After Kane Volcrest was teleported back home from the Crownspire Ascension, he didn''t pause. Not to breathe. Not to reflect. Not to speak.

    He walked with purpose, his violet eyes as cold as the storm that always lingered around his presence. The grand halls of the Volcrest estate were quiet, but the workers and retainers still bowed their heads respectfully as he passed.

    "Young Master Volcrest," some whispered, bending at the waist.

    But Kane said nothing.

    Not a glance. Not a nod. He walked past them as if they were shadows, phantoms in his peripheral vision. His destination was far more important.

    He was heading to the restricted area of the Volcrest estate.

    A place no guards patrolled, and no servants dared tread—not because they were forbidden, but because none were strong enough to even stand near it without their knees giving out.

    Kane reached the edge of the inner estate. Beyond him was a dense forest, wild yet perfectly maintained.

    Unlike any normal woodland, this forest was part of the estate itself—a sealed, sacred zone for the Volcrest bloodline alone.

    He continued forward without hesitation.

    Eventually, he reached a small, artificial waterfall that cascaded down a jagged rock wall into a tranquil, crystal-clear lake. The scene was serene, almost peaceful… but Kane knew better.

    He stood before the waterfall for a moment.

    And then, without a word, he leapt in.

    ---

    The instant Kane passed through the waterfall''s veil, the world changed.

    The air thickened, the temperature dropped.

    A storm roared to life—a torrential downpour, accompanied by harsh winds and blinding flashes of lightning. Thunder cracked through the air like divine judgment.

    Most would have panicked.

    Most would have turned back.

    But Kane kneeled, placing both knees on the soaked stone ground beneath him and lowering his forehead until it touched the earth.

    He remained like that, unmoving, as the storm continued to rage around him—pelting rain slamming against his back, lightning flashing inches from his skin, but he didn''t flinch. He had done this many times before.

    Minutes passed in silence, save for the unrelenting fury of the storm.

    Then, a voice echoed.

    "So… you''re finally back."

    Kane''s eyes remained on the ground.

    "And for you to be here... and not standing beside Theresa…"

    "That means you didn''t win."

    The voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the judgment in its tone.

    Kane didn''t react. He wasn''t surprised by how the speaker addressed Saint Theresa. After all, the one speaking was no less revered.

    He was a Saint, too.

    A sudden bolt of violet lightning struck the ground in front of Kane, and from within the flash, a figure emerged.

    An old man—tall, straight-backed, with long violet hair and piercing cold eyes that seemed to freeze the very air around him. His presence alone silenced the storm.

    The moment he appeared, the downpour vanished.

    The thunder ceased.

    The lightning faded.

    The world stilled.

    "You can look up," said the old man.

    Kane slowly rose from his kneeling position, lifting his gaze at last.

    He was not shocked to see the man standing before him.

    He had seen him many times before.

    Odin Volcrest.

    His grandfather.

    The Storm Saint.

    Odin''s expression remained unreadable as he looked down at his grandson.

    "Explain to me," he said.

    "Why. You. Lost."

    The silence that followed was heavy.

    And then, Kane opened his mouth to speak—

    To explain what had happened in the Crownspire.

    To recount what he had witnessed.

    And why he had failed.

    ****

    The Volcrest family was known across the world as one of the mightiest ascendant families—a lineage of power, legacy, and ambition. Their name commanded respect, their influence reached far, and their younger generations consistently produced geniuses feared by their peers.

    But what the world didn''t know—what only a privileged few had ever learned—was the truth behind their rise.

    The Volcrests harbored something greater than bloodline talent.

    They housed a Saint.

    A being who had broken through the limits of ordinary strength—an entity standing just beneath divinity.

    That Saint was Odin Volcrest, the Storm Saint, and though his name was all but forgotten by the masses, to those who knew, his continued presence changed everything.

    Yet some still wondered:

    "If the Volcrests have a Saint, why are they still labeled an ascendant family, and not a ruling one?"

    The answer was simple.

    Once one ascends to Sainthood, they sever all ties to worldly ambition.

    Their focus becomes singular: Advancement. The pursuit of the next step, the higher realm—Transcendence.

    But that path, for decades, had been locked.

    Sealed.

    Untouchable.

    That was the purpose of the Crownspire Ascension—to find a prodigy so gifted, so transcendent, that their very existence could shake loose the shackles of stagnation. To open the path Saints themselves could not.

    And now, Odin had heard the tale.

    After Kane finished recounting everything that transpired in the Crownspire, every word of Ethan''s battle, every shift of power, and every overwhelming feat he witnessed, the air grew still once more.

    Odin didn''t speak at first.

    Then, slowly, a grin spread across his ancient face—a look Kane had never seen before.

    "He might actually be the one we''ve been looking for," Odin said softly, as if not entirely to Kane.

    Kane didn''t respond. His expression was stoic, but inside, he felt… strange.

    Throughout his life, he had faced horrors that would cripple most.

    He had soloed Abyss-level dens, annihilated entire guilds of renowned villains, overcome trials most never survived.

    And yet, his grandfather had never once smiled for him. Never once praised him.

    Now, here Odin was—genuinely pleased, practically elated—over someone else''s achievement. A stranger. A boy named Ethan.

    Kane thought about it, and then let it go.

    He had long since stopped caring about approval. Especially from his grandfather.

    When he finished, Odin simply dismissed him with a nod.

    "You may go."

    Kane turned, his boots echoing against the soaked stone floor as he walked away, leaving the Saint alone by the waterfall.

    But as the ripples in the lake stilled, Odin''s voice drifted into the air once more.

    "Are we finally going to ascend… after all these years?"

    His expression darkened with anticipation, and then… caution.

    "But… Drakos is moving too. If he''s interested in the boy, then they will be, too…"

    His eyes narrowed, sharp as blades.

    "Drakos has always walked an unorthodox path. And if he reaches the boy first… things may spiral out of control."

    He paused, staring at the waters in silence. sea??h thё N?velFire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    Then, as a distant rumble echoed in the sky, Odin exhaled slowly.

    "It seems I''ll have to step out… and meet some old friends."

    Suddenly—

    A violent lightning strike surged from the sky, cracking the earth where he stood.

    And just like that—

    Odin Volcrest vanished.

    Gone from the waterfall.

    Gone from the estate.

    Gone, perhaps, to stir the sleeping powers of the world.