Re-Awakened :I Ascend as an SSS-Ranked Dragon Summoner

An hour had passed from what Noah counted and they were still deep underground tracking down Storm. Now entirely with Ivy’s help, since Storm left nothing to work with and Noah couldn’t really sense him. It felt like their connection was disjointed. Not even domain travel would work, not from the get go after he went AWOL.

”That’s new,” Noah muttered, trying again. He reached for the domain link, the thread he could usually follow to any bonded dragon no matter how far they’d wandered, and felt it slide off something instead of catching. Like trying to grab smoke. ”I can’t even feel where you are, you reckless idiot.”

Ivy grunted beside him, low and quiet, the closest thing to agreement she had.

”You think he’s hiding from me,” Noah said. ”Or something’s hiding him.”

She didn’t answer. She never did. But she kept moving, nose low, wings tucked tight against her sides to fit the narrowing passage they’d been following for the last twenty minutes, and Noah followed her with one hand resting on the wall, feeling the cold stone change texture under his palm as they went.

They’d fought through three more passages since the valley. A nest of something with too many legs and no eyes that hunted by vibration alone, easy enough once Noah figured out to stop walking and let it come to him. A pack of pale wolves the size of horses that Ivy handled almost entirely on her own, her Root Bind dragging two of them straight into the stone floor before they’d even finished snarling. A single enormous thing that might have been a worm or might have been something the planet hadn’t bothered naming yet, which Noah erased the front third of before the rest of it decided retreating sounded wiser than finishing the argument.

None of it told him anything about Storm. None of it smelled or sounded or felt like him.

”What do you think, girl,” Noah said, mostly to fill the silence, mostly because talking out loud helped him think even when nobody was answering back. ”Is the alpha going to be mean, or warm. Like you.”

Ivy’s ear flicked. She didn’t slow down.

”You’re not warm to everyone,” Noah said. ”Just me. And maybe Storm, when he’s not being an idiot.” He glanced at her. ”Do you think he found it already. Is that why I can’t feel him. Like he’s standing too close to something too big and it’s drowning out the signal. I don’t even know if that makes any sense,”

He didn’t have an answer for that either. He kept walking.

The tunnel they were in now had stopped being natural rock somewhere back, the walls too smooth, the floor too level, and Noah had stopped commenting on it because every passage down here seemed to eventually do that, the line between what the planet made and what something living on it had shaped getting blurrier the deeper they went.

Then the tunnel just ended.

Not a cave-in. Not a dead end built from collapse. Just stone, flat and final, the passage simply stopping like whoever carved it had run out of reason to keep going.

Noah stood there and looked at it.

”Great,” he said. ”Dead end.”

He turned to tell Ivy they needed to backtrack, find another fork they’d skipped, and found her already moving past him toward the wall, nose down, sniffing along the base of it with the focused attention she usually saved for threats.

”Hey,” Noah said. ”Don’t go far.”

She ignored him. Kept sniffing. Moved a few feet left, then a few feet right, her head low and her wings still tucked, and Noah watched her with the patience of someone who’d learned that arguing with a dragon mid-instinct rarely produced anything except a dragon ignoring you more deliberately.

Then she scratched the floor.

One claw, deliberate, dragging a line across the smooth stone, and Noah opened his mouth to tell her to knock it off before she found something worse than a dead end.

Violet fire came out of her instead.

Not a breath weapon, not the wide spreading flame she used in a fight. This was thin, controlled, almost surgical, a line of fire following the exact path her claw had just drawn, and it burned across the stone slow enough that Noah could watch it eat through whatever dust and grime had settled into the floor over what was probably centuries.

”Ivy, what are you—”

He stopped.

Underneath the burned-away grime, the stone had a marking on it. Faint. He almost missed it in the low blue light, the line just slightly darker than the rock around it, but it was there, and as Ivy kept tracing more of it with small controlled bursts, more lines appeared, branching out from the first one in patterns that didn’t look random.

Noah crouched and looked closer.

The marking lit up purple.

He went still. ”Okay,” he said. ”That’s new too.”

He reached out and his fingers hadn’t even touched it yet, just gotten close, and the glow brightened, pulsing once like something waking up at the edge of sleep.

He pulled his hand back. The glow dimmed.

He leaned in again. It brightened.

”Huh,” he said, leaning back one more time just to watch it dim again, confirming what his gut had already told him. ”It’s reading me. Not touch. Proximity.”

Ivy had stopped burning new lines and was watching him now, head tilted, the curiosity in her posture unmistakable.

Noah stood and stepped fully into the marking’s radius, deliberately this time, and the entire pattern lit at once, the lines connecting into something larger than he’d realized, a shape spreading across the floor and partway up the dead-end wall, geometric and deliberate in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of the system’s own interface aesthetics.

”We’re not far from the surface anymore,” he said, half to Ivy, half to himself, doing the math on it. ”Not as deep as the ice city. The air’s different here. Drier.” He looked at the glowing marking. ”Whoever made this wanted it found by someone close to the top, not someone who’d dug all the way down.”

