Chapter Fourteen: Ascendants

Yesh Academy

Luna Gaea Solar system

Milky Way Galaxy, Charlie Sector

Neutral free Zone

January 29th 2019 

Samantha McCoy was born and raised in a small suburban town in New York State—the kind of quiet, idyllic place where nothing extraordinary ever seemed to happen. Life was simple, and for Sam, her family was small but enough: just her father and her Aunt Stella.

Her childhood memories with her father were hazy, except for the vivid moments they spent camping. Those trips were her happiest times. She could still recall the way they'd lie under a blanket of stars, his voice weaving stories about constellations and the mysteries of the universe. One story, in particular, stuck with her—a tale of visitors from the stars who came to Earth millennia ago, sharing their culture and knowledge for humanity's benefit. She always found his stories fascinating, even the most outlandish ones, and they inspired her young imagination.

Sam would often create her own stories, spinning worlds from her mind, and her father encouraged her to sketch them in her notebook. Those days felt timeless, magical even. But everything changed when she turned ten.

The accident happened during one of their camping trips, meant to celebrate her birthday.

"Samantha! Samantha!" Voices whispered her name in the suffocating darkness. She was drowning, the car being dragged by a relentless current. Her father was fighting to undo her seatbelt, his movements frantic as water surged inside the vehicle. Everything had happened so fast—the car chase, the deafening explosions, the gunshots, and then the crash. Chaos turned into silence as the car was swept away.

Then came the darkness. It was calm, peaceful, and numbing, as though she were weightless. The pain faded, and for a moment, nothing mattered.

When Sam awoke, it was in the sterile brightness of an intensive care unit in a downtown New York hospital. She had no memory of how she got there, only the unsettling realization that she had been in a coma for four years. Her mind was a blank slate when it came to the events leading up to the accident.

But things didn't return to normal. They never could.

It started with the strange colors. She began seeing hues surrounding people, faint and shimmering like auras that carried melodies only she could hear. Those colors revealed emotions—anger, sadness, love—each one a unique symphony that overwhelmed her senses. Then came the anxiety attacks. They hit her like waves, leaving her feeling as though she were drowning all over again.

Sam didn't understand what was happening to her. Why was her life spiraling into something so inexplicably strange? And why had she been left to face it alone?

If not for Aunt Stella, she might have been completely lost. Stella was there for everything: the hospital visits, the endless psych evaluations that led nowhere, and most importantly, her father's funeral. Stella became more than an aunt—she became Sam's guardian, the one anchor she had left.

But even with Stella's care, there was no escaping the voices. They came to her from the shadows, soft and insistent, whispering her name in the dark.

"Samantha… Samantha…" The voices whispered her name in the suffocating darkness. She was drowning. The car was being dragged by the merciless current, water rushing in through every crack and seam. Her father fumbled with her seatbelt, his hands shaking as he fought against time and panic.

It all happened so fast—the car chase, the explosions, the flashes of light—and then the impact that sent them tumbling, spinning, crashing into the water. Chaos gave way to silence, and then darkness, cold and heavy, pressed against her.

In that darkness, there was peace. No pain. No fear. Nothing.

Until she woke up.

Sam found herself in a sterile, white hospital room in downtown New York. The faint hum of machines filled the air, their rhythmic beeping the first sound she heard in what felt like an eternity. She had been in a coma for four years, and the memories of what had happened were locked away, just out of reach.

But life hadn't returned to normal. It never would.

First came the colors—strange, shimmering hues surrounding people, like faint auras that only she could see. They moved and pulsed in melodies that revealed emotions: joy, sadness, anger, fear. It was overwhelming, a sensory overload that no one else seemed to notice.

Then came the anxiety attacks. They struck without warning, leaving her gasping for air, convinced she was dying. She couldn't explain what was happening to her, why everything felt so wrong. Why had she been left to face this alone?

If not for Aunt Stella, she might have been lost entirely. Stella was there for her father's funeral, for the endless hospital visits, for the psych evaluations that offered no answers. Stella became more than just her aunt; she became Sam's guardian, her anchor to the world.

But even Stella couldn't silence the voices.

"Samantha… Wake me up. Wake me up."

"She is the Asha'yee. The one to free us from the darkness."

"But can she…" the voices murmured, fading into silence.

And then came the pain.

It was sudden and all-encompassing, ripping through her body like a violent storm. Sam could focus on nothing else—no memories of her father, no fleeting images of her childhood. Just the pain, relentless and excruciating. Her muscles, her bones, her very cells felt as though they were being torn apart and stitched back together in an endless loop.

