Chapter 37: Through the Maw of Exile
The valley before them was dead.
No birds called. No wind stirred. The rocks themselves seemed to shy away from the fissure ahead—a colossal wound in the earth, jagged and fanged, as though the planet had once been bitten into by a celestial beast. From this abyss, known in ancient texts as the Maw of Exile, bled a quiet hum that only cultivators could feel—a low, rhythmic pulse like a heartbeat suspended in the deep.
Ashen Aras stood on the ridge above it, gazing down into the spiraling descent of mist and shadows.
"It doesn't want us here," Keyven said quietly.
"No," Kaelis answered. "But it remembers us. It remembers the dragon inside him."
Ashen didn't look away. "Then it's time it saw what I've become."
Behind them, Revyn secured the packs, checking their gear for the descent. "There's no going back once we're inside. The ancient Veilcasters layered this place with chaos anchors. They didn't want anyone reaching Cloamspire from the surface."
"That means they didn't expect anyone to come back," Ashen said. "They didn't expect me."
Kaelis glanced at him. "The Veiled Conclave is watching. Don't forget—if they're inviting you, it's not just to welcome a guest. It's to test a legacy."
Ashen nodded. "Let's descend."
---
The first fifty meters were nothing more than a steep canyon of broken shale and spiraling wind. But then the ground gave way—literally—and they dropped.
Kaelis was ready. With a flick of his wrist, he flared a levitation charm, anchoring them midair as the stone beneath turned to vapor. From the void below, ancient mechanisms stirred—suspended platforms of crystalline metal rising like stairs.
Ashen landed lightly on the first, his boots clinking against the hollow core. Beneath the glasslike floor, a torrent of energy flowed—chaos currents, pure and unstable.
"This isn't a natural fissure," Kaelis muttered. "It was forged."
"Forged?" Keyven asked, staring down. "By who?"
Ashen looked ahead, narrowing his gaze.
"The first generation of the Conclave," he said softly. "The same ones who hid the Coccon of Origin."
As they advanced, the air thickened. Time stuttered. Sounds echoed backward. Occasionally, the path split into three—past, present, and possible future—all shimmering in layered illusions.
Ashen activated his accelerated comprehension, allowing his mind to chart the threads of reality. While others saw distortion, he saw paths—safe ones. He led them forward, each step echoing in reverse.
Eventually, they reached a gate.
It was a monolith of chained stone and seared alloy, its center marked by a glowing rune: the Sigil of the Veiled Flame.
Kaelis halted. "This is it. The true boundary. We go beyond this, and we step into the Conclave's domain."
Ashen placed a hand on the sigil. It pulsed once—then again.
His body reacted instinctively. The Dragon's core twisted. The DNA copying matrix within him flared—and he instinctively mirrored the sigil's weave in his blood.
The gate responded. The chains uncoiled, and the massive slab shimmered before vanishing completely.
Revyn blinked. "You copied the gate's signature?"
Ashen nodded. "The gift of the dragon. I don't just understand powers—I become them."
---
Beyond the gate, Cloamspire waited—not in grandeur, but in silence.
They stood on the edge of a broken city built into the underside of a massive cavern, suspended by gravity wells and chaos pillars. Buildings floated in disrepair, some upside-down, others sideways, locked in the stasis of a world between dimensions.
But despite its ruin, Cloamspire pulsed with life. Not human. Not beast.
But will.
"There," Kaelis pointed. "The Conclave's Beacon."
In the center of the shattered city hovered a crystal spire—miles tall, glowing from within with veined filaments of silver and violet.
Ashen stepped forward—and immediately, the city noticed.
The chaos pillars reoriented. The floating buildings adjusted. The beacon flared with recognition.
"It's aligning to his presence," Kaelis said, voice almost reverent. "He's the tether. The last living bearer of the chaos thread."
They moved fast now, across shifting bridges and anti-gravity walkways. Cloamspire's defenses ignored them, recognizing Ashen's bloodline—no, his essence. His soul had already merged once with the dragon. That was enough.
But as they neared the beacon, something stirred.
A voice echoed—male, ancient, and calm.
"Prove yourself, child of echoes."
From the base of the beacon rose a shape—towering, cloaked in writhing chains of thought and will. A being formed entirely from memory, it bore no face, only a helm of starlight and a blade forged from collapsed timelines.
"The Guardian of the Conclave," Kaelis said, backing away. "It tests those who seek the origin seal."
Ashen stepped forward.
"I don't seek the seal. I'm here to unlock it."
The guardian raised its blade, and the world bent. Time folded, and space splintered.
Ashen activated his space-time control instinctively, anchoring himself between frozen seconds. As the guardian swung, Ashen vanished—and reappeared behind it.
His hand glowed with chaotic entropy as he struck—but the guardian deflected it, creating a backlash that flung Ashen across the air.
Ashen flipped midair and landed, skidding.
It wasn't just a test of strength. It was a trial of command.
He closed his eyes. Focused.
The air shimmered. Chaos responded. Ashen reached deep—and found not just power, but clarity.
He activated hyper regeneration, letting the backlash damage unravel as quickly as it had formed.
Then he drew from the DNA copying matrix again.
He mirrored the guardian's own motion, embedding the pattern into his muscle memory, and surged forward.
This time, his fist met the guardian's blade with equal force.
The clash created a ripple through the beacon. The beacon responded, projecting runes that circled them like stars.
The guardian paused. For a moment, it bowed its head.
"Worthy."
Then it dissolved.
The runes solidified into a stairwell of light leading into the heart of the spire.
Kaelis exhaled. "You did it."
"No," Ashen said, eyes still glowing faintly. "That was just the doorkeeper."
---
The stairwell took them into the spire's core. There, in a room of mirrors and moonlight, they finally met the Veiled Conclave.
Seven figures, each cloaked in living ink, each voice a chorus.
"You have come, bearer of ruin," they said in one voice.
Ashen nodded. "And I will not turn away."
The figures turned.
Behind them stood the Cocoon.
Not his.
But larger. Older. Its surface glimmered with dragon scales and cracked void-light. It pulsed once—and Ashen's soul shuddered.
Kaelis fell to one knee. "The Origin Egg…"
Ashen stepped forward. "You've kept it sealed all this time?"
The Conclave nodded.
"It sleeps. But your arrival has stirred it. The seal will soon fracture."
Ashen stared at the cocoon—and for the first time, it felt like it stared back.
He whispered, "Then I need to be ready. I need to know what I am."
The Conclave's central figure lifted a hand. A stream of light—data, history, memory—flowed into Ashen's chest.
Visions flooded him: The fall of the dragons. The betrayal by the Order of Aether. The sealing of the cocoon beneath Cloamspire. The split of chaos threads into scattered bloodlines.
He saw the first merging—an experiment.
He saw the stars burning with rage.
He saw the truth.
He wasn't the heir.
He was the bridge.
And the true heir… was still inside the cocoon.
---
Ashen staggered, panting, as the visions ended.
The Conclave watched silently.
Then the voice returned.
"You have taken the first step. The time draws near. When the cocoon breaks, you must choose—contain the chaos… or awaken it."
Ashen stared at the sleeping egg.
"I'll be ready."