Ancestral Lineage

It had been approximately a year since Ethan had entered his deep seclusion, his mind submerged in the endless torrent of memories fed to him by the Grimoire of Order. A year in the Beast Plane—fifteen days in the real world—but long enough for the tides of power to shift irreversibly.

In that time, the Will Clan—formed from the unified tribes of the T'Shalari and the E'Sherils—had blossomed into one of the most formidable powers across the Beast Plane. Stabilization had not been easy, but under the guidance of the elders, the leadership of Queen Ashtora and Urrandel, and the silent yet awe-inspiring presence of Ethan's Spirit Beasts, they had created something unprecedented: order.

But peace did not last.

Two weeks after Ethan's seclusion began, chaos descended.

The invaders were the Wierkrils—strange, dual-formed creatures whose males were towering, armored lizardmen and whose females took the form of graceful yet deadly owl-cat hybrids. Together, they formed a single race, bound by one will and one primal instinct: domination.

They underestimated the Will Clan.

What followed was later dubbed the Will War. It lasted only three days but reshaped the very understanding of power across the Beast Plane. While the Wierkrils attacked with cunning, overwhelming numbers, and a Saint-level leader of their own, they had failed to account for the true trump cards of the Will Clan.

The Spirit Beasts of Ethan.

Five beings of immense power—each bonded to Ethan, each bearing Saint-level might—descended upon the battlefield like divine retribution. Beside them stood Queen Ashtora, wielding her pure psychic might, and Urrandel, his body now suffused with newfound psychic divinity. Together, they tore through the enemy lines like myths made flesh.

The Wierkril Saint didn't stand a chance.

He died before he understood the nature of what he faced—overwhelmed and obliterated by a coordinated assault that combined psychic mastery, elemental devastation, and raw primordial force. His demise shattered the morale of the Wierkril forces, and what remained was reduced to nothing but silence and ash.

It wasn't a battle. It was a massacre.

Most terrifying of all, the Will Clan did not lose a single life.

That reality shook the Beast Plane to its core. Watching from afar, the other intelligent races—some who had once mocked the Will Clan as a fragile alliance of tribes—fell into fearful silence. They understood now that this was no ordinary faction. This was a clan backed by a power they could not challenge.

A new order had risen, one no longer ignored.

The Will Clan had become a storm on the horizon—a force that even the proudest and oldest of races now referred to with hushed reverence.

And Ethan, though absent, was the name etched into every whisper of fear, awe, and prophecy.

The sky was clear.

For the first time in weeks, the constant pulsing psychic clouds above the Will Clan's heartland stilled. The winds stopped—even the breath of the land held, as if in anticipation.

At the center of it all, nestled deep within the obsidian sanctum carved by living stone and memory, Ethan stirred.

He had been entombed in silence—suspended in a trance, legs crossed, bare-chested, his body resting upon a throne of smooth onyx. His breathing was so slow that it had vanished from perception, his aura tucked deep into the recesses of his being. The Grimoire of Order hovered beside him, now closed and dimmed, its purpose fulfilled.

And then, his fingers twitched.

A vibration rippled through the air, and the temperature of the entire region subtly shifted. Dust floated upward. Stone veins began to glow with soft red and silver pulses. Cracks formed beneath the throne, not from pressure, but from sheer resonance.

His eyes opened.

Twin golden pupils glowed faintly within, swirling like galaxies locked in formation. The moment they did, psychic pressure exploded outward—not as an attack, but as a release. The seal within him… had shifted.

"So this is the weight of knowledge," Ethan whispered, his voice a little hoarse but grounded with clarity.

His body was different now. His skin bore subtle glowing patterns, like sacred runes branded by inheritance itself. The scent of divine blood, of ancient psychic rivers and volcanic earth, drifted faintly around him.

The seal locking his full power had not shattered… but it had cracked deeply.

He stood slowly, and the obsidian throne dissolved behind him into dust, as if acknowledging that its purpose had ended.

The Grimoire floated before him and opened. Pages turned rapidly, flipping from past to present.

"Welcome back, Clan Head," it said, its voice reverberating with reverence.

MEANWHILE – OUTSIDE THE SANCTUM

Urrandel jolted upright from meditation.

Queen Ashtora stood mid-conversation before pausing, her psychic eyes darting toward the sanctum's direction. She wasn't the only one. All across the Will Clan's capital, beasts—intelligent and wild—froze.

The ground beneath their feet hummed.

The trees bowed gently.

A low tremor swept the lands, not destructive but majestic.