The marking pulsed once more, brighter, and at its center, exactly where a person would naturally stand to read it, a shape resolved that Noah recognized immediately for what it was.

A handprint.

Larger than his own, but not by much. Five fingers, a palm, carved into the stone with the same purple light running through its outline.

”Of course,” Noah said.

He placed his palm against it.

The light didn’t just brighten this time. It ran, the purple racing outward from his hand through every line in the marking, climbing the dead-end wall in branching veins, and the wall itself groaned with a sound that came from somewhere deep in the stone rather than the surface, a slow grinding shift that Noah felt through his boots before he heard it properly.

The wall split down the middle and opened inward.

Beyond it, light.

Not the cold blue-white of the ice city’s formations. This was warmer, golden at the edges, and as Noah stepped through with Ivy close behind, ducking her head and folding her wings tighter to fit, the space opened up into something that made him stop walking entirely.

A shrine.

The ceiling rose high enough that it disappeared into shadow above the reach of whatever lit the place, and carved into the walls in relief, layer upon layer, were images of winged creatures in flight, dozens of them, all in the same style, all rendered with the same careful reverence that artists used when they were depicting something they considered sacred rather than simply documenting something they’d seen.

The creatures weren’t dragons in the shape Noah recognized. Smaller, more avian, their wings membranous but feathered at the edges, and they circled a central figure carved larger than all of them combined.

A woman.

She stood at the shrine’s heart, carved in stone and inlaid with the same purple material that ran through the markings outside, her arms raised, the winged creatures spiraling around her in a pattern that suggested motion frozen mid-flight, and above her head, carved into the highest point of the ceiling Noah could make out, a symbol he’d never seen before but somehow recognized the shape of immediately.

[GLYPH DETECTED]

[ANALYZING]

[TRANSLATION IN PROGRESS]

The system pulled the image directly off the wall and rendered it onto a floating screen in front of him, clean and legible, the ancient carved script resolving into words Noah could actually read.

He looked at the screen. Then at the carved woman. Then back at the screen.

[She Who Calls the Sky Down]

[Sovereign of the Old Wings]

[Bloodline: RULER]

[Status: UNKNOWN — RECORDS INCOMPLETE]

”She Who Calls the Sky Down,” Noah read aloud. He looked up at the carved figure, arms raised, the winged creatures spiraling around her like they’d come when called and stayed because they wanted to. ”Sovereign of the Old Wings.”

Ivy moved past him, slow, careful, her own eyes tracking the carvings with an attention that felt less like curiosity now and more like recognition.

”You know her,” Noah said.

Ivy didn’t answer, but her head tilted toward the central carving and stayed there, and something in her posture had gone quiet in a way Noah hadn’t seen from her before, not cautious, not alert. Reverent.

Noah looked back at the screen.

[Bloodline: RULER]

’That’s the same flag,’ he thought, his chest tightening slightly. ’The same tag the system gave me after the road. After Gigarose’s freeze broke wrong. I’ve been carrying that flag for months and never once seen it attached to anything except my own profile.’

’And now it’s attached to a woman carved into a shrine on a planet nobody’s surveyed properly, standing under flying creatures that aren’t even the same species as my own dragons, in a temple buried this deep that somebody clearly wanted protected.’

He walked closer to the central figure, studying the detail in the stonework, the careful way the artist had rendered her hands, raised not in command exactly, more like invitation, the kind of gesture you made toward something you trusted to come when you asked.

”Was she like me,” Noah said, out loud, to nobody, to the shrine, to Ivy, to whatever remained of whoever had built this place. ”Could she do what I do. Bond them. Call them.”

The system offered nothing further. The translation had given him what it could pull from the glyphs directly visible, and the rest sat in silence, the way mysteries sat when the evidence ran out before the answer arrived.

’If she could,’ Noah thought, ’then I’m not the first. Whatever this Ruler Bloodline actually is, it didn’t start with me. It started somewhere before, with her, on a world I’ve never heard mentioned in any human record, in a shrine someone built specifically so it could only be found by someone carrying the same blood she did.’

’Which means whatever happened to her eventually happened. Status unknown. Records incomplete. Nobody bothered finishing the story, or somebody made sure it couldn’t be finished.’

He looked at the surrounding carvings again, at the winged creatures circling her in their frozen flight, and thought about the alpha somewhere ahead of them in the dark, centuries of fury with nowhere to land, and about Storm, gone quiet and untrackable the moment he got close to it.

’Is that what this is,’ Noah thought. ’Is the alpha what’s left after whatever happened to her. Did she fail to control it. Did she die trying. Or is the alpha something else entirely, and she’s just a separate thread that happens to share my blood and nothing more.’

He stood in the golden light of a shrine built for someone like him, on a planet that had nothing to do with Earth, with the EDF, with anything he’d ever been taught to expect from the universe, and the question that finally settled out of everything he’d just seen wasn’t about the alpha at all.

”What exactly,” Noah said quietly, looking up at the carved face that had no eyes rendered into it, just smooth stone where eyes should have been, ”is the Ruler Bloodline.”

Ivy made a low sound beside him, the closest thing she had to an answer, and it told him absolutely nothing at all.