Ancestral Lineage - Chapter 475

Capítulo 475: Boys Day Out

The morning began with the sort of silence that should’ve warned the universe something was horribly wrong… because Ethan and the other males of the Kael’Dri Estate were awake, dressed, energized… and quiet.

Trevor leaned back with the smug calm of a vampire who very clearly had a plan, and the equally smug confidence that no one else was prepared for it. He wore a black quarter-zip jumper over a grey inner shirt, brown trousers, and black sneakers with thick, springy soles that hinted at far too much mobility for someone claiming today would be “relaxed.” His hair had finally returned to its original white and was cut shorter now, brushing his shoulders, neat enough to look responsible, loose enough to lie convincingly about it.

Beside him stood Devon, vibrating with wide-eyed excitement, the look of a young man who had absolutely no idea what the plan was but had already accepted its consequences. He wore a similar outfit to his father, though styled a bit more recklessly, his white hair shaved clean on one side. He radiated the unmistakable energy of someone who would either have a legendary day… or need bandages.

The others weren’t any less prepared.

Jerry stood with his brother Thomas, both dressed simply, practically, two men who had learned long ago that understated clothing survived disasters better. Reginald stood a little apart, arms crossed, while his twin sons, Eric and Ericson, mirrored each other unconsciously. Same posture. Same narrowed eyes. Same expression that said they were already placing bets on who’d get into trouble first.

Lamair was there as well, calm as ever, with Werock at his side. The boy’s blond hair was tied into neat braids, his posture straight but restless, eyes sharp with curiosity. He looked like someone trying very hard to act grown while hoping today would give him a reason not to.

And then there were the main perpetrators.

Ethan stood at the center of it all, dressed far too casually for an emperor, dark trousers, a comfortable coat, and that mildly suspicious smile he wore whenever he claimed he was “just going out.” He looked relaxed. Which was alarming.

Regnare stood just behind him, hands in his pockets, draconic confidence leaking from every casual movement. He looked… pleased. Far too pleased. His gaze swept over the group like a general reviewing troops before a campaign he had no intention of explaining.

Anyone with even a shred of survival instinct would have known then:

This was not a gathering.

This was the beginning of a story that would be retold loudly, incorrectly, and with increasing exaggeration for decades to come.

And none of them, especially Ethan, were ready for it.

“So,” Devon finally said, rocking on his heels as he looked from face to face, “where exactly are we going?”

Silence followed. Not the awkward kind. The dangerous kind, the kind that meant several people were very intentionally waiting for someone else to answer first.

Regnare glanced sideways at his uncle, Trevor. Trevor didn’t look back. Jerry cleared his throat, decided against speaking, and folded his arms more tightly. Werock’s braids swayed as he leaned forward slightly, eyes bright with anticipation.

“I vote somewhere with food,” Eric said.

“And somewhere we’re not hunted,” Ericson added immediately.

“That rules out half the empire,” Thomas muttered.

Finally, all eyes slid, inevitably, inevitably, to Ethan.

The Emperor of Anbord blinked. Once. Twice. Then sighed, like a man accepting a burden handed down by fate itself.

“We’re going out,” Ethan said simply.

“That explains nothing,” Reginald replied flatly.

Ethan grinned.

“Boys day out,” Regnare added, clapping his hands together once. “No wives. No mothers. No surveillance. No screaming crowds. No cultists trying to get blessed by sneezing in my direction.”

Devon’s eyes widened. “Is that even… allowed?”

“No,” Trevor said pleasantly. “Which is why this is exciting.”

Lamair tilted his head. “The problem isn’t permission. The problem is that stepping outside like this will trigger at least seventeen emergency protocols.”

“Thirty-two,” Jerry corrected. “Thirty-nine if Reg smiles.”

Regnare smiled.

Several people groaned.

Ethan raised a hand. “Relax. I’ve got it covered.”

That should not have been reassuring. Somehow, it was.

He stepped forward, expression shifting, not into his regal, throne-shaking authority, but something older. Quieter. Purposeful.

“This won’t be just concealment,” Ethan said, voice lowering. “No illusions that can be pierced. No glamour that flickers under scrutiny.”

He extended one hand. Symbols, soft gold and muted silver, rose from his palm in a slow, measured spiral. They didn’t shine brightly. They settled, like laws finding their proper place.

“A Civic Nullification Rite,” Lamair murmured, surprised. “That’s… archaic.”

“Updated,” Ethan replied. “And personalized.”

The symbols expanded, forming a wide, circular formation beneath their feet. Lines etched themselves into the stone courtyard, threading together names, roles, and identities, not erasing them, but gently setting them aside.

Ethan’s voice deepened, not loud, but absolute.

“By Order older than title and higher than crown,” he intoned,

“By the Authority of Self, unbound by Witness,

I declare this gathering… ordinary.”

The circle pulsed.

The air shifted.

The weight changed.

It wasn’t dramatic. No explosion. No blinding light.

Just… absence.

Absence of pressure.

Absence of attention.

Absence of importance.

The world simply… stopped caring.

Their regal bearing softened without dulling. Their divine presence folded inward, sealed behind layers so natural they didn’t feel like seals at all. Anyone looking at them now wouldn’t see emperors, princes, heirs, or legends.

They’d see a group of unusually handsome, slightly intimidating men with money to spend and trouble to cause.

Devon blinked. “Whoa.”

Werock looked down at his hands. “I feel… lighter?”

“That’s your bloodline being told to behave,” Regnare said proudly.

Trevor tested the air, fangs retracting instinctively. “No pull from the ley network. No residual worship feedback. Oh, this is clean.”

Jerry frowned. “Can we still get arrested?”

“Yes,” Ethan said cheerfully.

A beat.

“Excellent,” Jerry replied.

Reginald exhaled slowly. “Where?”

Ethan snapped his fingers.

A ripple tore open in the air, not a violent spatial gate, but something elegant, circular, framed in muted bronze sigils.

“Capital Antrim,” Ethan said. “Lower leisure district. Street food. Arenas. Arcades. No titles. No entourages.”

Regnare’s grin widened. “And no consequences… unless we deserve them.”

“That’s still consequences,” Lamair pointed out.

Ethan stepped into the portal first, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Gentlemen,” he said lightly, “today, we’re nobodies.”

The portal shimmered.

They followed, laughing, arguing, already placing bets on who’d get kicked out of somewhere first.

Far above them, unnoticed, the systems of empire recalibrated… and found nothing worth reporting.

For once, the world would survive a day without knowing exactly who was walking through it.

…

The moment they stepped through the portal, the air changed.

Not thinner. Not purer. Just… louder.

Sound crashed into them first, music with too much bass and not enough restraint, vendors shouting competing sales pitches, laughter spilling out of open-front bars, the electronic chirp of arcade machines layered beneath it all like a heartbeat. Neon signs floated and flickered overhead, holographic banners advertising everything from street-fried wyrm skewers to competitive grav-bike betting.

Devon froze.

“…Oh.”

“This,” Regnare said, spreading his arms wide, “is civilization.”

Ethan took a slow breath, and his shoulders, truly, genuinely… relaxed.

No bows.

No chants.

No sudden kneeling.

Just people rushing past, annoyed, excited, distracted.

He looked… absurdly happy.

“Food first,” Jerry declared instantly.

“Agreed,” Thomas said.

“Objectively correct,” Eric added.

“And spiritually necessary,” Ericson finished.

Within seconds they were swept into the current of the street like a migrating herd of overconfident apex predators trying very hard to look casual.

They started small.

A vendor with a metal grill the size of a hovercar slapped slabs of sizzling meat onto flatbread, the aroma spiced with something that made Ethan’s eyes widen.

“What is that?” he asked.

The vendor didn’t look up. “Depends. You allergic to lightning?”

“…No?”

“Good. Two credits.”

Regnare leaned in beside Ethan. “That was brave of you.”

They ate standing up, grease dripping, sauce staining sleeves. No one cared. Ethan burned his tongue and laughed about it, actually laughed, while Trevor silently analyzed his skewer like a scholar dissecting ancient text before nodding in approval.

“This is acceptable.”

Devon stared at him. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said all day.”

Across the street, Werock and Lamair were arguing with a game stall operator over the legality of using enhanced reflexes in a ring-toss challenge.

“It’s not enhancement,” Werock insisted. “It’s genetics.”

“You hit the target blindfolded,” the operator said flatly.

“Talent,” Lamair added helpfully.

Regnare had already won three stuffed synth-beasts, handed one to a passing child without explanation, and was now being scolded by Reginald for “encouraging escalation.”

Meanwhile, Ethan found himself pulled, literally, by Trevor toward an arena entrance glowing with red-gold light.

“Underground brawl brackets,” Trevor said calmly. “Non-lethal. Mostly.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You want to fight?”

“I want to watch,” Trevor corrected. “Jerry wants to fight.”

Jerry cracked his knuckles, already halfway signed up.

Half an hour later, they were packed into stone seating, shouting along with the crowd as Jerry suplexed a man twice his size while Eric and Ericson argued loudly about technique.

Devon cheered so hard he lost his voice.

Somewhere along the line, they split up and rejoined and split again, arcades, shooting ranges, zero-gravity dart booths. Regnare tried to win a grav-bike race and crashed spectacularly into a foam barrier.

Ethan laughed until his sides hurt.

Later, much later, they ended up on the edge of a plaza where fountains sprayed light instead of water, colors shifting to the rhythm of street performers. Bags of food littered the ground near their feet. Someone had music playing too loud.

They sat. All of them. No urgency.

Reginald leaned back, arms crossed. “This was… surprisingly normal.”

“That’s the dangerous part,” Ethan said, watching the lights dance. “It reminds you what you’re protecting.”

Regnare nudged him with his elbow. “Careful, old man. You’re getting sentimental.”

Ethan smirked. “Enjoy it while you can. Tomorrow I go back to being unbearable.”

Devon grinned, eyes bright. “Can we do this again?”

A pause. Then…

“Yes,” Ethan said. Soft. Certain.

Above them, unnoticed, the empire kept turning.

Below, in the noise and laughter and spilled food, a group of nobodies enjoyed something priceless:

A day off.

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