Ancestral Lineage

By the time the ball finally drew to a close, exhaustion had claimed everyone but one man.

Ethan danced.

Not once. Not twice.

He danced with every one of his wives, moving from partner to partner with effortless grace, his steps precise, fluid, and unyielding even as the night stretched deep into dawn’s shadow. There was no strain in his posture, no falter in his rhythm. Stamina like that was no longer human.

And then, to the surprise and delight of the hall, he danced with his daughter.

Delphina’s laughter rang brighter than the music as Ethan lifted her, spun her, and guided her through the steps with a tenderness that silenced even the most hardened ancients. In that moment, the emperor was not a ruler, not a terror of realms, not a threat to egoistic gods and rulers.

He was simply a father.

When the final note faded and the guests withdrew, one truth settled into everyone’s hearts:

Tomorrow would eclipse tonight.

...

Morning came early.

The sun rose high and proud over Anbord, its golden light spilling across the imperial capital like a benediction already granted. The colossal castle stood radiant beneath it, as though aware of the significance of the day.

Today was not a ball, nor a display. Neither a political gathering.

Today was a declaration.

Selene and Sol would be officially introduced to the world. And more than that, every child born within the sacred window decreed by the empire would receive the emperor’s blessing directly.

Hope spread faster than any announcement ever could.

Parents walked hand-in-hand with their children through the massive gates, dressed in celebratory garments woven in the same patterns, symbolizing unity, lineage, and future. Newlyweds came with nervous smiles. New parents cradled infants as though holding fragile miracles. Some children barely understood where they were, yet instinctively clung to their mothers and fathers, sensing the gravity of the place.

Many were expectant as to what kind of people their children would become in the future. After the Primogenitor War decades ago, the world changed. The new generations were able to use magic at an early stage, unlike the older generation, where they had to cultivate their affinities in hopes of getting them to a higher evolution. Those who achieved magic were the ones who were close to gaining their paths, but after that war, everything changed.

The newer generation was exposed to magic. They didn’t have affinities. This made them close to using their paths, and what better way than to have their emperor, the ancestor himself, the one who could command races in Anbord, bless them.

His blessings had once elevated the empire’s citizens, aiding them in breakthroughs and evolutions they never expected, so they were expectant. Would their children achieve some of the emperor’s power or maybe his race?

With this in their minds, the citizens of Anbord streamed to the colossal castle, passing through its wide gates with awe and anticipation on their faces.

Security was especially tight on this day. The imperial knights stood in perfect formation, their presence unyielding. Auxiliary forces from every major order of Anbord reinforced the perimeter. Wards shimmered invisibly through the air. Surveillance drones flew above in a silent formation.

This was not paranoia. This was reverence.

Nothing...

No one would be allowed to stain this day.

As the citizens streamed deeper into the castle, awe written plainly across their faces, one thought united them all.

They were about to witness the future take its first breath.

...

The interior of the imperial castle revealed a space few outsiders had ever truly understood.

The main hall of the castle was not merely large. It was deliberate.

At first glance, it appeared vast enough to swallow cities, pillars of black-veined marble rose like mountain spines, each etched with golden runes that pulsed faintly, breathing rhythm with the castle itself. The ceiling arched impossibly high, layered with overlapping constellations carved into crystal plates, each one representing a recorded epoch of Anbord’s history. Light filtered through them, not from any visible source, but from the laws embedded in the structure.

Then people realized the truth. The hall was bigger on the inside. This was no illusion.

It was a space formation, refined and anchored personally by the emperor. The closer one approached the center, the more room unfolded, pathways lengthened, aisles widened, and the distance between people adjusted naturally, ensuring no crowding, no compression, no chaos. Tens of thousands could stand here without ever brushing shoulders.

At the far end of the hall, elevated upon a tired obsidian dais, stood the Imperial Throne.

It was not extravagant.

That was what made it terrifying.

Forged from the Seed of Anbord, the throne bore no jewels, no ornamentation. Its surface was smooth, dark gold, but strangely absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Behind it, a massive sigil hovered in midair; three interlocking golden rings layered over an ever-shifting fractal array, slowly rotating, endlessly recomposing itself.

