Ancestral Lineage

The Will Citadel stood tall at the center of the Will Clan's domain, built with living stone and bone, flowing with veins of glowing blue and gold essence. A monument of power, vision, and unity.

The central chamber, known as the Throne Spiral, was a vast circular hall open to the skies above, with clouds occasionally drifting through its transparent dome. Twelve stone seats curved around the room, each representing one of the clan's allied races or internal branches. From the E'Sherils to the T'Shalari, from the Spirit Beast Council to the Elders of the Clan.

But today, all eyes are focused on one singular figure standing at the heart of the spiral.

Ethan.

He wore no crown, no cloak. Just a simple black robe lined with white and silver thread. Yet he needed no regalia. His mere presence was heavier than mountains. His newly awakened aura was tempered but suffused every corner of the hall, as though the world leaned inward to listen.

Saareiya stood behind him, arms folded, gaze sharp. Onyx leaned against a pillar, shadows curling like smoke around her ankles. Maverick stood with his arms crossed, and Stygian, for once, was silent—his usual mischief subdued in the face of what was about to unfold.

Queen Ashtora and Urrandel stood among the twelve, both robed in their ceremonial elder garb as Vice Clan Heads. The rest of the Council—beast-kin, spirit elders, tribal chieftains, and even envoys from far-flung tribes all held their breath.

Ethan stepped forward.

Then he spoke—his voice a soft baritone, commanding and calm, with no hint of pride, only resolve.

"It has been a year. A year since the Will Clan was founded. A year since I fell into seclusion. And in that time, you've all protected this vision."

He paused. The air itself listened.

"I thank you—not with titles or flattery, but with truth. I see your efforts. I see your sacrifices. And I will not let them be in vain."

A few murmurs of reverent assent followed.

"The Will War showed us that peace does not come freely. That we are not yet beyond conflict. And yet, we did not falter. We did not break. We stood united."

He turned slowly, letting each council member see his eyes, glowing faintly now, flickering like twin stars.

"Let it be known that from this day forward, the Will Clan is no longer a fledgling idea. It is a force. One that will defend this plane. One that will protect its own."

Onyx grinned at that. Saareiya gave a proud nod.

Ethan continued.

"To that end, I am declaring a new initiative—one that I've named The Sentinel Accord. Each allied tribe or race will now have access to shared defensive formations and infrastructure. No tribe will stand alone again."

A soft gasp from one of the elders. The E'Sheril representative gave a low nod of approval.

"And finally, to those watching from the shadows. To the ancient eyes peering in curiosity or contempt—I say this."

His voice grew cold now. Divine energy laced each word.

"We are not a clan built on bloodlines. Not on conquest. We are built on Will. And no matter what force rises against us... We will not kneel."

Thunder cracked faintly in the sky, though the clouds had not moved.

Ethan exhaled softly, letting the room settle before adding:

"This is your king, your brother, your fellow warrior. And I swear—upon my life and beyond it—I will protect the Will Clan."

Silence followed.

Then—

BOOM!

Every council member rose.

Every spirit beast growled in affirmation.

Every elder bowed.

And above them, the clouds began to spiral—not in chaos, but in formation. A celestial sign that the Will of their king had shaken the heavens once again.

A heavy silence cloaked the Spiral Chamber.

Ethan stood at the center, his presence still radiating calm authority—but his eyes… they were distant. Filled with a deep, aching nostalgia.

"Unfortunately," he began softly, his gaze sweeping across the gathered elders, spirit beasts, and council members, "I cannot stay any longer. I have to return."

The words were gentle, but they struck like thunder. Gasps echoed faintly. Even the wind seemed to pause.

Images flickered through his mind: his wives, their gentle laughter; his children, wild and free; his brother, unyielding and loyal; his mother's soothing voice, his father's stern pride. They were calling to him. And he had heard.

Urrandel, the ancestral elder of the T'Shalari, stepped forward slowly. "My King…"

Ethan turned to him with a smile—warm, calm, eternal.

"Don't worry," he said. "I am a king here, and I am a king back home. I am the same in both worlds. But one day, they will no longer be two. I promise—I will find a way to bring them together."

As he spoke, a dark silver sigil shimmered into existence behind him. The air crackled with ancient energy as the sigil expanded, forming the intricate shape of a landmass everyone recognized instantly.

The Map of the Beast Plane—but older, wilder, purer.

A low hum of awe rippled through the crowd. The sigil's energy resonated with everyone in the room. It wasn't foreign. It wasn't forced. It was part of them.

"This…" Ethan said as the glowing map hovered, "is Old Gassendi. The original Beast Plane. And it is mine."

He paused, letting the silence settle.

"It is my inheritance. I am the true Sovereign of this land."

Gasps followed again. Even the ever-composed Queen Ashtora's eyes widened. The aura exuding from the map, the ancient familiarity they all felt—it was undeniable.

"But I ask you to keep this secret," Ethan added, his tone lowering. "No one beyond this chamber must know—not yet."

Aro, a wise elder of the E'Sherils, lowered his head in reverence. "My King… how do you wish us to serve? How can we help you fulfill this will?"

Ethan's smile returned, but this time, it was sharper—strategic.

"Good question."

Before he could answer, Queen Ashtora took a step forward, her eyes shining with realization.

"Conquer," she said, her voice low but firm.

Ethan chuckled softly. "Exactly."

Teor, another elder from the T'Shalari, frowned slightly. "But how? The Beast Plane—Old Gassendi—is vast beyond imagining. Conquest seems… improbable."

"True," Ethan nodded. "It's vast. Powerful. Ancient. But not unconquerable."

He raised his hand, and several orbs floated around the room—each one pulsating with god-art energy. Maps. Ancient scrolls. Cores of long-dead guardians. Seeds of spirit forests. All gifts from the Grimoire of Order, passed on to him through the memories.

"I will help you. These resources are yours. Use them to grow. For the next half-year, train, recruit, unify. Solidify your strength. I will leave behind guidance and proxies."

He looked over them all, one by one.

"And when the time comes… You will wage a war of unity. Not to enslave—but to bring all of Old Gassendi under one banner."

"Under the Will Clan."

Murmurs gave way to awe.

Some elders bowed in reverence.

Others stood in solemn readiness.

The spirit beast tribe growled in agreement, power swirling in their bodies.

Then, slowly, Ethan turned back toward the center of the Spiral Chamber. His sigil remained hovering above, like a crown of destiny.

"Remember," he said quietly, "we do not conquer for glory… but for peace."

And with that, he began to glow—silver and black light rising from his skin like smoke, surrounding him.

The Sovereign of Two Worlds was preparing to leave.

But the war for one of them had just begun.