Ancestral Lineage - Chapter 476

Chapter 476: Brothers’ Talk
Ethan, Trevor, and Lamair lounged atop a floating cloud Trevor had stitched together from condensed mist. It drifted lazily above the empire, high enough that the city lights below blurred into constellations of gold and white, mirroring the stars overhead. For the first time in what felt like eras, none of them wore the weight of a battlefield on their shoulders.

Peace looked strange on them. It fit, but awkwardly, like armor worn inside out.

The rest of the boys had already been sent back home after considerable persuasion. Eric and Ericson had been the loudest objectors, insisting that “legendary nights end at sunrise,” which ultimately earned them near-broken legs and a stern lecture about knowing when to retreat with dignity. Jerry, Reginald, and Thomas had peeled off earlier, dragged away by duty and looming official meetings tied to the upcoming ceremony. Responsibility, that ancient predator, never slept.

Trevor and Lamair, at least, had bought themselves a few stolen hours.

Lamair especially. His freedom had an expiration date.

Tomorrow, he would begin his final journey. Not a battle. Not an ascension in the conventional sense. A becoming. The moment he would fully assume the mantle of Ancestor of Death, severing the last comfortable ties to mortality and sentiment.

The silence stretched, companionable and heavy.

“So… it’s tomorrow, huh?” Ethan finally said.

He lay back on the cloud, hands folded behind his head, silver moonlight washing over his face. His eyes fixed on the horizon where the empire met the night sky, where the silver moon hung like a patient witness. The wind toyed with his hair, gentle, almost affectionate.

“Yeah,” Lamair replied quietly. “I’m… not prepared.”

Yet his expression betrayed him. No fear. No tension. Just calm acceptance, like a man who had long since made peace with the path beneath his feet.

Trevor snorted softly. “That’s how you know you’re ready. Panic is for people who still have an escape route.”

He shifted, sitting cross-legged, gaze sharp despite his relaxed posture. “Still,” he added, glancing at Lamair, “you didn’t go all out against Leon. You hid your horns.”

Lamair’s lips curved into the faintest smile.

“Of course I did.”

His purple eyes glimmered under the moonlight, ancient and amused. “That essence is my strongest truth. My crown. My final defiance against Thanatos himself. Someone like Leon, confused, broken, screaming into the void, didn’t earn the right to witness it.”

Ethan tilted his head to look at him, grin slow and knowing. “Fair. Gatekeeping divine aesthetics is important.”

Lamair rolled his eyes.

“Well,” Ethan continued, pushing himself up into a seated position, that familiar, dangerous warmth creeping into his smile, “good luck tomorrow. And… I’ve got a surprise for you.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t blush.”

Lamair snorted. “Idiot. I’m not Trevor.”

“Dude!” Trevor protested instantly, hand to chest, eyes wide with mock betrayal. “Uncalled for. Absolutely unprovoked.”

“Crybaby,” Ethan and Lamair said in perfect unison.

The cloud drifted on, carrying three figures who had clawed their way through blood, destiny, and gods themselves, now suspended between laughter and looming fate, enjoying a fragile, precious calm before the universe demanded its due once more.

…

Ethan’s smirk lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the kind that always meant reality was about to be mildly inconvenienced.

“Alright,” he said, pushing himself to his feet on the cloud. “Jokes aside.”

The air shifted.

Not violently. Not explosively. It recognized him.

Space folded inward beside Ethan, layers of light and shadow peeling apart like pages of an ancient book being reopened. What emerged wasn’t a portal, not quite. It was more like a vault remembering how to exist.

From within it, a presence seeped out, heavy, solemn, reverent.

Lamair straightened immediately.

Trevor’s casual slouch vanished, crimson eyes narrowing. “Whoa. That’s… old.”

“Older than my bad habits,” Ethan replied lightly, though his voice carried weight now. “And much harder to replace.”

The first artifact descended slowly, hovering between them.

Armor.

It wasn’t bulky, nor was it ornate in the gaudy sense. The chestplate was sculpted to Lamair’s frame, dark metal that wasn’t black but something deeper, like existence had failed to illuminate it properly. Purple designs ran across it in slow, vein-like patterns, not etched but grown into the material, pulsing faintly as if the armor itself breathed.

The pauldrons curved like resting wings of a beast that refused to kneel, inscribed with sigils of death and dominion that predated most languages. The inner lining glimmered with a muted jade light, impossibly dense.

“Jade Tier,” Trevor muttered, unable to keep the reverence out of his voice. “Pure. Untainted.”

The second item followed.

Two massive axes emerged, spinning slowly before halting midair with uncanny precision. Their blades were crescent-shaped, brutal and elegant at the same time, edges humming with restrained annihilation. Each axe was connected by a thick chain forged from the same dark material, the links etched with moving runes that shifted every time Lamair looked away.

The chain itself was alive.

Not sentient… faithful.

“Those… are not just weapons,” Lamair said quietly.

Ethan nodded. “No. They’re declarations.”

The axes tilted slightly toward Lamair, as if acknowledging him.

Then came the gauntlets.

