Ancestral Lineage-Chapter 281: The Awakening of Singularity. A Father’s Plight

Ethan sat cross-legged in the center of a quiet garden terrace high above the city, where moonlight gently filtered through ethereal clouds and bathed the stone floor in silver. Despite the serene ambiance, his mind was anything but still.

The seal Barki had placed still glowed faintly on his chest, reminding him of what had been restrained. His Primogenitor power, his Path, the Sync. Everything reduced, so he could begin again — properly.

The Grimoire of Order floated beside him, pages fluttering as though caught in a nonexistent breeze. A faint golden glow circled the grimoire, reacting to Ethan's calm focus.

"Begin," the Grimoire said in his mind. "Let us understand the Saint Realm from within."

Ethan inhaled slowly, letting the world fade.

The garden vanished.

His breath deepened.

A vision bloomed.

He stood now in a boundless sea of stars. A galaxy stretched beneath his feet like a winding river. Planets drifted in the void, tethered by strings of light. One by one, they ignited. Each represented a realm he had surpassed.

Novice. A tiny world, dim and quiet — the first step, where energy had first obeyed him.

Advanced. A larger orb, swirling with hues of elemental power — where techniques began to take form.

Warrior. Burning red — the realm of battle and raw control.

Expert. Crystal blue — precise and thoughtful, where skill met mastery.

Master. A solid, golden sphere — where he had forged his foundation, his identity as a warrior-mage.

Grandmaster. Larger still, ringed with runes — the realm of creative dominance over power.

Emperor. A titan among stars — where he had once bent armies with will alone, where his bloodline awakened, and where he stood beside gods and monsters.

And finally…

Saint.

It was no planet.

It was a mirror.

Floating. Spinning slowly. A massive, silver disc that reflected not his body, but something deeper — his concept.

His truth.

Ethan stared.

And the mirror shattered.

Pieces floated in space, glowing.

Each shard pulsed with memories, decisions, fragments of his soul — pain, love, rage, sacrifice. Each fragment asked one question:

"Who are you?"

The Grimoire's voice returned: "That is the Saint Realm. Not raw power, not control. But realization. Selfhood. You are not wielding energy. You are becoming it. You are your magic. You are your path."

Ethan watched as the fragments floated toward him.

He didn't resist.

They entered him — and suddenly, it hurt.

He relived everything. The coma. Luciel's madness. Trevor's cries. Harley's touch. Zark's face. Barki's guidance. Angitia becoming Athelia. The wars. The fall of the old kings. The darkness in him… and the light.

His aura erupted.

All around him, the sea of stars shifted. Formed a new symbol.

A rune etched from experience.

And then—

He returned.

Sitting in the garden again, trembling, sweat on his brow, fists clenched.

The Grimoire floated silently nearby.

"I saw it," Ethan whispered. "The mirror. It was me."

"That is the beginning of understanding."

Barki was long gone. The night had deepened.

But within Ethan, something had clicked. A turning of the lock. A whisper from the Path.

Not yet whole.

But beginning.

Ethan stood.

The night air had shifted around him — no longer soft and calming but charged, alert, listening. The garden that once felt serene now felt like a quiet beast watching from all corners. Power pulsed faintly through the air, answering him.

"Let's see what Saint Realm power truly feels like… when I try."

The Grimoire of Order floated closer, silent. Observing.

He closed his eyes, recalling the mirror of his soul from the vision. The rune it left behind — carved into the stars, into his essence. Slowly, he extended his hand.

"Aura Form: Singularity."

His voice was calm, but the world around him reacted with a shudder.

From his palm, a ripple emerged — invisible to the eye, but everything around him responded. The air twisted, blades of grass bent outward as if fleeing. Trees on the edges of the garden bowed low. Clouds above him froze in place.

And then — a pulse.

It wasn't an explosion. It was a compression. A collapsing of all energy into a point so small, it should have vanished. But it didn't. It hovered — a tiny orb no bigger than a grain of sand, flickering with white, gold, and deep violet.

Inside it was everything.

His magic.

His will.

His soul.

A droplet of true Saint power.

Ethan stared at it, heart racing. It felt alive.

No — it was him.

"Grimoire, analyze."

The Grimoire's pages fluttered.

"This is an ultra-condensed essence form. Singular Manifestation: Classifiable only under unique divinity-tier techniques. Stability: 97%. Control: 45%. Growth Potential: Unmeasurable."

Ethan blinked. "That much?"

"You are only beginning. This is the edge of Saint. Not the peak."

He nodded slowly.

Then, as an experiment, he thought of destruction — imagined unleashing it.

The orb shimmered violently.

He quickly reined it in, the bead of power dissolving into strands of golden dust that returned into his body. All the pressure, all the tension vanished.

Silence returned.

But not quite the same.

The garden now knew him.

And he knew himself a little better.

He sat again.

Still breathing hard. Not from exhaustion, but awe.

"I need to train this. Sharpen it. Master it."

The Grimoire hovered near.

"Then begin. Tomorrow, we expand. Today, you awakened."

Ethan glanced at the moon one more time.

He wasn't just chasing strength anymore.

He was becoming it.

...

Zark stood atop one of the Nexus Citadel's many floating spires, high above the Sphere of Accord. The stars shimmered quietly overhead, yet he barely noticed. The wind curled around his frame like an old friend unsure whether to embrace or accuse.

He was alone.

For the first time in centuries, he truly felt it.

Not during his eternal slumber between realms. Not during the false victories and sacrifices of ancient wars. Not even during the maddening silence that came with pretending to be a voice, a guide, a ghost in the system — "The Mentor."

But now… now that he had revealed himself, now that he stood among them again, now that he had claimed fatherhood, origin, and responsibility—he felt the heavy, accusing weight of existence.

"Ethan," he whispered into the dark. "You have my eyes. But you don't trust me."

Below, the world continued. Ethan meditated. Barki guided. The others—his other child, by blood or bond—kept their distance, some with suspicion, some with fear.

And some with hate.

Trevor hadn't said a word to him since the reunion. Ws it even a reunion?

Zark didn't blame him.

He didn't blame any of them.

He stared at his hand, flexing it open and closed. It was powerful — still strong enough to rend gods in two, still capable of halting wars with a gesture. But he had never felt so helpless.

So many years planning.

So many centuries hiding.

And still… still, he didn't know how to speak to his own son.

"Perhaps I should not have come back…" he thought, not for the first time.

But the idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't return just for Ethan. He returned because the world was shifting again. Because fate had bent unnaturally. Because even in the high realms, something else stirred — a darkness even he couldn't name. And because he had no say or control over fate, as everyone thought gods and even Saints had. Fate was more than a mere concept. Fate was an entity, a being, something surpassing Saints, Auctors, or demigods, gods, and even the Primordials.

"Luciel was a warning," he murmured, voice like thunder dulled by guilt. "But they thought he was the storm."

The wind didn't answer him.

The stars didn't blink.

He had tried speaking to Ethan, but their conversation was short. Tense. Ethan was polite — but guarded. He smiled, but his soul hadn't accepted Zark yet. He wasn't ready. He didn't know how to accept that his guide was now his father, while his true biological father, as much of a bastard as he was, was still living. And Madeleine... she was affected the most. Her one true prayer, to find a good man and a good father for her children, although they were now strong enough to stop wars with just words. Her prayer has been answered, but at what cost?

Zark could wait.

He had waited longer for less.

And yet…

He felt tired.

He'd never admit it aloud. But being Zark — the Golden Emissary, Above All, a Father, the Commander-In-Chief of the Army of Balance — it wore on him now.

He gazed to the east, beyond the Citadel. Beyond even Antrim. Toward the forbidden mountains where even light feared to linger.

He sensed it there.

A presence ancient, buried, and almost familiar.

"Even now," he said quietly, "I have more questions than answers."

He sat on the edge of the spire, hair fluttering behind him like torn light. He looked younger now, no longer the towering figure of legend. Just a man.

A father.

A being who had made mistakes.

Who would make more?

But who wanted — more than anything — to finally stay.

He closed his eyes.

And dreamed of the day Ethan would call him father, not out of obligation…

…but from the heart.