Adrian travelled back to the Abyss.

The Abyss lay quiet now. What had once been a roiling scar of pale mist and twisted monsters was reduced to wastelands of fractured stone. The suppressive energy that had once weakened even S-ranks had faded to whispers.

Adrian walked among the pale rocks, his steps slow, deliberate. In his palm shimmered a thread of white-grey essence, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The energy felt warm against his skin, eager to merge with the stones that had once contained its traces.

He pressed it into the cracked stones, watching them absorb the glow before dimming again. Each stone trembled as his essence seeped into its structure, transforming it from mere stones into something far more precious.

One stone, then another, then another.

The work was methodical, almost meditative. Adrian moved through the broken landscape like a gardener tending seeds, each touch of his power planting potential for humanity’s future.

The Abyss was too vast for haste. Mountains of pale stone stretched beyond the horizon, scattered across canyons and ridges where monsters had once prowled. No matter how endless his mana reserves seemed, this task could not be rushed.

To convert this land into a reservoir for humanity’s future, he would need years.

So he gave years.

Day after day, his work alternated between the hollow lands and the Rune Hall. When not infusing essence into the stones, he stood before endless rows of students, his voice guiding them through strokes of runes that once would have been unimaginable.

“The third stroke curves inward,” he called to a struggling cadet.

The halls echoed with quills, with sparks of mana, with new generations daring to reach higher. Young faces that had once feared the darkness now blazed with purpose, their hands steady as they carved power into parchment.

Time flowed, Seasons shifted.

Adrian watched his students grow from fumbling beginners to masters in their own right. Mira Veylan had become one of the most gifted instructors, her father’s knowledge combined with Adrian’s gift creating teaching methods that revolutionized runic education.

“Adrian,” she called one evening as he prepared to leave for the Abyss. “The new batch of healing scrolls is ready for distribution.”

Thousands of scrolls lined the walls, each one capable of saving lives that would have been lost just years before. The sight never failed to stir something deep in his chest.

…

One night, Adrian stood on the highest balcony of the Grand Rune Hall. Below, the rune district bustled despite the hour, inscribers, healers, warriors all working by lamplight. The glow of countless runes painted the streets in shifting colors.

The city never truly slept anymore. Where once humanity had cowered behind walls, now they forged tools to claim the stars.

He tilted his head back, staring at the stars. The same stars that had watched Earth’s ancient war, that had seen the Celestial Eleven depart on their eternal mission.

He was twenty-two now, six years since the day his Source had awakened.

Six years of scars and triumphs, of carrying burdens heavier than he thought his shoulders could bear.

And with him, humanity had grown. S-ranks numbered in the dozens now, each one a pillar supporting civilization’s expansion. The wounded no longer died in agony, the weak no longer faced monsters defenseless.

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The Abyss had been fully converted, its pale stones now infused with his essence. Entire industries thrived on that supply, rune-etched transports that flew faster than before, Runes with blackwood ink engraved into city walls to shield entire districts from any conceivable threat.

Even at current consumption rates, the Abyss could sustain humanity for a millennium.

The Earth was stable now. Strong and breathing, no longer the fragile world that had trembled before alien vessels. Yet as he stared at the stars, he knew stability was only the beginning.

His gaze lingered on the horizon of space, waiting. He remembered the Sentinel’s words about the galactic war, about demons that devoured civilizations. Remembered the promise that challenges far greater than Earth’s trials awaited among those distant lights.

Every night, he wondered when that call would come.

…

Months later, far above Earth, a cloaked vessel pierced through the atmosphere, its hull black against the void. No satellites tracked it. No defense grid registered its presence.

Inside, a woman sat at the control station, her eyes narrowed. Her face carried timeless beauty, her bearing sharp despite the weariness in her gaze.

She appeared no older than thirty, though centuries weighed behind her expressions. Her fingers drummed against the console in a rhythm that spoke of impatience.

“Aurelia,” spoke the ship’s AI in a neutral hum. “Planetary scan complete. Earth’s mana signature has awakened.”

Aurelia’s hand froze above the console. The coffee cup beside her trembled as her grip tightened on the armrest.

“That’s impossible,” she whispered.

By every calculation, Earth should have required millennia yet to awaken. At the very least, thousands of years.

And yet, her planet’s pulse burned on her sensors like a beacon. The readings were unmistakable, undeniable.

“Run a full planetary analysis,” Aurelia commanded.

The ship’s systems complied, breaching Earth’s networks with contemptuous ease. Firewalls meant nothing before galactic algorithms.

Within moments, streams of data filled her console. Records, images, histories cascaded across multiple screens.

She expected carnage. Chaos. The usual fate of a newly awakened world.

Animals mutating into monsters, civilizations collapsing, death tolls measured in continents. That was how awakening always went.

Instead… she saw order.

Her screens filled with footage of fortified cities, rune-lit defenses, defenders striking monsters down with precision and strength. The images made no sense.

She leaned forward, studying mortality reports. Numbers staggeringly low compared to what a newly awakened planet should face.

Her eyes narrowed. “This… this can’t be right.”

“Cross-reference,” she snapped. “Battle logs and reports, urban defenses.”

The AI compiled the data into visual feeds. Images of healers restoring shattered limbs with glowing scrolls filled her vision.

Walls etched with runes holding back waves of monsters. Defenders moving with coordination that should have taken generations to develop.

Aurelia’s hand tightened on the armrest. “How is this possible?”

It had been only a few centuries since her last return. Not nearly enough for a planet to stand like this.

Even newly awakened worlds that were immediately integrated into an empire took thousands of years to stabilize. To produce warriors of this caliber.

Yet here was Earth, thriving. Against every law of galactic development she knew.

Her first thought was Sentinel. Had he done this? Had he personally crushed every threat?

But no, Aurelia knew him too well. Sentinel would never coddle humanity, never strip away their struggle.

He had always believed in growth through hardship. That philosophy had shaped everything about Earth’s guardian.

And what she saw proved it more. The monsters still existed, and the people themselves fought.

But they were strong. Too strong for a world that should still be crawling through its first few centuries of awakening.

Her lips pressed into a line. “Even in the galaxy… no newborn world should rise like this.”

“Not without empires, not without support. How did Earth do this?”

She scrolled deeper into the records, through Earth’s history of the Sentinel’s battle against a galactic invader, of the founding of the EUO.

She understood how it all started, then she saw the recent records, mentioning a young man whose innovations had transformed humanity’s capabilities. The name ‘Adrian Blackwood’ appeared repeatedly in the files.

Her brows furrowed as she pulled up the associated records to him.

At first, she thought it was an exaggeration. But then she saw it, schematics, test results, footage.

Her blood ran cold.

Blackwood Ink.

Footage of inscribers with affinities far removed from the runes they held, yet activating them flawlessly. Scrolls flaring to life regardless of their affinity. Entire squads wielding power that should have been locked away by the laws of mana themselves.

Aurelia shot to her feet, the chair clattering behind her. Her voice broke the silence, raw and disbelieving.

“IMPOSSIBLE!”

Her hands trembled as she slammed the console. The AI flickered uncertainly at the force of her command.

She stared at the data with wide eyes, her voice a whisper now.

“If the empires ever learn of this… Earth will not be left alone. Not for a single day.”

The stars outside her viewport glimmered coldly, as if listening.

And for the first time in centuries, Aurelia felt fear, not for herself, but for her home.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep