Chapter Fourteen: Ebony zone

Ebony Zone,

Ironspire, Mount Obsidian

Agartha, Divine Federation

Anu Solar System

Pleiades star sector

20th Krios cycle, Solaris prime Solaris Prime

Leon sat in the rear compartment of the sleek shuttle as it soared high above the clouds, slicing through the wind like a blade of golden light. Outside the panoramic windows, the azure sky gradually gave way to darker hues as the vessel drew closer to the infamous borderland known as the Ebony Zone.

They had long departed Aurelion—the glimmering jewel of the Federation, a city of obsidian towers and sun-kissed domes, where the aristocracy of the Divine Federation resided in luxury behind shimmering mana barriers. Aurelion was the city of elegance and masks, where politics danced hand-in-hand with tradition. But Leon had no more use for that place, not now.

The shuttle was a private craft, emblazoned with the insignia of House Haravok—a radiant lion crowned in solar flame. Its interior gleamed with subdued golden inlays, fine leather seats, and quiet hums of mana-infused machinery. Every inch was a testament to the technological artistry of the Federation, forged with both science and soul.

At the helm was Elias Dawnshade, a stern yet capable pilot and Eleanor's younger brother. His face was etched with focused calm, golden irises reflecting the runes glowing across the shuttle's control panel. Elias was one of the elite Sunflame Guard, a corps sworn to protect the Haravok bloodline. Though young, his eyes carried the weight of one who had seen fire and battle.

The rest of the Sunflame Guard were spread throughout the estate, watching and waiting. Only a handful had accompanied Leon, handpicked for this mission. It hadn't been Leon's idea. Old Man Wen had insisted.

"It was a disgrace," Wen had said before Leon departed. "A stain upon our honor when we were forbidden to follow you into exile. Now that you've returned, let us redeem ourselves. Let us carry your flame again."

Leon hadn't argued. Not this time.

He could feel it—the quiet shame that weighed upon the Sunflame Guard, the regret etched into their silence for not being able to fulfill their sacred duty. It had been more than just protocol or pride. It was a wound on their honor, one they had carried like a brand across their souls since the day Leon was exiled. And now that he had returned, reborn and ascendant, they saw a chance—not just to serve, but to cleanse that mark in flame and loyalty.

So Leon allowed it. A gesture unspoken, but understood.

He leaned back into the supple curve of the seat, the low thrum of the shuttle's grav-engines humming through the chamber like a lullaby spun from static and wind. Warm golden light from the ceiling panels bathed him in soft radiance, casting faint halos that flickered over his face, illuminating the contemplative fire in his eyes. Across from him sat Rex and Aria. Rex, ever the guardian, had chosen to come along—his reason veiled beneath his usual stoic calm, though Leon knew the truth. Rex had come to visit the Fallen One. Alexander Pendragon.

Leon had never once visited Alexander. Not even once. Even though, deep down, he had always suspected the man's innocence in the death of his father. But why would he risk it? To visit the Fallen One back then would have been a signal—a fatal whisper to his enemies that he knew the truth, or was close to it. And at the time, Leon had been too weak. Powerless. Just another pawn in a game of masks and blood. But now, things were different. Now, he would visit Alexander.

After Delacroix.

Outside, the skies had grown dim, a bruise-colored veil stretching across the horizon as they approached their destination. The Ebony Zone. A name spoken with fear and reverence in every corner of the Federation. It wasn't just a prison. It was a tomb of legends, a graveyard for monsters, traitors, and heretics. A fortress built not to rehabilitate—but to forget.

Every inmate here was infamous: warlords who had decimated cities with a whisper, planetary-scale mass murderers, oathbreakers of the Twelve Houses, and former gods stripped of their Authority. None had ever escaped. None ever would. Because the Ebony Zone was more than walls and wards. It was a metaphysical lock, forged at the convergence of leyline null-zones and bound by temporal compression. A place outside time's grace and mana's mercy.

