Chapter 50 : Beneath Familiar Skies
The Murmuring Spark descended through Earth's upper atmosphere cloaked in silence, wrapped in the auroral shimmer of a low-orbit veil. Beneath its belly, clouds boiled in the red hues of a fading sun. Cities blinked like ember clusters. Oceans shimmered with waning light. From orbit, Earth looked… small.
But to Ashen Aras, it was more than a speck in the galaxy.
It was unfinished business.
He stood at the command deck, arms crossed, draped in the shadow of the ship's forward canopy. The Cipher rings around his chest had dulled to an idle thrum—resonant, waiting. The Pillar Arc had changed him. Not just in strength. Not just in the mastery of the dragons' fragmented legacy. It changed his perspective.
Even among the stars, Earth had never stopped calling.
Behind him, Lysanthe approached, hands on the rail.
"You sure you're ready to be back?" she asked.
"No," Ashen replied. "But Earth doesn't care if I'm ready. It only cares if I'm strong enough."
She studied his expression. "You look more… human here."
He chuckled dryly. "Maybe that's the point."
A soft chime echoed. The ship's AI pinged local coordinates.
"Landing vector locked. Atmospheric variance: stable. Hostile resonance detected—Mid-Planet tier cultivators active within 200km."
Ashen's eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
The ship flickered an image. A fortress. High atop what was once the Eastern Ridge—now a no-man's-land. The emblem flying atop the spires was unfamiliar to Lysanthe, but not to Ashen.
A black sun enclosed within a crimson wheel.
"The Crimson Mandate," Ashen muttered. "They survived…"
Lysanthe tilted her head. "Friends of yours?"
"They tried to kill me once," he said flatly. "They failed."
---
The Spark touched down quietly in the mountainous highlands west of the fortress, camouflaged under a multi-layered field. Ashen stepped onto the familiar soil, his boots pressing into the moss-covered stones of the old Eastern wilds. Once lush, the forest was now sparse, trees scarred by old battles and energy surges. The sky above held the ghost of war.
Ashen's gaze swept the horizon.
Much had changed.
In the year he'd been gone, Earth had awakened. He could feel it in the mana density. The air was heavier. The world had tilted.
And above it all, one truth echoed in his mind:
Earth's cultivators had grown.
Not all for the better.
---
He made his way down toward the shattered ruins of a village—once a haven for unaffiliated cultivators, now little more than smoking stone and blackened wood. The residual energy suggested recent battle.
Three signatures still flickered weakly.
Ashen's eyes narrowed.
He moved.
In seconds, he reached the edge of the crumbled town square. Beneath a collapsed arch, an elderly man with a broken leg struggled to breathe. Two younger figures—a boy and a girl, maybe twelve—sat beside him, burned and shaking.
"Who did this?" Ashen asked quietly.
The old man's eyes fluttered open. "Crimson… soldiers. Said we owed… tribute. Mana stones. Artifacts. Took the young. Left us to rot."
Ashen knelt beside him. "Not today."
The Cipher flared briefly.
Light touched the elder's chest. His breathing eased. Bones realigned. Ashen stood and turned to the children. "Stay hidden. I'll handle the rest."
---
Night had fallen by the time he reached the perimeter of the Crimson Mandate's fortress. The base sat atop a plateau, shrouded by illusory fog and bound with runic suppressors—carefully tuned to detect Planet-tier energy fluctuations.
But Ashen wasn't going to knock.
Instead, he erased himself.
Drawing on the fragment of Stillsong essence from his Pillar journey, Ashen flowed through the detection nets like mist through fingers. He moved unseen across battlements, past guards locked in dull, repetitive drills.
At the inner sanctum, where the higher-ranked Mandate cultivators feasted and sparred, Ashen waited.
Then he stepped forward—fully visible.
"Evening," he said, voice calm.
The hall froze.
Dozens of eyes turned to him.
At the high table, a man stood. Robed in crimson, a blade across his back, he radiated mid-Planet energy—unstable, like a volcano under pressure.
"You…" the man growled. "Ashen Aras. You were dead. Lost in orbit. Void-touched."
Ashen tilted his head. "Flattering rumors. But no. I just went further than you ever will."
The man snarled, drawing his blade.
"I am Lord Rizan, First Flame of the Mandate. Kneel, or be consumed."
Ashen's eyes shimmered with ancient fire. His voice rang across the hall like a gong.
"You extort civilians. You burn villages. You kidnap children. You fly banners like gods, but you act like thugs."
The air twisted.
"I came back to fix that."
Rizan lunged.
Too slow.
Ashen stepped forward, one hand raised—and pressed.
The Cipher erupted.
Four rings rotated, condensing into a golden sphere that struck Rizan in the chest—not a physical blow, but a compression of will.
Rizan dropped like a puppet with strings cut.
Dead?
No. Ashen was careful.
But humiliated? Absolutely.
The room erupted into chaos.
Ashen moved like a reaping wind.
A step became a leap—one Planet-tier surged forward and was disarmed mid-air, his cultivation burned from the inside by a flicker of Chaos. Another tried to form a defensive seal; it shattered under the weight of Ashen's presence.
By the time he stood at the center of the hall again, bodies lay groaning on every side. Not dead. But broken.
He turned to the survivors.
"This is your only warning. Earth isn't yours to rule. Not anymore."
He walked out, the Cipher humming quietly.
---
Hours later, Ashen stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the glowing coast of an old city—Karta, once a bastion of rogue cultivators, now rebuilt into a thriving settlement.
Behind him, Lysanthe approached.
"You sent the children here?"
Ashen nodded. "They'll be safe. The elders here still remember me. They fought beside the Haven Guard."
Lysanthe was quiet for a moment. "You handled that fortress… differently than before."
Ashen looked over the city. "Killing is easy. Fear lasts longer. But hope... that takes more effort. Earth's trying to stand again. It's fractured. Corrupted. But there are still roots worth saving."
She smirked. "Sounds like someone planning to stay a while."
"I am," he said quietly. "The Pillars can wait. The stars will still be there. But Earth… it's bleeding now."
Lysanthe looked toward the horizon. "What's next?"
Ashen turned, cloak fluttering behind him.
"Rebuild the Haven. Find the old allies. Unify the scattered cultivator clans. And root out every Mandate loyalist poisoning this soil."
His voice was like a forge bell.
"Earth isn't just the cradle of my journey. It's the frontline of what's coming."
And as the stars shifted overhead, and the Cipher burned anew on his chest, Ashen Aras—last flame of the dragons, bearer of the Pillars, guardian of the forgotten—took his first step back into the heart of the world he once left behind.
This time…
He wasn't running.
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