Chapter 56: Echoes of Forgotten Thrones
Ashen Aras stood beneath the twilight canopy of the Eastern Expanse, the earth humming faintly beneath his boots. Every breath of wind carried with it a sense of ancient tension—something shifting in the roots of the world. Since returning from the Vault at the Shattered Sea, the land no longer felt dormant. It was like a slumbering giant, slowly stirring from a centuries-long sleep.
They had lit a spark.
Around him, the group made camp at the ruins of an old observatory—half-swallowed by vines, stonework cracked and moss-ridden. Kael worked silently, setting up perimeter glyphs with his usual flair for overkill, while Ilia and Neirin meditated quietly near the dying embers of the fire.
It had only been three days since their encounter beneath the sea, but rumors had begun spreading like wildfire—of Vault fluctuations, of sudden spiritual awakenings across scattered villages, of strange weather over the Central Ridge.
Earth was listening.
Ashen had barely closed his eyes when a messenger bird descended from the sky, landing on his outstretched forearm. Its feathers shimmered unnaturally, pulsing faintly with coded energy.
"A Falcon Courier," Kael noted, glancing over. "Those haven't been seen in decades."
Ashen read the scroll tied to its leg. His brows drew tight.
"What is it?" Ilia asked, already rising.
"A summons," Ashen said. "From the Monarch of Obsidian Vale. She wants an audience."
Neirin stirred. "The Vale still exists?"
Ilia crossed her arms. "Barely. Last I heard, it fell into civil war when the old ruler vanished. The Monarch must be one of the claimants."
Ashen let the scroll burn in his hand. "She's not inviting us. She's warning us. The southern sects are gathering."
Kael leaned back against a pillar. "So Earth's big players are finally crawling out of their hidey-holes."
"No," Ashen said. "They were always watching. Now they're just not hiding it."
—
They left at dawn.
The Obsidian Vale lay beyond the Bonewild Trees, deep within the heart of the Southern Reach. The journey took two days by air, crossing ancient canyon lines and dormant spiritual veins that pulsed once more with erratic rhythm. Along the way, Ashen saw things he hadn't before—flocks of skybeasts flying in coordinated formation, nomad groups chanting in long-forgotten tongues, monoliths awakening with new runes.
By the time they reached the gates of the Vale, the land had transformed. Black stone walls carved from volcanic glass towered over the approach, adorned with the emblem of a coiled serpent biting its own tail—eternal death and rebirth.
A procession waited at the gate: warriors clad in smoke-colored armor, their auras sharp as obsidian blades. At their center stood a woman in dark robes, her skin pale, eyes rimmed in silver.
"Welcome, Ashen Aras," she said. "The Monarch has been expecting you."
Ashen nodded. "Lead the way."
They were brought into the Vale's heart—a city built into the walls of a crater, with spires stretching into the mist and pathways lined with echo-crystals that reflected conversations long since spoken. Magic clung to every surface.
Inside the throne chamber, they found the Monarch waiting.
She was young—perhaps twenty at most—but the air around her shimmered with lineage and responsibility. Her hair flowed like strands of onyx, and her throne pulsed with embedded chaos crystals.
"I've heard the sea moved," she said without preamble. "That the Guardian stirred. That the Vault whispered your name."
Ashen stepped forward. "It did more than whisper. It remembered me."
The Monarch leaned back, fingers tapping the edge of her armrest. "Then Earth is waking. And we must decide—are we its stewards or its prisoners?"
Ilia spoke. "You sent a warning, not an invitation."
"I sent both." The Monarch stood, robes trailing behind her. "Because soon, others will come. From across the continents. From beneath the crust. And when they do, they'll ask the same question: who holds dominion?"
Kael raised an eyebrow. "And you want it to be you."
She smirked. "I want it to be us. Earthborn. Not the remnants of space-faring clans or interstellar refugees. Not the astral empires who abandoned us during the Collapse. Us."
Ashen's eyes narrowed. "There's more you're not saying."
The Monarch's voice lowered. "There's a Vault beneath the Vale. We've guarded it since the Shattering. It has begun… pulsing. Calling."
Neirin flinched slightly.
Kael cursed. "Another one?"
"Each Vault is a heart of the planet," the Monarch said. "When they beat, the planet awakens. But they also serve as beacons—guiding those who listen."
Ashen turned to Ilia. "How many Vaults do we know of?"
"Seven," she replied. "Three confirmed. Four rumored. All locked by different mechanisms."
The Monarch added, "But if one opens… the rest will follow."
Ashen met her gaze. "Then we'll help. But no dominion. No thrones. We do this together, or we burn separately."
She held his gaze for a long moment, then smiled. "You sound just like your ancestor."
—
Later that night, Ashen walked the city's upper terraces alone. Below him, the Vale pulsed with life—old cults mingling with rogue sects, children learning to balance spirit and steel. Earth was waking, but not just in power.
In hope.
He paused by a statue—an old Sentinel Knight, weathered by time but still proud. A small plaque beneath read: "For those who chose to stay."
Ashen closed his eyes.
He had chosen to stay too.
But now he needed to lead.
Suddenly, a whisper touched his mind—not from outside, but deep within. The Cipher stirred.
Another gate opens. The one in the Veilwood.
Ashen opened his eyes.
"So it begins," he whispered.
Far across the continent, in a forest long forgotten, an ancient door began to unseal.
The Vaults were awakening.
And Earth would never be the same.
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