Ashes of the Son [Sci-fi Fantasy | Delayed LitRPG]

Prologue - The Second Dawn

The sea was calm.

Too calm, some would later say.

A rusting trawler drifted across the open Atlantic, sunlight glinting off its hull. The fishermen aboard moved with the relaxed rhythm of routine: laughter, shouted jokes, the splash of baitfish hitting the waves. It could have been any summer morning on any quiet ocean.

But there were no rods. No lines. No reels.

Above the boat, five winged figures circled through the sky. Their bodies were lean and humanoid, silhouetted against the sun. Their wings stretched wide and strong, feathers tipped in iridescent metal. From far away, they looked like birds. Up close, they were something else entirely.

The crew called them Solborn. Children of sky and storm. Hunters reborn from a war the world had tried to forget.

One of them gave a sharp whistle and pointed toward a ripple in the water. Something dark shifted beneath the surface.

“Bluefin!” someone shouted.

The nearest Solborn tucked his wings and dove. A silver net unfolded from his arms like a blooming flower. He struck the sea with a thundercrack. A moment later, he exploded back into the air, dragging a thrashing bluefin nearly half his size.

Cheers rang out.

“Good catch!”

“That’s three today!”

“For once, the sea’s kind.”

They shouldn’t have said that.

The first tremor was faint. Just a soft pulse beneath their boots.

The second was stronger. The water didn’t roll like a wave. It pulled.

The fish vanished. One moment they filled the ocean. The next, they were gone, scattered like smoke on the wind.

“Something’s wrong,” muttered the old man at the bow. His hands clenched the railing. “This isn’t a current.”

The surface began to swell. Not rise, but bloat, as if something beneath it was breathing. A spiral formed. Slow at first, then widening too fast to follow. Waves rushed outward, but the center held and pulled downward.

Then the sea collapsed.

The ocean floor gave way with a sound like the world itself cracking. The spiral widened, swallowing light. The trawler shrank in the mouth of it. The horizon vanished. North, south, east, and west, everything was gone.

Only darkness remained, spinning faster than the eye could follow. A vortex where gravity broke and reason twisted.

The boat began to sink.

Not violently. Inevitably. Quietly. Like a stone falling into the stars.

The engine screamed in reverse, but the vessel didn’t fight. It tilted forward and slid beneath the surface without a splash. Sound thinned. The air turned cold.

“Where’s the sea?” someone whispered.

“It’s still here,” came the reply. “We’re just not in it anymore.”

Time stretched. The deck slanted underfoot. The sky faded to a thin ring of light above them.

Then even that disappeared.

From the deep, something rose.

It moved slowly and with purpose, as if it had waited to be seen.

A god in the shape of flesh and shadow.

It was massive. Covered in dark-purple scale and corded muscle, its form sculpted with grotesque precision. A chest like a warship heaved with unnatural rhythm. Each arm, the size of a crane, ended in claws designed for extinction. Its waist narrowed, then flared into legs thick enough to anchor mountains.

Its shoulders were sharpened ridges of bone and blackened armor. There was no neck. Just a collar of raw obsidian and flesh. The head that emerged was formless, shifting like smoke. No mouth. No face. Only two burning eyes, yellow rimmed in red, that glared through the void.

Its wings opened, vast and silent. They stretched wide, casting a shadow large enough to drown a city.

It didn’t speak. It didn’t roar. It simply was.

Then it shrieked.

The sound was high and sharp, like metal dragged across a dying world.

The trawler shattered in its grasp, reduced to splinters. Men died before they could scream. The Solborn broke formation, scattering like torn banners across the sky.

The creature turned its gaze upward.

It had sensed more.

Miles away, in a subterranean bunker, red lights pulsed against steel.

Inside Deepwell Outpost Theta, a young analyst stared at her console. Sweat dripped down her neck. Alarms echoed from every wall.

[ANOMALY: CODE BLACK]

[SIGNATURE MATCH: DRACONIAN. CLASS: UNKNOWN]

[SEISMIC RADIUS: 2700 KM]

[ESTIMATED MASS: GREATER THAN 400,000 TONS]

[GATE STRUCTURE: FAILING]

[THIS IS NOT A DRILL]

She didn’t hesitate. She pressed the call button.

“Sir,” she said, voice shaking. “It’s begun.”

In a distant chamber lined with relics from forgotten wars, a man stood alone. His rank unspoken. His expression unreadable. He heard the message and opened three communication lines.

“UNEX Federation. Code Black. Full mobilization.”

“Deepwell Foundation. Initiate Omega Directive.”

“Ecclesia Callei. Notify the Choir. Light the signal.”

He waited. Then he spoke again, this time to no one in particular.

“We were never going to stop it. Only survive the first wave.”

Far above, the first Draconian spread its wings across the Atlantic sky.

The war for humanity’s survival had begun.

And the sky was no longer safe.

—END PROLOGUE—