Ancestral Lineage-Chapter 248: Beneath the Veil of Fury, the Queen Weeps

The world turned red.

Not crimson like a sunset, but the deep, suffocating red of blood-soaked silk and rage never spent. The fall ended abruptly as she landed on a scorched battlefield suspended in the sky, where the clouds churned like molten iron and thunder cracked like war drums.

Ash rained from above.

All around her, statues stood—dozens, hundreds—people frozen mid-scream, mid-fight, mid-fear. Warriors. Villagers. Children. Lovers. All victims of something ancient… and wrathful.

Their eyes had been turned to her.

To Stheno.

The second-born gorgon.

From the center of the field, a figure rose. Seven feet tall, skin burnished gold, hair formed of serpent-fire, muscles rippling with divine fury. Her eyes burned like twin suns—unyielding and endless.

"You who claim the path of the Queen," the voice thundered, reverberating through the trial realm, "can you hold the fury of betrayal and not burn everything in your wake?"

The trial-bearer dropped to one knee, the weight of presence threatening to crush her, but she did not fall.

"I can."

"You cannot."

"Not yet."

With a flick of her hand, Stheno conjured images from her past—not wounds of the heart, but wounds of trust. Friends who envied. Allies who abandoned. Family who lied. Even her own moments of weakness, when her bottled anger had slipped free and hurt those she loved.

One by one, the memories coiled around her body like barbed chains, cutting deep.

"You think your love for Ethan is pure," Stheno said, stepping forward. "But what of the anger that followed it? The resentment you buried? You wanted her to suffer. You wanted to hate her."

The trial-bearer's lips trembled.

"…yes."

"You wanted him to look at you. To choose you."

Tears now, unhidden.

"…yes."

"And when he didn't, you almost hated yourself."

"…yes!"

The storm above trembled with her voice.

"I was angry. At them. At the world. At myself. For not being stronger… for not being enough."

Stheno stopped before her, towering like a god. But something shifted in the air. The golden warrior's gaze softened—only slightly.

"Then prove you are more than fury."

The battlefield erupted.

Shadows burst from the earth—twisted forms wearing the faces of her past: the classmate who mocked her, the brother who ignored her pain, the former friend who once stole her secrets and sold them. Even Ethan… twisted by doubt, illusion, and rejection.

She summoned no weapons.

Only her hands.

Only her rage.

But this time—controlled.

With every blow she struck, she whispered forgiveness.

With every defense, she remembered her strength.

And with every fall of a shadow, the field grew lighter… calmer… until she stood alone in the center.

Bloodied. Breathing hard.

But unbroken.

Stheno stepped forward. The trial-bearer looked up.

A smile ghosted the Gorgon's lips.

"Then rise, Furybound. You have earned my mark."

A sigil flared on her chest—bright crimson, shaped like a spiral of serpents locked in a dance.

One trial remained.

One name left to face.

Euryale.

The weeping one.

The watcher.

The heart that never stopped aching.

...

The light that swallowed her at the end of Stheno's trial dimmed, fading not into blackness, but into quiet.

A gentle breeze danced along an endless silver lake, still as glass. The sky above shimmered with hues of twilight — purples and deep blues like a bruise on the heavens, stitched with dying stars. Petals of crystal lilies floated across the water's surface, and a single sound echoed softly through the realm: weeping.

She stood at the lake's edge — or perhaps she simply found herself there — barefoot, the cool water brushing her toes. Her reflection was not her own. In the water's surface, she saw herself… but younger. Smiling. In love.

Ethan was beside her. Laughing. His eyes were soft, unaware. Oblivious to the storm she had hidden for so long. Oblivious to how tightly she held her smile each time he called her "sister."

The vision shimmered and vanished. The water rippled. The world sighed.

A figure emerged from the center of the lake, walking gracefully on the surface. Her robes flowed like mourning veils, her hair a cascade of moonlight. Her eyes shimmered with infinite sorrow, and from her back extended long ribbons of light that fluttered like broken wings.

Euryale, the Gentle Gorgon. The Immortal Tear.

"You have carried more than most," she said, her voice like a lullaby laced with grief. "But you have also refused to feel."