They slid over each other in the air, forming a pair of heavy, clawed handguards whose knuckles bore faint skull-like reliefs, elegant rather than grotesque. Purple lines traced along the fingers and wrists, converging at the palms where a faint jade core pulsed, waiting.

“They reinforce authority,” Ethan said. “Not strength. Authority. You won’t swing harder. Reality will listen better.”

Finally…

The headband.

Simple.

Deceptively so.

A thin strip of dark metal floated forward, flexible, unassuming, its surface engraved with a continuous loop of symbols so compact they blended into one another. At its center rested a single purple gem, calm, watchful.

“That one,” Ethan said more softly, “anchors you.”

Lamair’s gaze locked onto it.

“When you walk into that final place,” Ethan continued, voice steady, “Death won’t look at you as a challenger. It’ll recognize you.”

Silence settled heavily.

Trevor exhaled slowly. “All of this… Jade Tier?”

Ethan nodded. “Individually. But that’s not the point.”

He waved his hand, and the artifacts shifted, aligning themselves around Lamair without touching him, forming a slow orbit like loyal moons.

“If you succeed tomorrow,” Ethan said, meeting Lamair’s eyes, “they won’t stay artifacts.”

The purple designs brightened.

“They’ll bond. Permanently. Not to your body, your existence. They’ll evolve as you do. Grow with you. Bleed with you. Break with you. Rise with you.”

Lamair’s breath hitched, just once.

“They’ll follow you beyond realms,” Ethan finished. “Beyond death. Beyond me.”

The artifacts pulsed.

Once.

As if choosing.

Trevor looked between them, unusually quiet. “That’s… a gift you don’t give lightly.”

“I know,” Ethan replied.

Lamair slowly stood.

He didn’t reach for the artifacts. Didn’t command them.

He simply inclined his head.

“…Thank you,” he said, voice low, sincere, stripped of bravado. “No matter what happens tomorrow… I won’t forget this.”

The axes rattled faintly in response.

The chain chimed once.

The armor’s core glowed brighter.

Ethan smiled, softer this time. “Good. Surviving would be ideal. But becoming you is more important.”

“I understand…”

“Now now… feel free to praise me,” Ethan said, raising his chin arrogantly.

“I’d rather get another wife…” Lamair spoke with a disgusted expression.

“Oh.. you know, you don’t need to place them in your storage ring. You can bond with them using spirit arts, so they are always with you,” Ethan commented when he saw Lamair activating his storage ring.

“Oh… what is this spirit arts?” Trevor asked, intrigued.

“I will just pass it to you. I’m too lazy to explain…” Ethan said as a subtle gold rune appeared in front of him, split into two and entered their foreheads.

Ethan let the laughter die on its own before speaking again. When he did, his voice was quieter, weighted in a way that made even the cloud beneath them seem to still.

“Also… I wanted to ask this of you guys.”

Trevor and Lamair both turned toward him. The shift in tone was unmistakable. This was the Ethan that only appeared when blood, guilt, and history tangled together.

“What is it, man?” Trevor asked. He already knew. Whenever Ethan sounded like this, it was never about power.

“It’s about… you,” Ethan said, looking at Trevor first. “You know we call each other brothers, because we are. But you also have other siblings.”

Trevor blinked, then nodded slowly. “Chris and Silver. Yeah. What about them?”

“When was the last time you actually saw them?” Ethan asked.

Trevor opened his mouth instinctively, then stopped.

Lamair’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It was after Dennise attacked, wasn’t it?”

Trevor exhaled through his nose, shoulders sagging just a little. “Yeah. After that mess. They were there, and then…” He trailed off, realization creeping into his expression. “I swear, if this is going where I think it is…”

“They’re family, Trev,” Ethan said calmly. “Not distant relatives. Not footnotes. They’re our siblings. No matter how ugly things became back then, no matter how broken Father was, or what I did to him, they’re still part of us.”

Trevor’s jaw tightened. “I get what you’re saying. I do. But I don’t know if they would even want to look at us after you…” He hesitated. “…after you ended him.”

“That’s not for us to decide,” Ethan replied. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon. “Whatever they choose, accept or reject, we owe them the truth. We owe them a door. I’ve never spoken to Chris. I’ve only seen Silver once. And that was enough to know I failed them, too.”

Lamair chuckled suddenly, breaking the tension just enough to keep it from crushing them. “Listen to this guy. Talking like the eldest.”

Ethan glanced at him. “I am the eldest.”

Lamair pointed at him. “Aren’t I older than you?”

Trevor snorted. “You literally have two elder brothers.”

Lamair scowled. “They are not my brothers.”

Trevor leaned back, laughing. “Wow. Look at us. Three grown men. Mortal gods. World breakers. And we’re all screwed up by family drama.”

Ethan finally smiled, rubbing his face. “Seems like saving worlds is easier than fixing bloodlines.”

Lamair shook his head slowly, a small grin tugging at his lips. “These fucking idiots…”

The cloud drifted on, silent witness to three beings who could rewrite reality, yet were still haunted by the same fragile, stubborn thing.

Family.