The shuttle crested over the final ridge of a jagged obsidian mountain range, revealing the prison at last—a stark, colossal onyx cube floating motionless above the mountain's peak, as if suspended by unseen chains. Its surface shimmered faintly with dense runic patterns, ancient glyphs that pulsed with anti-energy—a silence that devoured all sound, all hope.

The shuttle slowed and descended gracefully to the base of the mountain, where a modest landing platform had been built into the stone. Other vessels were already docked—government cruisers, black-armored shuttles, and a solitary white craft bearing the sigil of the Federation's High Tribunal. All around, the air felt heavy, as though the mountain itself breathed despair and secrecy.

Leon stood, his gaze fixed on the distant cube, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Leon stepped out of the shuttle first, his boots pressing softly against the stonework of the mountain base. Behind him came Rex and Aria, their movements poised and silent, each aware of the gravity of the place. Elias Dawnshade, ever vigilant, exited last. His sharp eyes swept across the surroundings with practiced efficiency, cataloging every structure, every exit point, every fluctuation in the air. Leon caught the motion, and a faint smile played at his lips.

He didn't need protection. Not anymore.

With his spatial senses and refined cultivation, few threats could even touch him, let alone pose a danger. But Elias wasn't here out of necessity. He was here out of duty—and out of love. Eleanor's younger brother, a member of the Sunflame Guard, had insisted on accompanying him. And Leon had allowed it—not for himself, but for his cousin's peace of mind.

They approached the security checkpoint, where two tall obsidian pillars framed a translucent barrier etched with glowing golden runes. The enchantments shimmered like sunlight caught in spider silk, forming a metaphysical wall of defense. Standing before it were the guards of the Ebony Zone—Ascendants at the Warrior Realm, their auras like compressed thunderclouds.

One stepped forward. His armor gleamed with Sacred-grade enchantments, the segmented plating etched with radiant sigils that pulsed softly with divine light. His weapon, a mana-forged halberd, crackled with condensed energy.

Rex wordlessly produced a crystalline pass—glowing with his mana signature—and handed it to the approaching guard. The guard studied the pass carefully, then looked up, his gaze lingering on Leon for just a moment. He'd clearly felt their pressure when they arrived—power tightly coiled beneath the surface—but the clearance was legitimate. With a nod, he gestured to his comrades. The barrier shimmered and split open, creating a shimmering archway.

They stepped through, and the pressure of layered enchantments settled around them like invisible chains. They entered the lift embedded into the mountainside, where another guard awaited—this one clad in armor of the same make, standing as silent as a statue.

As the lift ascended, Leon felt the mana around him thinning. When they reached the summit, the guard at the controls entered a sequence of runes into the console. A moment later, light flashed in all directions.

Space twisted.

Leon felt it immediately. The folding and stretching of dimensions, the tearing of one spatial reality and the stitching of another. He could feel the complex mechanics—the sheer artistry—of the space construct that housed the Ebony Zone. This wasn't just a sealed facility. It was an alternate dimension carved into existence by a fusion of high-level magic and metaphysical engineering.

They emerged on a circular platform suspended in a pocket world of silence. The sky above was a void, blank and colorless. Around them stood more guards—Ascendants at the Master Realm. Their armor radiated the imposing aura of Legendary-grade craftsmanship, and their presence felt immense, enough to have dwarfed Leon back when he, too, was a Master.

Leon's gaze narrowed. His ability to circulate mana was sluggish here—severely dampened. Ambient energy was almost nonexistent. A calculated security feature. The prison didn't just hold criminals—it suppressed gods. One of the lead guards stepped forward. His armor bore the insignia of the Federation's elite, and his pale violet hair shimmered faintly under the sterile overhead lights.

"Star Knight Pendragon," the man said with a formal nod. "What brings you to the Zone today?"

"I'm here to visit prisoner EO111," Rex replied calmly.

The guard, Elrik, allowed himself a knowing smirk. "Of course. Still keeping to your annual pilgrimage, I see." His eyes then shifted toward Leon and his companions. Suspicion flared behind his gaze. "However… that pass only permits you access to EO111."