Someone was holding her. She didn't know if it was Rosa or the Sun Prince—the last faces she had seen before falling unconscious. Whoever it was, they held her tighter as she struggled against them, her body convulsing with each wave of agony.

She blacked out again.

The voices returned, more sinister this time.

"The girl has it."

"Then we must find her before the time comes. The Herald will not be pleased."

Sam resurfaced briefly, her awareness flickering like a candle in the wind. Someone was screaming—was it her? Or someone else, calling for help? She was being carried through a strange hallway, but everything blurred and faded as the pain consumed her again.

Her body felt like it was tearing itself apart, splintering and reforming, over and over. The voltage running through her veins was unbearable, as though she might disintegrate into nothingness. For a fleeting moment, she thought maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe death would be better. She had faced it twice before, and both times it had rejected her.

But now, in this storm of pain and despair, death seemed like a mercy.

Maybe this time, she thought, it wouldn't let her go.

"Leon! She has to stay in the chambers alone. You can't be here," a gentle voice said, firm yet calm.

"I can't leave her alone," Leon countered, his voice resolute.

"Unless you can survive a blast of Celestial energy of this magnitude, I suggest you get out," another voice interjected. This one was deeper, rougher, carrying an edge that brokered no argument.

Silence hung in the air, thick with tension.

"Fine," Leon finally said, his words laced with reluctant defeat. "Just make sure she survives."

Survive. That was all she had ever done. Survive. But this pain? This was unlike anything she had ever endured. Who could survive this? Who would even want to?

"Shh, my darling girl," the gentle voice spoke again, softer now. "I know it hurts. I know it does, but you can let go. You can let go of the pain."

Let go? How could she let go of the pain when it was all she could feel? It was her reality, her existence. It consumed her. But then... there was a flicker of something else—a memory.

"Your life is what you make of it. But letting fear dictate your actions isn't the answer." Dr. Dingle's words resurfaced in her mind, echoing through the storm of agony.

Was he right? Had she allowed her fears to control her, to hold her back from everything she could have been? Her relationships with Aunt Stella, with Henry, with Rosa—they were fragile things, broken threads barely held together by her indifference. She had never truly fought for them, for herself, for anything.

No. No, that wasn't who she wanted to be anymore.

She wanted to fight. She wanted to live. She didn't want to disappear into the void of insignificance. If she was going to leave this world one day, she wanted to leave a mark, something that would prove she had existed.

"That's it, Sam," the voice urged, gentle and soothing. "Let it all out."

And she did.

Sam let go of everything—the anger, the pain, the sadness that had gripped her for so long. She let it pour out of her, spilling into the darkness, and then...

Darkness.

****

Thunder roared across a desolate field, sharp and unrelenting. The stench of death clung to the air, thick and acrid, mingling with the coppery tang of blood and the foul, unmistakable scent of decay.

Bodies were everywhere. Bodies she recognized. Faces of those who had followed her into this bloodbath of war, their eyes now lifeless. The necrotic odor burned her throat, leaving an acidic tang on her tongue, but she couldn't stop.

Conflict was eternal. War was inevitable. There had always been war, and there always would be. As long as life persisted, so would the struggle. For life was nothing without it—the ceaseless fight to survive, to endure, to persevere.

That was what she was doing now, among the corpses of her comrades.

Sam pushed a body out of her way, the cold lifelessness of it stinging her fingers. Her eyes caught the faintest glimpse of light in the distance. It was there—the path to survival. The only way out.

She pushed harder. Against the weight of the dead. Against the suffocating stench. Against the numbing cold. Because if she didn't, she would fall.

And if she fell, the darkness would consume her, dragging her into an abyss where she would remain for another hundred years.

So she fought. She fought with everything she had, even as exhaustion clawed at her limbs, even as despair whispered in her ears. She wanted to stop. She wanted to collapse, to let the darkness claim her.

But she didn't.

She kept moving, kept clawing her way toward the light, inch by agonizing inch. It was so close now. So close.

And then the light vanished.

The world twisted, folding in on itself, and she was falling again—falling into the black void.

****

Sam could hear voices whispering, whispering about her, familiar voices mixed with strange ones. She struggled to open her eyes. For a minute, there was only glaring darkness. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the darkness cleared away, and she woke up to the sight of what looked like a hospital room.