"He's awake," Ashtora whispered, eyes wide. "He's truly awake."

Urrandel stood beside her, awe in his posture. "And he has changed."

...

With each step Ethan took from the sanctum, light gathered beneath his feet, blooming in silent affirmation of his existence. His Spirit Beasts felt it before they saw him—each one lifting its head and roaring across the land, announcing the return of their master.

And when Ethan stepped through the final veil of psychic mist surrounding the sanctum's outer boundary, all present—elders, guards, beasts, and leaders—knelt instinctively.

Not because of fear.

But because their souls whispered one undeniable truth:

The Sovereign of the Will Clan had returned.

"It's nice to meet you, too," Ethan chuckled, but even the gentlest lilt of his voice sent a concussive wave of energy rippling through the space. The elders visibly flinched as psychic winds surged and cracked the flagstones beneath them.

Not this again... he groaned internally.

"Hope you've been well," he added, this time suppressing his aura with expert precision. The air stilled, the world exhaled.

"Yes, my king," Queen Ashtora replied, her voice reverent and eyes wide. In just one year of seclusion, he had transcended yet again—how many seals had he broken?

Before more could be said, two radiant streaks of energy surged toward Ethan.

"Master!!!"

In a blur of light and shadow, two girls crashed into his arms—Saareiya and Onyx, his Psychic and Curse spirit beasts. Saareiya glowed with dreamlight while Onyx shimmered with dark violet sigils.

"We missed you, Master!" Saareiya beamed, clinging to him like a child reunited with her parent.

"I missed you, too," Ethan replied, smiling softly.

A loud BOOM followed as the ground trembled violently.

"Yo, Master! Hope you didn't forget our battle?" boomed Maverick, landing with earth-splitting weight. Cracks spidered beneath his feet.

Stygian dropped next to him in a bolt of purple flame, face alight with glee and something almost... prideful.

Ethan's smile vanished. "Before any of you brats talk—what the fuck is wrong with you? Trying to destroy my palace?"

The silence was immediate.

"Err... it was Maverick's fault," Stygian said quickly, pointing without shame.

"Coward," Maverick muttered with a snort. "I apologize, Master."

"At least you know when to apologize," Ethan replied, calming. "How have you been?"

"Pretty good. I felt your power surge across the planes. You're a freak now."

"Lucky, I guess," Ethan said with a smirk.

"I'm also good, Master!" Stygian grinned as purple flames licked his shoulder.

"You're grounded. Three days. No talking." Ethan didn't even glance at him.

As laughter bubbled faintly among the gathered, Ethan's expression shifted. His golden eyes glowed slightly as he extended his senses, sweeping through the Will Planes like a silent tempest.

He found Sage in deep hibernation. The Sound beast's spiritual cocoon pulsed with power. A breakthrough was imminent.

Good, Ethan thought.

Then he found Galeno… asleep.

Again.

In his full form.

The tortoise hadn't even moved when Ethan awakened—just cracked open an eye and promptly returned to his snore. Ethan's eye twitched. Is he a tortoise… or a damn slab of laziness?

What Ethan didn't know was that the Will Clan citizens had named the mountain "The Holy Peak of Blessings." Pilgrims trekked to it. They meditated before it. Rumors spread of divine treasure at the summit. But not a single being had ever managed to climb it.

Because it wasn't a mountain.

It was just Galeno, the laziest Divine Tortoise in existence.

"I feel like punching someone," Ethan muttered darkly.

"Master! Hello! How have you been? You look great!" came a frantic voice.

A golden blur appeared beside them without warning—Galeno, now in human form, older, golden-haired, and bespectacled, panting like he'd run from another continent.

"Tch," Ethan snorted in disgust. Galeno broke into cold sweat instantly.

MEANWHILE… FERR RANGES

A pack of Aard Wolves dashed through the rocky expanse, their leader—an eight-foot grey-furred beast—leading the charge.

"If we climb the Mountain of Deities, we become gods!" he shouted.

The others howled in wild agreement.

Their speed tore through the landscape like a storm. They crossed ravines, scaled jagged peaks, until finally, the Holy Peak of Blessings stood before them in its tranquil grandeur.

Their instincts screamed caution. But desire outweighed it.

They lunged—

And the mountain vanished.

Just gone.

One moment it was there, and in the next… thin air.

The wolves hovered in shock mid-air for a second before CRASHING down to the rocky ground.

Silence.

Then a whimper.

Then a collective, confused howl.

Back in the Will Clan, Galeno scratched his head nervously. "Uh… did I roll over in my sleep?"