Leon stepped forward, his voice even and composed. "I'm not here for EO111. I received a formal request for visitation from Delacroix. I believe everything should already be logged."

Elrik's violet eyes lingered on Leon for a moment longer. He knew exactly who Leon was. There weren't many Pleiadians with golden hair, golden irises, and that distinctive bronze hue to their skin. A Haravok. And not just any—the Haravok.

After a beat, Elrik inclined his head. "Very well," he said, voice clipped. "Your visitation request is valid. You'll be escorted to the chambers."

He led them toward a dome-like structure built into the interior of the floating cube, its architecture a seamless blend of Federation magitech and alien geometry—circular, spiraling, always shifting, as though alive. The inside of the visitation center was arranged like a split helix: two mirrored pathways leading to separate visitation rooms. Rex was escorted down one, while Leon, Elias, and Aria were led to the other.

The room they entered was austere, its walls blank and seemingly metallic, though Leon sensed the warping of space layered across them like folded glass. He sat in a singular black chair in the center, facing an empty one across the table. His golden eyes scanned the room passively, though he didn't need to look. His internal sight already mapped the array of monitoring devices cloaked in warped dimensions. Spells twisted the air, hiding cameras and sensors. He smiled.

Of course. The prison did not trust its prisoners—nor its guests. Then, the air flickered. A ripple of light appeared across the room, and in the next moment, Delacroix materialized in the seat across from him. Leon blinked, noting the subtle precision in the teleportation spell. Despite the mana-dry environment, it had been executed perfectly. Magitech, he thought. Likely augmented by void capacitors and quantum-field stabilizers. Otherwise, even a teleportation would be impossible here.

Delacroix looked… older. His once-pristine figure was thinner, a little paler. His snow-white uniform clung to a leaner frame, and his long hair was now unkempt, trailing behind him like silver threads dulled by time. His presence was muted. Severed from the Odyllic, he could no longer draw upon the mystical current that once fed his soul core.

His eyes, however, remained sharp—and when they fell upon Leon, something flickered within them. Recognition. Amusement. Bitterness. And something else. Curiosity.

"Well now," Delacroix said, voice smooth and sardonic, "I was ninety-nine percent certain you'd ignore my request. A pleasant surprise."

His gaze flicked toward Aria, the young witch standing beside Leon. His eyes narrowed.

"Though I suspect your companion had something to do with that," he added. "A Delphi, aren't you? Precognitive prodigies. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"You know," he said, tilting his head at Leon, "People called your father a fool for marrying outside the Pleiadian elite. But perhaps he understood something the rest of us missed."

Leon didn't answer immediately. He merely studied Delacroix in silence, the weight of memory and mystery pressing in around them. This was no longer just a conversation.

It was the beginning of revelation.

"You asked to talk," Leon said, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "Then talk."

Delacroix leaned back in his chair, the whites of his prison uniform catching the sterile glow of the visitation chamber. "Hmm. You look well. Radiant, even. I suppose the Twilight Crown has that effect." His voice was slow, casual, but laced with veiled interest.

Leon arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"I was aware of Vuelo's scheme," Delacroix continued, unbothered. "Her plans for the Crown—and for you."

"I don't care for Vuelo," Leon said coolly, "or your recycled knowledge about Octagram. What I want to know is—"

"Have you been to Terra lately?" Delacroix cut in, his tone turning sharp. "I imagine the Merging hasn't gone quite the way they hoped."

Leon gave no reaction. He didn't glance at Aria, didn't let so much as a flicker cross his face, but the truth was damning. He hadn't been back. Not since the Awakening had begun. Not since he made that promise to Sam.

"What do you know about Terra?" Aria asked, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice. The Custodians of Dawn had spent years trying to stabilize Terra's spiraling condition. No technology, no spellwork—nothing had worked. Deep down, Aria suspected that only Vuelo or her own aunt, hidden behind veils of ancient Delphi prophecy, held the answer.

Delacroix's eyes slid to her, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. "I know that planet will never be safe," he said. "Not while forces like the Fallen Star remain interested in it."