The room was large, and she lay on what seemed to be a hospital bed. Devices surrounded her, a monitor telegraphing unfamiliar symbols. An infusion drip line was attached to her hand, pumping in a strange whitish liquid. A faint ringing noise echoed inside her head, though it was gradually fading.

She looked around, trying to piece things together. Where am I? What happened? Sam felt as though she had just woken up from a long nightmare. And there was something she was supposed to remember, but the memory was gone... all she could recall was the pain. Though the pain was gone now, she knew she would never forget it.

Outside, the whispering voices stopped, and the door creaked open. A tall man stepped in, his silver-white hair catching the light. His bronze skin and youthful face gave him the appearance of someone her age, yet something about him felt timeless—like the concept of age didn't apply to him. He wore a long white-sleeved shirt and black pants.

"Hello, Samantha," he said, his voice whimsical, with a hint of mischief.

"Hi," she mumbled, her throat dry. "Where am I? What happened?"

Before the man could respond, a familiar voice came from behind him.

"You're safe now, Sam."

Sam's eyes darted to the doorway, and her heart skipped a beat. Standing there was Leon Haravok, his striking presence as commanding as ever. His bright blue eyes softened when they met hers, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Leon..." she whispered. Memories flashed through her mind—his voice calling out to her, the feeling of falling, the blinding pain. "You... you're here."

"I am," Leon said as he stepped inside the room, his tall frame moving with an easy confidence. He pulled up a chair beside her bed and sat down. "You collapsed in the Echo field. I brought you here."

"Collapsed..." Sam muttered. She winced, her body aching like it had been torn apart and pieced back together. "It feels like my whole body's been glued back together."

"That's not far from the truth," the silver-haired man interjected with a chuckle. "I'm Adonis Yesh, by the way. This is one of my hospital facilities, and what you're experiencing is a common symptom of Awakening."

"Awakening?" Sam frowned.

Adonis smiled, leaning casually against the wall. "The Awakening of your soul core. The amount of energy released during your Awakening was... unprecedented. Even Leon's Awakening wasn't quite like this."

Sam's head was spinning. "You're saying too much too fast," she said, raising a hand to her temple. "I don't understand."

Leon leaned forward, his calm voice cutting through her confusion. "It's okay, Sam. Take your time. This is a lot to process."

Adonis nodded and pushed a nearby monitor closer to her. "Here, maybe this will help you understand."

Sam glanced at the screen, but what caught her attention wasn't the data—it was her reflection. Her breath hitched.

Her skin was still a lighter shade of brown, but it looked impossibly smooth and flawless, as if it had been polished to perfection. Her hair, once brown, was now a bright emerald green, cut much shorter than she remembered. But it was her eyes that truly unsettled her—they glowed with the same emerald hue, vibrant and otherworldly.

"What... what happened to my hair?" Sam asked, her voice trembling.

"The Awakening released a massive amount of energy, more than I've ever seen," Adonis explained, pulling the monitor away. "Your body had to adapt, and the excess energy... well, it took its toll. Your hair didn't survive the process, though I must say it's grown back remarkably quickly. You've been unconscious for over two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Sam echoed, her mind reeling. She looked at Leon, who nodded solemnly.

"You scared the hell out of me," Leon admitted. "But you're okay now. That's what matters."

Sam felt a lump in her throat. Despite the pain and confusion, Leon's presence was steadying.

"So, I'm a Mystic now, like Rosa," Sam said, trying to ground herself.

"Not quite," Adonis said with a wry smile. "You're something far more rare—an Ascendant. Like Leon."

"An Ascendant?"

"Yes," Adonis continued. "Unlike regular Mystics, Ascendants possess a soul core. This core allows you to grow beyond mortal limits—physically, mentally, and spiritually. The path of an Ascendant is one of cultivation, of constantly evolving toward a singular goal."

"And what goal is that?" Sam asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Immortality," Adonis said simply.

Sam's eyes widened, her mind spinning with the implications. Immortality. The very word felt absurd, like something out of a fantasy novel.

Leon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, grounding her once more. "It's a lot to take in, I know. But we'll figure this out together."

Sam looked at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. She still didn't fully understand what was happening to her, but with Leon by her side, she felt like she could face whatever was to come.

"I think that's enough for now," Adonis said, sensing her exhaustion. "Rest, Samantha. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Sam nodded, her eyelids growing heavy. As she drifted off to sleep, Leon's voice was the last thing she heard.

"You're going to be okay, Sam. I promise."