Ancestral Lineage - Chapter 412

Chapter 412: Welcome Home, Rhask

The corridor to Ethan’s private suite smelled faintly of burnt incense, a leftover trace from Lamair’s passing. The scent mingled oddly with the cleaner, warmer smells that usually drifted from the emperor’s quarters: brewed tea, polished wood, and the low ozone tang of powered glass. Lamair’s boots tapped on the polished floor, a steady, purposeful rhythm that cut through the softer noises of the palace at rest.

He paused at the door and knocked once, because even kings had to observe small courtesies. The door whooshed open on soft servos.

Inside, the room was exactly what one might expect for a sovereign who had rediscovered leisure: wide windows that framed the city like a living map, a cluster of lush plants in the corner, and a low modular couch facing a holo-projection pod. The lighting was warm.

A broad obsidian table occupied the center of the room, its surface sleek and polished to a mirror-black sheen. Scattered across it were snack dishes, half-empty drink glasses, and two game controllers, as if it had always been meant for moments like this rather than formality.

Ethan was sprawled on the couch, one leg tucked under him, the other thrown over the armrest. He wore a loose shirt and comfortable pants, casual, approachable; the golden marks along his chest peeking out where the collar had slipped. His silvery-white hair was mussed, and a pair of rimmed glasses sat crooked on his nose. Two floating holo-screens hovered in front of him, projecting a frantic, colorful spaceship combat game: tiny craft darted and zipped, explosions blooming like virtual fireworks.

Lamair stopped mid-step, the sight catching him off-guard. “You… are playing a game?” he asked, a mix of incredulity and suppressed annoyance in his voice.

Ethan didn’t look away from the projection. He tapped his controller, executed a perfect barrel roll, and grinned. “Multiplayer, actually. Wanna join? Your reflexes could use the practice.” He didn’t sound dismissive so much as delighted, like a child proud of a new toy.

Lamair folded his arms. “I came to report an interruption during the ritual. A god of Death manifested, Voriel. He warned us. He said he’s ‘watching’ you.”

Ethan’s ship blew up in a flash of neon, and he made a theatrical, exaggerated groan. “Ugh, again? That was a cheap hit.” He glanced at Lamair, eyes dancing with mischief. “Voriel, huh? The Gravebinder? Charming fellow. Tell him I said hello.”

“This is not a jest,” Lamair countered, though the look he shot Ethan had a hint of amusement leaking through. “He breached the chamber mid-ritual. He left a warning that the old gods remember what has been…”

“Stolen?” Ethan supplied, with mock offense. He pressed a button, and his ship performed a blinding dodge. “As if Death is property. Listen, Lamair, when gods toss their weight around, I prefer them to make themselves useful: watch, learn, and then go back to their graveyards.”

Lamair pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your flippancy is unbecoming.”

“Is it?” Ethan asked, sliding a controller across the table toward the tall man. “Sit. Play. If I beat you, you buy dinner for the maids and stop scowling for an hour.”

Lamair’s mouth twitched. “You’re bargaining with arcade credits?”

Ethan shrugged, eyes still on the holo-field. “Fair trade. Besides, before you go off preparing for war, we need the Will Clan on board. And I want to give a certain reptile a good, public thrashing.”

Lamair’s eyes narrowed at the last note. “You mean…”

“That one,” Ethan said simply, letting the word hang in the air like a challenge. He executed a brilliant maneuver on-screen and laughed. “But one thing at a time. First: the Will Clan. Second: the reptile. Third: we break Voriel’s idea that warnings are respectful.”

Lamair hesitated, then, with a sound suspiciously like a resigned sigh, accepted the offered controller. The holo shifted, splitting to accommodate both players as the ships reconfigured.

“Very well,” Lamair said, a reluctant smile ghosting his lips. “If the god is watching, then let him watch an emperor relax.”

Ethan glanced at him sideways, warm and dangerous all at once. “That’s the spirit. Now, duck, he’s coming in hot.”

Lamair focused on the projection, his brow tightening as he mapped trajectories and timing. For the first time that morning, he allowed himself to be pulled into something simple and human: a game, a laugh, and a small, defiant rebellion against a listening god.

Outside the suite, the city of Anbord slept on, unaware of the casual duel within. Voriel might be watching, but for the moment, the emperor chose to watch stars explode in holographic color, and to laugh when they did.

“Oh, I forgot to say. I brought Rhask along,” Lamair said after some time.

“Reg will take care of it. He misses his best friend, although he doesn’t want to say it,” Ethan replied, destroying an airship with a supernova blast.

“I understand… haha! You were the same when I died back then,” Lamair said, causing Ethan to make a wrong maneuver.

“Piss off!”

“Softie!”

“Please, I’m married!”

“Really? When?”

“Fuck off!”

“Hahaha!”

…

“You… Rhask!”

Regnare’s arms locked around him in a firm, unexpected embrace. For a split second, Rhask froze completely. Regnare, hugging him? No way. This had to be some illusion, a hallucination, anything but reality. He’d rather fight Tyrant fifty times than believe it.

But it was real. Solid. Warm.

After the ritual, Lamair had brought him here, to the Kael’Dri mansion, the hidden residence of the imperial family, whose location was unknown to anyone outside a tightly sealed circle. And now, standing in the living room, with Regnare clinging to him like a long-lost brother, Rhask found himself face-to-face with the kind of welcome he had never expected.