"Terra has nothing to do with the Fallen Star," Aria snapped.

But Delacroix only laughed. A cruel, echoing sound. "Please. I was one of Octagram's Inners. I know exactly what that organization was. The Fallen Star answered to Sophia Sinclair who is a higher up of Octagram."

Leon's voice cut clean through the tension. "You still haven't told me what you want."

Delacroix's smirk faded. "What I want?" he echoed, his voice tightening. "I want to live. I want to survive."

He leaned forward now, his eyes sharp, laced with desperation. "What I know—it's going to get me killed. I'm alive right now only because the Grand Admiral insisted on a fair trial. But once I testify… once I speak to a Truth Seeker… I'm dead. It's only a matter of time."

"And?" Leon asked, his tone unreadable.

"And I want to live after the trial," Delacroix said. "And I think you might be the only one who can make that happen."

Leon tilted his head. "Why would I bother?"

"Because I have something you'll want," Delacroix said, eyes gleaming. "A treasure. Something of Divine Grade. And I believe your family has ties to it."

Leon's eyebrow rose. "Treasure."

"Yes. A lost relic. One that Mallus is actively hunting."

Leon opened his mouth to question further—but then it hit him. A whisper of energy moved through his mind like a silver chord vibrating across eternity. His Hyperion core pulsed, and a sharp spark crackled in his gaze. The golden sunwheels within his irises twisted—and then expanded, blooming like radiant spirals. A deep indigo overtone bled into the edges, and he felt his Odic force surge, defying the suppressive field of the Ebony Zone.

It wasn't just instinct. It was purpose. This treasure… it wasn't only for him.

It was for Sam.

[Hyperion – Indigo Core Technique: Mindstep – Astralis Descent]

Leon's irises flared with radiant violet-blue light as the spiraling sunwheels formed intricate glyphs. A fine indigo filament extended from the center of his brow—like a thread of starlight—and connected to the space just above Delacroix's forehead.

Time slowed.

Leon's body stilled, ringed by soft halos of pulsing light. Within the span of a heartbeat, his consciousness slipped past Delacroix's defenses, bypassing every seal, every mental barricade, and plunged into the astral mirror of Delacroix's mind.

He stood inside the soulscape—within the fractured cathedral of Delacroix's memories. Everything was laid bare: thoughts, secrets, pain, betrayal. And the truth.

The treasure was real.

And it was vital.

When Leon's awareness returned to his physical form, there was a smirk on his lips. Delacroix sat frozen across from him, horror etched into every line of his face.

Impossible.

He was of House Scorpio—renowned for their unbreakable mental fortitude. Even without Od or mana, his mind should have been impervious. The Truth Seekers had failed to break him. And yet Leon had sliced through his defenses like silk.

"It's time to go," Leon said, rising to his feet.

"No… wait. Don't go," Delacroix pleaded, panic setting in. "You have to help me. I won't live—"

Leon paused, though he already knew what Delacroix meant. The truth was etched into his soul.

"I'll die before I even reach the courtroom," Delacroix whispered, voice cracking. "He'll kill me…"

"You mean Mallus," Leon said flatly.

Delacroix's eyes widened in terror. He knew. Leon knew everything now.

Leon raised a finger, a small orb of indigo light swirling into existence at its tip. He waved his hand—and the orb shot forward, striking Delacroix square in the chest. His astral body yanked free from the physical one, hovering ghostlike as the indigo light anchored itself at the center of his soul.

With a gesture, Leon reached out and pulled. The astral body collapsed into a glowing thread, which he folded, bound, and sealed within his own Soul Realm—anchored by the chains of his King's Authority.

Delacroix's body slumped, unconscious—but still alive.

Aria stood frozen, eyes wide. "What… what did you do?" she asked.

Leon turned, the light fading from his eyes, the spirals dimming. "He'll live," he said simply. "Just not here." That energy… it was the same as the energy behind the Delphi clan's precognition. The same soul-thread weaving. Somewhere deep in his soul and bloodline, the threads of the Delphi Witch Factor were beginning to stir.

And the future had just shifted.