Ancestral Lineage - Chapter 479

Chapter 479: Preparation for the Naming Ceremony

Far from the sealed chamber where the Kael’Dri family had just brushed shoulders with a god whose shadow could silence worlds, the empire itself thrummed with a completely different energy, bright, jubilant, loud enough to drown out the whispers of death.

Every street glimmered with banners and floating lanterns. Holographic displays shimmered over plazas, showing countdowns, family crests, and celebratory animations of twin stars spiraling around each other. The Naming Ceremony of the imperial twins wasn’t just a cultural event; it was a full-blown cosmic holiday wrapped in mortal excitement.

And this week? It was what people would remember for decades.

Some came from the outrageously distant provinces, traveling days, even weeks, just to be here. And they arrived shouting, singing, dragging luggage, children, pets, and several questionable “good luck” charms that likely violated at least three minor magical regulations.

Festivities spilled everywhere. Games sprawled across public squares, strength contests that summoned illusory beasts, strategy tables where people played century-old war simulations, and the karaoke stages that were already threatening to cause multiversal disturbance with the sheer number of off-key performers belting victory ballads.

Hunting competitions dotted the wilderness around the capital, where participants chased spirit creatures that would politely vanish if the hunters were too slow. And the temples saw pilgrims lining up for early blessings, knowing the main divine wave would come from the emperor and First Empress during the grand ceremony itself.

The entire empire felt like a pot that had hit full boil.

Shops shuttered, not because of any decree, but because nobody wanted to miss the celebration. Those that remained open were the important ones: food joints, restaurants, clinics, enchantment repair stalls, and the emergency ‘I Lost My Shoes During Festivities Please Help’ kiosks.

Everywhere else? They had their shutters down and “BACK AFTER NAMING WEEK” signs pinned proudly.

And for the places still running, competition turned the whole thing into a feeding frenzy. Discounts didn’t dip, they plummeted. Fifty percent off? Amateur hour. Many places slashed prices by eighty percent, some offering free drinks to lure customers in. The more chaotic corners of the marketplace even held “Buy One, Get A Blessing From A Minor Spirit” promos.

That was the level of hype the empire carried.

People joked that if the twins so much as sneezed during the ceremony, the loudest cheer would register on a seismograph. Others swore this was the grandest celebration they had ever seen, greater even than coronations, victories, or celestial alignments.

Because this wasn’t just a naming ceremony.

This was the future of the empire arriving, wrapped in divine bloodline, cosmic promise, and enough public enthusiasm to ignite the sky.

And no one, not a merchant, not a noble, not a passing tourist, wanted to miss a single heartbeat of it.

…

The empire swelled with motion, like a single colossal organism preparing for the heartbeat of the century. Everywhere, in every district, preparations pulsed forward in their own style, each place adding a unique brushstroke to the cosmic festival.

In the heart of the capital, the Grand Plaza roared with activity. Holographic engineers floated from scaffold to scaffold, weaving constructs of starlight that shifted between constellations, twin moons, and stylized depictions of Selene and Sol. Each projection was the size of a small house, pulsing with gentle color. From below, children squealed and pointed every time one of the illusions blinked and “peeked” at the crowd.

Farther down, a troupe of celestial dancers rehearsed tirelessly. Their bodies left glowing trails of light with each movement, forming constellations that flickered and burst into tiny, harmless fireworks. Their choreographer, a short man with stress lines deep enough to store loose change, kept yelling, “Again! The universe does NOT twirl that slowly!”

They did not dare ask what that meant.

A few streets away, bakers fought a war of sugar and creativity. Rows of cosmic pastries were lined in glass cases, star-shaped buns dusted in shimmering powder, galaxy-layer cakes with swirling blues and purples, and a new creation called “Solar Puffs,” which exploded with warm cream the moment you bit into them. One baker, elbows smeared with nebula-colored frosting, muttered that he hadn’t slept in three days but would “absolutely duel anyone who copied his void-choux recipe.”

Meanwhile, the merchant guilds scrambled to finalize the massive canopy that would float above the central district during the main procession. It was a sprawling lattice of enchanted metal and sky-fabric, painted in dark blues and plum purples, adorned with thousands of tiny lights that mimicked an entire night sky compressed into a roof. When sunlight hit it just right, the whole structure shimmered like it existed in two realities at once.

Toward the northern district, beast tamers wrangled spirit creatures for the ceremonial parade. A glowing deer refused to walk in a straight line, instead posing each time someone pointed a camera. A phoenix hatchling demanded snacks every three minutes. And a storm wolf pup attempted to eat the paperwork of its handler, causing him to shout, “Not again! That was the fifth copy!”

Up above the city, aerial mages practiced forming massive glyphs for the sky show. The spells were delicate, requiring dozens of synchronized casters to execute. Every time one messed up, the entire glyph fizzled out with a pouty “fwip,” raining down a harmless drizzle of neon sparks that kids scrambled to collect.

