Chapter 88 – Memory of Flame and Ash
The sky cracked open.
Starspawn poured from the rift like divine rot—beasts of spiraling eyes, wings of static, and bodies stitched from constellations. They hissed in voices made of collapsed prayers and fractured hymns.
Solara rose into the sky, her body shimmering like a collapsing sun.
"Hold the line!" she roared. "I'll seal the rift!"
Jean planted Luxclade into the crystalline floor. The sword thrummed with light.
"Kael, cover the right flank. Whitney—guard the temple steps!"
The dire wolf leapt forward with a divine howl, tearing into the nearest Starspawn, its celestial flesh unraveling in light. Kael raised his flame-forged glaive, fending off a trio of winged horrors.
Jean moved like a storm—each swing of Luxclade ripping through eldritch hide and dream-flesh. But for every beast that fell, two more took its place.
She was being pushed back.
Until time… broke.
The world shimmered.
And suddenly—
She was no longer on Astranova.
She stood in a world of ash, fire, and blood. Mountains shattered. Rivers boiled. Dragons screamed across the skies.
And before her, locked in battle upon a field of shattered stone—
—stood Martin Luther, the First Patriarch. Her ancestor. The man who nearly killed Antares.
His silver hair was a mane of war. His sword—longer than any mortal's—glowed with a burning halo. Across from him, vast and wreathed in flame, was Dragon Lord Antares, wings eclipsing the horizon.
"You're not supposed to be here," a voice echoed.
Jean turned.
An echo of Martin stood beside her. Younger. Softer. Yet burning with that same impossible aura.
"Who are you?" Jean breathed.
"I am the memory he left behind," the echo said. "You're touching his bloodline at the height of its truth. You called for strength—and it answered."
She looked to the battle. Martin clashed with Antares in cataclysmic fury. Every strike shook the realm.
"Why show me this now?"
"Because you are at your limit," the echo said. "And limits are where Luthers are forged, not broken."
Jean clenched her fists. "I'm not him. I'm not even close."
"You're right," the echo said.
"You might be greater."
---
Suddenly she was back—Astranova, collapsing, Kael screaming her name, Whitney bleeding stars.
Jean stood. Her hair burned with holy silver flame. Her aura erupted into wings of radiant light.
She moved—faster than thought—Luxclade flashing like a meteor.
One by one, the Starspawn screamed and died.
Solara looked down from the sky, awestruck.
"The blood of Martin Luther…" she whispered. "She's awakening."
The final beast shrieked as Jean cut it in half with a sword stroke that echoed across realms.
The rift above sealed shut with a thunderous crack.
And Jean fell to her knees, gasping—but smiling.
---
Kael approached her slowly. "What just happened?"
"I saw him," she whispered. "Martin. And he reminded me who I am."
Whitney licked her hand, whimpering low. The beast could feel the change too.
Solara descended.
"You're not just the Emissary of Light anymore, Jean Luther. You are now the Will of the Sword. The gods will fear you."
Jean stood. Her eyes gleamed silver.
"Let them."
---