cloaked in illusion and silence. Each bore titles too old to translate.
A seer, half-dissolved into threads of probability, croaked, "The Cipher has awakened. The Vault's coordinates are surfacing."
Another—shrouded in voidfire—sighed. "It wasn't supposed to happen this soon. The dragonspawn was meant to die on Earth."
A third, thin and tall, interjected: "He has passed the trials of the three fragments. He is becoming what we feared. Do we move now?"
A dark silence answered.
Then came a voice, feminine and cold. "No. We let him find the Vault. The Black Sun remains our shield. Only then—when he opens the final gate—do we strike."
Around the table, every figure turned toward the empty thirteenth chair.
It remained vacant.
The voice whispered again: "Lysanthe walks with him. When the moment comes, she will choose the Conclave."
—
Back aboard the Murmuring Spark, Ashen moved through the ship like a silent storm. The fusion core hummed in response to his presence, pulsing brighter with each passing hour.
He stood in the meditative bay, the Cipher mark glowing across his chest like constellations etched into flesh. The room was filled with starlight simulacrums and swirling celestial charts.
He held out a hand. A small orb of chaos bloomed—controlled and stable.
He focused.
The chaos flared and bent, warping space.
He folded a meter of distance in an instant.
A simple movement—but one that previously required vast energy. Now it came with a whisper of thought. The fusion of the fragments had not just granted knowledge—it had refined his essence. Space-time itself listened when he spoke.
But there was more.
Ashen sat and closed his eyes.
Inside his mind, the fragments pulsed, forming a spiral of memory. At the center, a door shimmered—sealed but cracking.
Behind it lay the final mystery of the Vault.
And a presence.
Not a voice. Not a mind.
A consciousness. Alien and ancient, watching from behind the door.
He opened his eyes sharply.
Not yet. He needed to be stronger before he could open that door.
"Ashen?" Lysanthe's voice came through the intercom. "We've plotted a course to the Black Sun. Estimated arrival in four days—if we skip the Veil."
Ashen stood. "Then we go through the Veil."
"…That's a Class-Z anomaly zone. It's not mapped. We don't even know if it's stable."
"I don't need it to be stable. I need it to be fast."
Lysanthe was silent a moment. Then: "Plotting trajectory now."
—
That night, Ashen stood on the observation deck as they broke through the edge of the Veil—a region of twisted nebulae where sound echoed in the void, and gravity obeyed its own gods.
He watched as tendrils of light curled around the hull, streaks of violet and gold licking the reinforced barriers.
Inside the Veil, the stars moved in slow spirals. Planets floated like thoughts. And at the center—dark and unmoving—hung the Nexus Core, a rogue world long abandoned by any sane traveler.
Ashen's eyes narrowed.
The Nexus was once home to one of the oldest outposts of the Stellar Lineage. A citadel of dragonkind who had learned to balance chaos with memory.
He needed to stop there.
If the Cipher was right, something still remained on that world—an echo of the past that could help him survive the Vault's guardians.
He tapped the intercom. "Change course. We're stopping at the Nexus Core."
From the bridge: "Understood."
—
They landed on the Nexus Core the next morning.
The air was still, thick with memories.
Great statues lay shattered, carved from obsidian and stardust. The remains of a once-thriving dragon-blooded civilization—reduced to stone ruins and bone dust.
Ashen walked the path of fallen titans.
At the heart of the ruins, a single monument remained intact—a temple surrounded by glass trees and molten stone.
Inside, the air shifted.
It recognized him.
The inner chamber opened on its own.
And at the center sat a crystal containing a figure—a draconic humanoid, ancient and still. Golden horns, silver scales, and eyes that slowly opened as Ashen stepped close.
"I've waited," said the being, its voice echoing through his bones.
Ashen inhaled sharply. "You're—"
"I am what remains of Vey'rak Tor-Kael, Warden of the Fifth Flame. You are the new bearer of the Cipher. I serve you."
Ashen took a step back. "Serve me?"
The figure smiled faintly. "Not you. The will you carry. The Stellar Chaos Dragon's legacy was not just destruction. It was preparation. For what is to come."
The crystal shattered.
The energy surged forward—and merged into Ashen without pain.
Power, memory, and technique—flowed into him like breath returning to a corpse.
His chaos core spun.
New flames emerged—structured chaos, forged into technique.
He saw visions:
How to form quantum clones stable across timelines.
How to anchor space-time even inside a black hole.
And most importantly—how to awaken the True Form of the Chaos Dragon's soul.
Ashen opened his eyes.
The glyphs burned brighter.
He felt the mid-Planet level barrier cracking again.
Not far from the next breakthrough.
Lysanthe met him at the entrance of the temple, scanning the tremors in his aura.
"You found it, didn't you?"
He nodded. "A memory of a guardian. The last lesson. I'm ready now."
She hesitated. "And the Vault?"
Ashen's voice dropped. "We're going to open it. But I don't think it was meant for one person alone. I'll need you."
She blinked, then looked away. "Just don't forget—some doors were locked for a reason, Ashen."
"I know."
He walked back toward the ship.
Behind him, the Nexus Core began to quake.
The final journey had begun.
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