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—something stirred beyond the horizon, beyond the haze of memory and politics. The Ebony Zone wasn't just a territory. It was a wound. A scar in the Federation's history, and perhaps, in his own.
He leaned back, letting the low thrum of the engines lull his thoughts. The golden glow from the shuttle's ceiling panels traced soft halos across his face, highlighting the solemn fire in his eyes.