Inside the Cathedral of Stars, the venue for the Naming Ceremony itself, priests and priestesses worked with a reverence that bordered on trembling excitement. They placed silver and violet candles in perfectly calculated patterns. They cleansed the altar with ritual light. They adjusted the twin cradles, carved with cosmic runes, positioning them beneath a suspended sphere of mingled moonlight and starfire.

Even the cradles hummed, as though aware of their future occupants.

On the military side, the Imperial Guard conducted formation drills for the ceremony. Every clink of their armor echoed through the training grounds, disciplined and crisp. Their commander paced in front of them, barking sharp corrections.

“Straighten up! We are welcoming star-born royalty, not attending a neighborhood barbecue!”

Scattered through all this bustle were the citizens, families, lovers, loners, tourists, and fanatics. They strung lights across windows, painted murals, adjusted banners, swept walkways, fussed over outfits, and practiced cheers. Some wrote blessing notes to tie along the sacred rails. Others crafted small charms shaped like crescent moons or miniature suns.

Everyone had a role. Everyone wanted to be involved.

Even in the quiet corners of the empire, the air buzzed with anticipation, like a note held too long on a celestial harp.

The naming of Selene and Sol wasn’t simply an event. It was a convergence. A celebration of hope, unity, cosmic lineage, and the promise of an era that would echo far beyond Anbord’s borders.

And the empire prepared with hearts burning bright.

…

This festive scene drifted away from the blazing energy of the capital and settled, like a falling leaf, into the quieter, heavier air of the Kael’Dri estate.

The main house felt different now. Not colder, not exactly darker, but weighted. As if the walls themselves remembered the presence that had surged through the chamber… remembered the laugh dripping with ancient mirth… and were still trying to decide whether to shiver.

Ethan sat in one of the wide lounging chairs near the sunken hearth, which he had just created, but the flames didn’t warm him. They only painted streaks of gold across his face, sharpening the tension tucked beneath his calm expression. His golden eye gleamed faintly, not flaring, not pulsing, just watching. Patient. Reserved. Like a locked door that no one wanted to test again.

Lamair hovered near the window, still dressed in the remnants of ritual garb. The horns were retracted now, but a shaking lingered in his hands despite his attempts to hide it. He kept staring at the sky, as though expecting it to peel away and reveal the Underworld laughing back at him.

The others had drifted into the sitting room one by one, pulled by a mix of worry and disbelief. No one quite knew how to begin speaking about what had happened. The silence wasn’t just awkward, it was reverent in the strangest, most uncomfortable way.

It was Regnare who finally broke it. His voice was low, hoarse around the edges.

“…I thought the chamber would collapse. I felt that presence clawing at my ribs.”

Jerry sat on the arm of a sofa, arms crossed tightly against her chest.

“It wasn’t just a presence,” she said. “It was a being that didn’t care whether we existed. That kind of indifference is… terrifying.”

Lamair swallowed, jaw tight. “I should’ve been able to handle it. It was my ritual.”

Ethan’s gaze finally lifted to him, slow, sharp, precise.

“You were about to walk into a place that doesn’t even like acknowledging mortals,” Ethan said, voice quiet but carrying a weight that made Lamair stiffen. “You weren’t ready.”

Lamair opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Ethan’s aura flickered, the faintest echo of the overwhelming force he’d unleashed in the chamber. The memory of it drowned Lamair’s defiance before he could shape it.

He closed his mouth.

The others exchanged looks. None of them had ever seen Ethan radiate so much power so effortlessly. Not even when angry. Not even when provoked. That moment in the chamber, the portal trembling like a candle in a storm, was burned into their minds.

Reginald exhaled slowly.

“That laugh…”

She shivered. “Whatever that was… it recognized you.”

“Recognized is a dramatic word,” Ethan muttered, leaning back. “More like… acknowledged the noise I made.”

Trevor shot him a look. “You call that noise? The portal nearly collapsed.”

“That was the point.”

Silence, again, less suffocating now, but tense in a new way.

Outside, the estate grounds were buzzing with ceremony preparations, distant laughter, and music drifting through the windows. It clashed almost absurdly with the thick, uneasy quiet inside the house.

Lamair finally turned from the window.

“Ethan… was that truly a god of Death?”

“Not just a god of Death,” Ethan replied. “One that sits just shy of Primordial Death itself.”

Lamair paled all over again.

Ethan’s aura dimmed until he seemed almost mundane, almost ordinary.

“Which is why you’re not stepping into the Underworld for now. When a being like that laughs… it either means it’s amused or it’s hungry. Neither is good news for you. And, I’m not letting you die a second time.”

Lamair sat, shoulders slumping.

Asteria rubbed her temples. “We’ll need to rethink everything about this ritual. He’s someone even I cannot handle.”

“Everything,” Barki agreed.

Ethan’s golden-silver aura flickered once more, this time softer, protective rather than overwhelming.

“We’ll handle it,” he said. “But for now… rest. Celebrate. The twins deserve peace, and so do you.”

Outside, the empire cheered for the coming ceremony.

Inside, the Kael’Dri grappled with shadows no one else could see.

And the house, quiet and aware, seemed to hold its breath.

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