Chapter 42: The Midworld Ascension
The Thorned Hollow lay behind them, but the silence it left lingered like mist—thick, unsettling. The first fragment of the Cloam Cipher had embedded itself in Ashen's chest, pulsing in tandem with the chaos core that now governed the rhythm of his existence.
He didn't speak much as they rode.
The hovercruiser cut across blistered stone and fractured leylines, weaving toward the next destination Lysanthe had uncovered: Midworld Sink, a place spoken of in ruined archives as an interdimensional rift zone—one where the veil between realms had been torn during the Veiled Conclave's last stand.
"There," Lysanthe said, pointing to the cliff ahead. "The next Cipher fragment lies deep beneath the Midworld Sink. But it's not just buried in rock. It's inside the Fissured Echoes—a time-pocket that fractures perception."
Ashen nodded. "Time distorts there. I can feel it pulling already."
His core had become attuned not just to chaos, but to the dissonant frequencies of space-time. Cloamspire's gift, and now the Cipher's first shard, were mutating his foundation—not erasing who he was, but layering truths that once belonged to something vast and ancient.
He climbed the final ridge alone.
Lysanthe stayed behind to set up warding glyphs.
Ashen reached the edge of the Midworld Sink and looked down.
It was as if a wound had been carved into the planet. The chasm spiraled endlessly, each ring of rock levitating slightly above the one below. The further it descended, the less real it appeared. At the bottom—impossibly distant—a faint red glow pulsed like a heartbeat.
Without hesitation, Ashen stepped off the edge.
Gravity didn't obey here.
Instead of falling, he drifted slowly downward, surrounded by visions—fragments of time echoing across warped reality.
He saw ruins rebuilding themselves, trees unburning, and battles playing backward in silence. Whispers tugged at his mind:
> "What if you never left Earth?"
> "What if the egg never hatched?"
> "What if you were the betrayer?"
He gritted his teeth and focused inward.
The chaos core stirred, its stabilizing presence anchoring him.
Reality reformed around him—reconfiguring from twisted echoes to crystalline clarity. He had reached the center.
And there, nested within a floating obsidian structure resembling a broken eye, was the second Cloam Cipher fragment.
But he wasn't alone.
Waiting before it was a figure cloaked in robes of splintered shadow and flickering stars. It had no face—only a burning brand on its chest: the sigil of the Null Dominion.
"You've walked far," the entity rasped. "But to touch the second fragment, you must ascend."
Ashen narrowed his gaze. "Ascend?"
"You are still caged by the mortal shell. The dragon's remnants scream inside you for release. Here, the veil thins. Embrace your awakening… or be undone."
The figure stepped aside.
The Cipher fragment lifted from the void, hovering directly in front of Ashen's chest. It pulsed once.
And then it struck.
Ashen's body convulsed. Chaos lightning surged through every fiber of his being. His meridians tore and stitched themselves anew, bones vibrating with resonance that transcended matter.
Visions flooded him again—this time not illusions, but memories.
He was inside the body of the Stellar Chaos Dragon, soaring through supernovae, manipulating entire star clusters with clawed fingers of space-time. He saw how the dragon bent chaos not through force, but through comprehension—an understanding so deep it rewrote the rules around it.
Then—shatter.
He saw the betrayal again.
The pain of a star-core being pierced.
And then… the silence of death.
Ashen screamed—not in agony, but in acceptance.
The memory did not consume him.
He claimed it.
The Cipher's second shard merged into his spine, fusing with the one in his chest. The chaos core detonated inward, collapsing into a singularity—and then expanded, forming a stable fractal pattern in his dantian.
His qi swirled—reforging, ascending.
The boundaries that had locked him in the Early Planet Realm shattered like glass.
Ashen's eyes snapped open.
Golden black flames danced across his skin. His aura surged—no longer wild chaos, but focused, rotating between realms of existence like a controlled anomaly.
His body glowed.
He had stepped into the Mid-Stage Planet Realm.
A storm of silence filled the chamber.
The Null-wrapped figure tilted its head, almost… reverently.
"The Vessel has chosen form," it said. "The Convergence draws near."
And then it vanished—as if it had only ever been a shadow from a broken timeline.
Ashen took one breath—and the space around him bent.
He rose from the Midworld Sink not by climbing—but by folding space around himself. When he emerged at the top, Lysanthe flinched slightly.
His aura was different now. Not just stronger. Wider. As if his very presence pushed time and space away from him.
"You ascended," she said quietly.
Ashen nodded, breathing deep. "The dragon's essence is no longer dormant. I've claimed a fragment of its soul's memories."
Lysanthe hesitated. "Are you… still you?"
He turned toward her. For a moment, there was silence.
"I'm Ashen Aras," he said, "and I'm also the echo of something the stars tried to forget. But I am no one's weapon. This path—our path—is still mine."
She relaxed just slightly.
Then Ashen raised a hand.
The two Cipher shards shimmered from his body, floating in orbit around him.
"One left," he said. "And then we find the Final Vault."
---
Far above the continent, aboard the ship of the Veiled Conclave's Outer Circle, High Seer Virelle watched Ashen's ascension unfold through a prism carved from voidglass.
A dozen advisors stood behind her in silence.
"Two fragments claimed," she murmured. "And he hasn't fractured."
One of the hooded advisors stepped forward. "We should intervene before the Cipher is whole."
"No," she replied. "Let him walk the path. If he survives the third trial, he will not only be the Vessel… he may be the Catalyst. We've waited too long for a pawn. We may be witnessing a new Convergence."
Another whispered: "And what of Lirien?"
Virelle's lips curled into a cold smile.
"She walks her own path toward him. Let them converge. Let the chaos choose its heir."
---
Ashen and Lysanthe now traveled west—toward the Glass Spires of Darn'khel, where the third Cipher fragment was rumored to have fallen during the Collapse. These were lands corrupted by interdimensional bleed—unstable zones where reality buckled and reformed every few minutes.
As they approached, the land beneath them began to hum—stones floating in rhythm, clouds cycling in reverse.
Lysanthe scanned the horizon. "The Spires are bleeding temporal residue. Whatever guards the third fragment… won't follow normal rules."
Ashen nodded. He could already feel his body preparing—subtle shifts in pressure behind his eyes, his comprehension accelerating as the Cipher expanded his mind.
"I'll finish what was started," he whispered. "And then I'll open the Vault they tried to bury."
The wind howled around them.
And in the storm's center, destiny waited—sharpened like a blade.
---