The authority of Anbord was assumed here.

Surrounding it were smaller versions, fifteen in number, for the empresses. Right below the imperial dais were two thrones also forged from the Seed of Anbord, one to the left and one to the right, obviously for the Crown Prince and Princess of the empire.

Citizens were guided in through the Grand East Gates, massive doors on the eastern side of the hall. Parents and children entered together, guided by Imperial Knights whose presence was firm but calm. There was no panic, no shouting, no disorder... only hushed awe.

Some children stared openly at the throne, eyes wide. Others clutched their parents’ clothes, sensing something they could not yet put into words. A few, very few, stood unnervingly calm, gazes sharp, as if already aware that this place was meant for them.

Old veterans whispered prayers. Young couples squeezed hands. New parents checked their infants again and again, hearts pounding.

High above them, along elevated galleries built into the walls, scholars, archivists, and imperial observers took their places, crystal tablets activating softly as they prepared to record history in real time.

From the western passage, the tone changed.

This path was broader, darker, and layered with defensive arrays so complex that even Saints felt their scalps prickle as they passed through. This was the route reserved for kings, rulers, delegates, and ancient entities.

The Kings of Anbord entered first. They did not arrive together.

Each kingdom’s delegation emerged through a separate spatial gate along the western wall, timed perfectly so their presences did not clash prematurely. Even so, the air thickened as one ruler after another stepped into the hall.

Some walked with measured dignity. Others radiated restrained ferocity. A few carried themselves like storms wearing crowns.

Conversations died mid-sentence as each king took their designated platform, elevated slightly above the civilian floor yet still well below the imperial dais. These platforms were arranged in a wide semicircle, ensuring no single ruler stood above another.

Equality under the throne.

Behind them came foreign delegates, elven envoys, beastkin representatives, draconic observers, abyssal nobles, merfolk escorts, and figures whose races defied easy classification. Ancient beings kept to the shadows near the pillars, their gazes sharp, their instincts screaming that this hall was not neutral ground.

Several whispered to one another as they moved.

"This place... it resists intent."

"The formations are alive."

"No, not alive... obedient."

Lilith entered with her entourage through a distortion rather than a gate, reclining lazily as though the crushing authority embedded in the hall was nothing more than background music. Kraken followed, eyes constantly shifting, cataloging every formation, every possible threat. And when her eyes reached the imperial dias, she shivered visibly.

"He prepared... for us..." she muttered to herself, but Lilith heard her and replied with a smile.

"Never underestimate him, Kraky. He is that loving... I wonder when I will sit by him, though..." Kraken finished with a contemplative gaze and tone.

"Soon, I guess. Very soon... I can feel it."

Leviathan arrived from a corridor that briefly smelled of salt and abyssal pressure, her merfolk attendants moving in perfect synchrony behind her. She paused once upon entering, eyes lifting to the throne, expression unreadable.

"So this is where he decides the world," she murmured.

Emma’s delegation nearly caused a hailstorm, icy air radiating from them. Emma, leading them, was in her full hybrid form, her white fur glowing with a mix of ice and lunar light, shocking the knowledgeable ones a lot.

What rang in their heads was, "The World Wolf walked among us!"

The hall filled with anticipation at what was to come.

Then... without warning, the runes lining the pillars brightened,

Not harshly, not violently.

They synchronized.

A low harmonic hum spread through the hall, felt rather than heard. Children quieted instantly. Conversations ceased. Even the ancients straightened, muscles tightening as instincts older than empires recognized a shift.

The throne awakened.

Not because someone sat upon it, but because the one it belonged to was approaching.

Somewhere beyond the veil of space, folded with the castle, footsteps echoed.

Measured. Unhurried. Absolute.

The Main Hall held its breath, the kings stood up in wait, and citizens put on reverent smiles.

Delegates were once again reminded of the power Anbord held, the power the emperor held, the power Ethan... held.