Chapter 614: Storm Over Crescent Isle
After she finished speaking, the man known as Lord Alaric let a small, curious light cross his face.
"Oh? There really is such a thing?"
He did not ask who this mysterious "force" might be; the question seemed to amuse him rather than trouble him. He regarded the woman with the same cool composure, then said, "Wanting to stay on my Ascension Isle... it’s possible. Each person must give up three years of their life. That hardly seems unreasonable, does it?"
The woman’s eyes flickered at that. Lord Alaric did not press her; he kept his hands on the longbow that rested before him and stroked it as if to steady himself. The woman swallowed, bowed quickly and said, "Then thank you, Lord Alaric. I will arrange for the others to come to the island."
He gave no answer, as if he had not heard. The woman bit her lip and turned to leave. As she walked away, he muttered under her breath, venom in every word: "Amber Zane... damn her. Don’t forget you’re my prize, Alaric’s prize. If you dare ruin what belongs to me, what I hold sacred... hmph."
A sharp crack split the air.
No sooner had the woman gone than the man’s face changed. The faintly amused detachment vanished, replaced by something cold and hard. He gripped the longbow so tightly the wood screamed; with one snapped movement he broke it in two.
Time moved on. Day became night, and the tide rolled on as usual.
Aboard the Flying Dragon, in the ship’s only presidential suite for couples, Ethan lay stunned, unsure whether he had woken into reality or into a dream. He remembered wrapping the sheet around Amber and catching a sudden, intoxicating scent that made his legs go weak. After that, everything went dark.
In sleep he was somewhere else: a vast furnace that shifted between blistering heat and sudden cool relief. Inside him a burning pressure churned, a pain that felt like it would split him open; the urge to scream, to explode, rose until he thought he could not stand it. Just when it threatened to overwhelm him, something soft and fragrant would fold around him, calming and strange, and warmth would flood his veins. It was like being dragged from purgatory into a brief, dizzying heaven, over and over again.
...
"Why isn’t the boss answering his phone?"
On Crescent Isle, in a bland business hotel conference room, a tight group of people sat around a table, all of them part of the team that had gone out on the elimination missions. Two days earlier they had arrived and begun trying to reach Ethan; first he did not answer, then his line went dead. Two days without word was long, and anxiety had begun to gnaw at them. First Lyla and Astrid vanished, and now Ethan — it was too many disappearances in a short time.
"I say we bring the captain in," Williams said suddenly. "She knows this world better than any of us."
It was the kind of practical suggestion the room needed. When the team had left Ashwick, Ethan had told everyone to check in with Williams; Williams had two women with him, both of whom were high-priority protection targets. So Williams had come along when the others gathered.
Williams had been the squad’s strategist back in their military days; he spoke with the calm assessment of someone used to reading danger. His words cut through the panic. Except for the Whitmore family members present, no one in the room really understood Earth’s supernatural side; the Whitmores themselves kept to their own circle, so even they had limited, patchy information.
Aunt Melinda suddenly sat up, slapping her forehead. "Of course! How could I forget? This is Zane family territory. We can contact the Zanes."
She pushed back from the table, excitement and relief in her voice.
"Think carefully, Aunt," Markham said without looking up, sprawled like a sloth on the sofa. He glanced sideways at her. "Don’t forget what happened at the Eight Great Families assembly."
His warning hung in the air as the room fell back into uneasy silence.
"Yes, Aunt. The Zane family tried to blood-sacrifice everyone in the Silverwood Hidden Territory along with Lachlan Silverwood. They were crushed, and only Sister Amber escaped from there alive," Maria said quietly.
Aunt Melinda sighed, "Amber... right, that poor girl."
But before anyone could respond, she suddenly clapped her hands as if struck by another idea.
"Oh my, Aunt, please—" Markham groaned, sitting up and rubbing his temples. "With that muddled brain of yours... I won’t even bother. I already tried calling Amber. She didn’t answer."
He grabbed a pillow, rolled over, and buried his face beneath it. The rest of the group just exchanged weary smiles. They had spent enough time with Aunt Melinda lately to know better than to expect much order from her thoughts.
"Blackie, you’re the fastest. Make the trip," Victor ordered.
"Alright," Blackie replied simply. He was standing by the window. The next moment, with a soft whoosh, he vanished into thin air.
Markham suddenly bolted upright. "Wait—!"
Everyone turned. "What’s wrong?"
"He can’t open the Whitmore Hidden Territory’s portal!" Markham groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "For crying out loud, how can someone move that fast and still not think first?"
The room fell silent for a beat. They all realized it at the same time—Blackie had gone alone. Without a Whitmore family member, he wouldn’t be able to enter the Hidden Territory at all. He should have taken someone—Victor, Williams, even one of the Chase siblings would’ve worked.
"I’ll go," said Starfall, rising from his chair.
"Then we’ll trouble you, sir," Victor said respectfully.
Everyone knew, though Ethan himself did not, that Starfall was his father. None of them would have dared to treat him casually.
But before Starfall could act, the sky itself erupted.
Boom!
A deafening roar shook the building. The sunlight vanished, swallowed by a surge of thick black clouds rolling in from the horizon. Within moments, the clear blue had turned to storm-dark gray.
"How’s it raining again?" Hank muttered, squinting out the window, his breath reeking faintly of liquor. "I’ve lived a hundred years by the Sea of Death, and I’ve seen fewer storms than we’ve had these past two days."
Thunder cracked overhead—boom, boom, boom—each one sharper than the last.
"Something’s wrong," Micah said suddenly, his tone shifting. His eyes narrowed. "That’s Blackie’s aura."
He rushed to the window, pushing it open as wind and rain burst in. "Blackie?"
Everyone’s nerves went taut.
"It’s definitely him," Regis said, stepping forward, his gaze fixed on the roiling sky. "And there’s another presence out there... something massive."
Without another word, he shot up into the storm.
...
Far across the sea, Ethan was still trapped in his strange dream. The burning agony had faded, replaced by a cool, soothing current that flowed gently through his veins. The sensation refreshed him, restoring something deep within.
Inside his body, the Tree of Life, the Quintessence Bone, and the black hole-like Core all fought desperately for that pure energy. The Ancestral Dragon’s Imperial Aura—once the most dominant force—had been pushed aside, compressed into a corner of his body.
But now, with no other energy devouring it, the Dragon Aura stirred again. It hesitated, then surged forward like a beast breaking its chains, rushing into the Core to join the violent struggle.
The flood of energy poured through him. Ethan’s cells felt as though they had been starving for centuries; each one drank in the power greedily, changing, strengthening, reborn.
The torment faded, leaving only an overwhelming, almost intoxicating coolness.
And at last, after what felt like countless descents into fire and climbs into light, Ethan’s consciousness began to rise from the depths.
Slowly, his mind cleared.