His master had gone to meet Ethan, leaving him behind. If only Rhask knew what kind of storm he had just walked into.

“My Prince…” he muttered, voice rough but soft. His chest felt tight, not with fear, but with a strange, warm weight.

“Don’t call me Prince,” Regnare shot back without hesitation, pulling away just enough to meet Rhask’s eyes. “You’re my best friend, Rhask.”

Rhask blinked, dumbfounded. “…Mm… how long was I gone?”

“Long enough for a war to happen,” Regnare said, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face.

Rhask stared at him. “You’re joking.”

Regnare stayed silent.

“…You’re serious? For real?”

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

Regnare threw his head back and laughed, the sound genuine and light. “Hahaha! I really missed you, bro! What do you say, we grab some drinks? I’ll call the others.”

Rhask nodded slowly, still reeling. “Uh… sure.”

This wasn’t the Regnare he remembered.

The old Regnare was composed, aloof, and terrifyingly calm. He didn’t hug. He didn’t laugh like this.

This was… different. Warm. Almost human.

“Babe? Off to somewhere?”

The voice floated out from the kitchen, light and melodic. Rhask turned, and his breath caught.

She was beautiful; long, deep black hair flowing like ink, sharp black eyes that shimmered faintly, and pale white skin that made her presence striking. She wore a black crop top and a grey skirt, casual yet elegant in a way that fit her effortlessly.

Regnare smiled. “Oh yeah. Time out with the team. Oh, and this is Rhask, my best friend,” he said proudly, gesturing at him.

“Rhask, this is my girlfriend, Onyx.”

Rhask didn’t respond.

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t move.

His hands trembled, his breathing hitched. His eyes widened in pure, instinctive terror. He wasn’t looking at the girl; they could all tell. He was seeing through her.

“Rhask?” Regnare tapped him lightly on the shoulder. No response.

Onyx tilted her head slightly, sensing what had happened. “I didn’t do anything to him,” she said calmly. “It seems… he can see my true form.”

Regnare stiffened. Few could see Onyx’s real form. Even fewer survived after seeing the embodiment of curses itself.

“Rhask!” Regnare barked, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him slightly. “Snap out of it!”

Onyx’s gaze softened just a fraction. “He’s stronger than he looks,” she murmured.

“Rhask!”

Regnare’s voice rang out again, louder this time, laced with a sharp edge of command that could make battle-hardened soldiers freeze. His hands tightened around Rhask’s shoulders, forcing the young man’s gaze to meet his own.

“Breathe,” Regnare said, his voice low now, steady. “You’re here. Not in whatever nightmare your mind’s showing you. Look at me.”

For a heartbeat, Rhask didn’t respond. His pupils were still dilated, his body tense as a bowstring. Onyx stepped closer, not too close, careful not to overwhelm him further. Her aura was coiled and potent, a living shadow beneath her beautiful exterior. Anyone who could perceive her true form would see a thing of both beauty and ruin: a blackened veil that whispered curses older than empires.

And Rhask, freshly mutated, was one of the very few who could see it.

Onyx raised her hand slowly, deliberately, and placed it over her chest. Then, with a soft hum, the oppressive weight of her true nature dimmed, not gone, but veiled. To everyone else, she was once again the stunning young woman in casual clothes. To Rhask, the sharp edges of that monstrous image blurred into something bearable.

“Better?” she asked softly.

Regnare tilted Rhask’s chin up slightly, his tone losing its sharpness. “Hey. It’s me. Not the battlefield. Not the ritual chamber. Just home.”

Rhask blinked once, twice. His breathing finally hitched, then steadied in small, shaky bursts. The panic in his gaze wavered like a flame struggling to survive a gust. He clenched his jaw, forcing air into his lungs.

“Y-you’re real,” he whispered hoarsely, as if convincing himself.

“Obviously,” Regnare said with a crooked grin, trying to ground him. “You think some random nightmare could match this face?”

“Cocky as ever…” Rhask muttered, a weak huff of laughter slipping through his lips. His legs gave out slightly, and Regnare caught him before he could fall.

Onyx crouched down beside them, her movements fluid and careful, her eyes steady. “Seeing my true form usually breaks people,” she said, almost conversationally. “The fact you’re still here and not bleeding from your nose is… impressive.”

“Gee, thanks,” Rhask muttered dryly, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice was steadier now, though his hands still trembled faintly.

“You’ll get used to her,” Regnare said, straightening him up. “I did.”

“You didn’t have to see what I saw!” Rhask shot back, though there was a shaky smile on his lips now. “It was like staring into a black hole that whispers sweet nothings about how it’s going to kill you.”

Onyx chuckled softly at that, an unexpectedly warm sound. “Not entirely wrong.”

Regnare draped an arm around Rhask’s shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. “Come on. If you can handle staring at Onyx’s real face without losing your mind, then a round of drinks should be nothing.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Rhask sighed, though his voice carried a hint of relief.

“I know,” Regnare said smugly.

“Both of you are insane,” Rhask added, shooting Onyx a half-playful, half-nervous look.

“Welcome home, Rhask,” she said, and something about the warmth in her tone made the last of the trance finally shatter.

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!

Creation is hard, cheer me up!

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