The trialer lowered her gaze.

"You buried love beneath duty. You buried heartbreak beneath strength. But emotions buried are not emotions conquered. They fester… until they break."

The lake began to shimmer and ripple. Visions surfaced — Ethan kissing Clara. Ethan smiling at someone else. Ethan looking lost, confused, vulnerable… but never hers.

She turned her face away, but the memories clung like chains.

Euryale stepped closer. "You will face what you've buried. Not to destroy it. Not to overcome it. But to feel it. Fully."

With a wave of her hand, the lake surged upward — and in its fluid mirror, her younger self stepped out, eyes hopeful, cheeks flushed, carrying a handmade charm meant for Ethan.

Then came another — the her who wept quietly when Ethan was chosen to room with Clara instead of her.

And another — the her who stayed up late pretending to study, just to watch Ethan sleep peacefully.

They circled her.

Every shade of her pain.

Every version of her heartbreak.

"You must embrace them… or drown in them."

And then, the lake swallowed her whole.

The trial had begun.

The water was cold, but not cruel.

It clung to her skin like memories — not icy, not burning — just heavy. As though each droplet held a whispered confession, each current a thread of buried longing.

She sank deeper, not by force, but by surrender.

There was no struggle, no flailing. Just the gentle descent into herself.

And then — voices.

"He only sees you as a sister…"

"Why would he choose you over her?"

"You waited too long."

"He kissed her."

"You weren't enough."

Each word echoed through the abyss like knives wrapped in velvet.

She opened her eyes, expecting darkness — but instead found herself standing in a memory.

It was the night Ethan first arrived — a boy, barely old enough to walk, cradled in her arms. His mother had just passed. His eyes were wide with loss, but he'd clung to her like she'd been a lighthouse.

That night, she had whispered, "Don't worry. I'll always protect you."

It wasn't love at first. It was instinct. Then care. Then fierce affection.

But somewhere along the way, that affection deepened. And she never let it rise to the surface.

Because he called her "sis."

Because he needed her more than he loved her.

And now…

Now she'd lost the right to tell him she wanted more.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the lake water as the memory faded.

Another took its place.

It was Clara.

Laughing with Ethan.

A bright blush on her face as Ethan brushed her hair out of her eyes.

The most uptodate nove𝙡s are published on frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓.

Then — the kiss.

Soft. Clumsy. Charged with tension and confusion.

She had watched from afar — unseen. That part wasn't a memory. That was the vision the trial forced her to confront.

Clara hadn't meant it. Ethan hadn't either.

But the kiss still happened.

And it had still hurt.

She dropped to her knees in the memory, clutching her chest.

"It wasn't even betrayal," she whispered bitterly. "It was innocence. That's what makes it worse."

Then she felt it — hands.

Small, warm hands on her shoulders.

She looked up.

It was her younger self. The one who had just given Ethan the handmade charm. The one still holding on to hope.

"You buried me because I embarrassed you," the younger version said gently. "You didn't want to be the girl who waited. Who hoped. Who felt too much."

She couldn't speak. Her throat was raw with unshed pain.

Another memory stepped beside them. This time the her who wept silently behind a bookshelf, holding back sobs while Ethan laughed with someone else.

"You never let me cry," that version said. "You told me to man up. You called me weak."

Another came. And another.

Every single fragment of her pain stood around her now — not accusing. Just waiting.

She collapsed in the center of them all.

"I'm tired," she said.

"I was never fearless. I just didn't want him to see me break."

Silence.

Then the youngest version stepped forward and placed the charm — still glowing faintly — into her hand.

"You're not here to win him," the girl said, her voice clear. "You're here to choose yourself."

The lake rumbled.

Light surged.

And from that storm of grief, something bloomed — a crown. Shaped like twisting ivy and glass serpents. It hovered above her, humming with life.

Euryale's voice returned, rippling through the realm:

"Empathy is not weakness. Love is not defeat. Grief is not shame."

"You are worthy — not because he chose you, but because you chose you."

The crown descended gently onto her head.

And her tears stopped.

Not because the pain was gone.

But because she had forgiven herself for feeling it.