Chapter 210: Ancestor
Xavier set the slate carefully beside the altar, its jagged surface catching the faint glow of the goddess’ fragment. He stood there in silence for a moment, then exhaled and spoke.
"I touched it," he said quietly, almost like confessing a sin. "Saw everything inside. It wasn’t just flashes. I could move. I could... talk... with him. What was all that?"
The soft radiance around the altar shifted, and her voice answered, serene yet edged with weight.
"It was a record. The slate preserves fragments of the galactic wars."
Xavier’s eyes narrowed. "Then the man I saw... was he really—"
"His name," the goddess cut gently, "...was Zephyros. The first. The founding emperor of Zenith. The one who carved an empire from chaos."
Xavier stared at the floor, his jaw tightening. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "So he was truly my ancestor."
"What happened after? Why did the enemies break in? Did he survive?" Xavier asked curiously.
"I do not know," she admitted, her tone softening. "I was not there. That era had already closed when I awakened into this form. What you witnessed is more than I could ever tell you. But the war has been going on for a long time."
Xavier hesitated, then asked the question that had been clawing at him since he returned. "...The star he destroyed... was that you?"
The goddess did not hesitate. "Yes. Or rather, a husk of me. An unconscious, broken form that remained after I was slain long before that war. He found my core, and through it, forged the beginning of his bloodline—which you belong to. The last male heir of Zenith. That is you... Xavier."
Xavier’s throat tightened. He stepped closer, voice rough. "But how? How the hell could he see me? Speak to me? That was thousands of thousands of years ago."
Her light shimmered faintly, the air vibrating with her answer.
"You were not in time. You were in the Fourth Dimension, where neither time nor space exist. A place without past or future. It is eternity itself... a realm where memory breathes, where what was and what will be overlap. That is why he could see you."
The words sank into him like stones in water. Xavier clenched his fists, staring at the slate as if it might whisper something more.
"About the blood," he asked finally, voice low. "I drank it. Nothing visible changed. I don’t feel any different like I felt when I obtained the power fragment. Can you sense anything inside me?"
The goddess’ glow pulsed once as she responded. "I cannot feel it." Her tone held neither surprise nor judgment, only fact. "It may lie dormant. Some energies sleep until they meet a proper resonance. When your blood interacts with the right fragment, it may wake."
"Then I’m useless," he muttered, not looking away from the fragment. "Weak as always."
"You are not weak. Don’t mind Zephyros’ words." Her voice echoed, old and quiet. "He rose to the peak by outlasting age itself. He became more than mortal through time, through struggle. You are young compared to him. You have lived months where he lived millennia, and yet you stand stronger than ordinary men. Before you met me, stress would knock you down. Now you endure. Do not mistake a moment of doubt for failure."
Xavier’s jaw worked. He felt the truth of it like an ache. He straightened, drew in a slow breath, and let the doubt go with it. "You’re right. It isn’t like me to self-pity." He lifted his chin and, for a second, allowed himself a small, dry smile. "The fuck is wrong with me? Looks like I need some deep sleep."
The goddess’ light softened as if in approval. "You have grown. Keep moving."
"By the way?" He pushed further. "Can you sense any of the other fragments? Any answer from them?"
She closed the silence only after a long moment. "I send signals, but the fragments do not reply. That does not mean they are lost. They may choose not to respond, or they may remain hidden. I have no way to know that."
Xavier stared into the dim runes on the slate. "So they might be here and silent by choice."
"They might," she said simply. "But it’s highly unlikely since all fragments naturally seek each other."
A plan settled in him. "I will speed everything up, finish the revenge, and leave the planet."
The path was ugly and narrow, but it was a line he could follow. He was already familiar with it.
He stood, set the slate against the altar with care, and checked the room with a quick sweep of his eyes. No more questions for tonight. He wanted sleep, clear and hard, the kind that erased the day so he could wake and move.
"Tomorrow," he told the goddess, the words a promise to himself. "I’ll push faster."
Her light glowed once more, small and steady. "Then rest."
The room was dark, save for the faint wash of moonlight across the floor. Xavier lay sprawled across the bed, breath slow, steady, the tension of the night finally draining from his body.
And then it began.
From beneath his skin, veins lit up faintly, first along his wrists, then creeping up his arms, across his chest, down his legs. The glow was soft but alive, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, each thud pushing the light through him like a river of molten stars. His skin looked almost translucent, like his body had become a vessel and something vast—something eternal—was moving inside it.
Every inhale pulled the light tighter, brighter, every exhale spread it wider until the glow faded back into silence. The cycle repeated, veins shimmering and dimming, as if the blood of Zephyros itself was syncing to him, binding to his breath, to his rhythm, to his existence.
On the surface, Xavier slept unmoved. But within, eternity threaded itself through his mortal frame, patient and ceaseless, waiting for the moment it would no longer remain hidden.