Ancestral Lineage

The sun above Antrim hung low, casting long golden rays across the ivory spires and crystalline structures of the Nexus Citadel. The air shimmered faintly with residual magic as a silent tension wrapped the sacred halls. Zark stood alone on one of the high balconies, his gaze lost in the shifting clouds that drifted beyond the horizon. Despite his calm expression, his heart weighed heavily with things unsaid, with emotions still foreign even to someone as old and powerful as he was.

Behind him, quiet footsteps broke the silence. Trevor approached with caution—not out of fear, but uncertainty. He stood at the threshold, arms folded, red eyes narrowed.

"You've been up here a while," Trevor said, his voice neutral.

Zark didn't turn. "I needed air. The world feels smaller now that everything's changed."

Trevor leaned against the railing, not quite beside Zark but not too far either. "You mean now that you're suddenly our... father?"

Zark let out a small chuckle, one without joy. "Yes. That."

They stood in silence for a while, only the wind whispering between them. Finally, Zark spoke again, softer this time.

"I know what you're thinking. And no, I am not your biological father. Fate… or something greater, twisted the threads and rewrote certain truths. I became what I am to you not by blood, but by consequence. By choice, maybe. By necessity."

Trevor's jaw tightened. "Our real father left. He abandoned Ethan. Left our mother to rot in her own sorrow. To him, I was a trophy—his 'better' son. He used me to spite her. We grew up in a broken house... one Ethan had to mend with his own strength, even as he crumbled."

Zark didn't flinch. He had known pain, loss, war—but this was different. It wasn't his story to claim. "I won't defend him," he said quietly. "I won't even try to replace him. I never had children of my own, Trevor. I never imagined I would. I was always... apart. A teacher. A guardian. A weapon forged by stars and silence. But somehow, this path led me to both of you."

Trevor turned to look at him, studying his face as if searching for cracks or lies. "Why did you accept it then? This... fate?"

"Because the moment I saw Ethan for who he truly was—not just as my disciple but as someone with the potential to reshape all of existence—I realized I wasn't just teaching him. I was drawn to protect him. To stand by him. And when fate whispered that I was more than just a guide to you two… I didn't reject it. Because I wanted it."

"And what if we don't want it?" Trevor asked, his voice low, strained.

Zark looked at him, finally turning fully to face the younger man. "Then I will stay at the edge of your life, quietly, watching over both of you. I don't need to be called 'Father.' I don't need to be accepted. All I want is to be present. Not as the man who replaced another, but as one who chose to care."

Trevor didn't respond immediately. The storm in his eyes calmed slightly, just a flicker. He turned his gaze back to the horizon. "You don't know how much we've lost. You can't just walk in and fix that."

"I know," Zark replied. "But I can be here now. And maybe, one day, that will mean something."

Another long silence stretched between them. But this time, it wasn't heavy.

Trevor straightened, his expression unreadable. "I still don't trust you. But I'll watch. See what you do."

Zark nodded. "That's all I ask."

Then, with nothing more to say, Trevor turned and walked away, leaving Zark standing alone once more. Yet this time, the silence didn't feel quite as lonely.

...

The walk from the balcony to his chamber felt longer than usual. Trevor's boots struck the polished floors of the Nexus Citadel with deliberate weight, yet his thoughts outran his steps. The encounter with Zark echoed like a whisper in a hollow room, unsettling in its sincerity.

He shut the heavy door behind him and leaned back against it, staring at the empty space of his room. A soft hum from the energy lanterns pulsed in the walls, but he didn't bother turning on the lights. Darkness felt more honest right now.

Zark's words—measured, patient, piercing—clung to him like a second skin.

"All I want is to be present. Not as the man who replaced another, but as one who chose to care."

Trevor scoffed under his breath. Chose to care. What did that even mean?

He moved across the room and sat at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed. A lifetime of scars burned beneath his skin—not the kind that could be seen, but the kind that lived in bone, breath, and memory.

His earliest memory was silence. Not the comforting kind, but the void. Cold halls. His father's back walking away. Trevor had always been told he was the stronger one, the chosen one. But chosen for what?

To be shaped into a blade?

A tool?

He had lived as the favored son, but never a loved one. Praise had been a leash. Training, a chain. Every victory was credited to their father's bloodline, every failure punished as betrayal. Trevor was forged in conditional worth.

And then there was Ethan.

Ethan who had nothing but still managed to give. Ethan who had protected him even when he was the one raised to be stronger. Ethan, who still bore the ache of abandonment with grace. Ethan, who somehow forgave.

Trevor had always envied him for that.

He stood up suddenly and walked to the far wall where his blade hung—black steel etched with faint crimson veins. He stared at it, not as a weapon, but as a reflection of himself. Power. Rage. Control. But also loss.

"I don't need to be accepted. All I want is to be present."

Zark's voice echoed again.

He wasn't like their real father. That man had always demanded. Zark... he offered. He didn't beg to be called "Dad." He didn't try to overwrite the pain. He just stood there, steady. Present. Like a mountain offering shelter but never pressing itself upon you.

Trevor sighed and finally sat cross-legged on the floor, folding his arms and resting his head against the wall. For a long time, he said nothing. Did nothing. He just breathed.

And in that breath, he realized something.

He wasn't ready to accept Zark—not yet. Maybe not ever. But for the first time, he didn't feel like a son waiting for love. He felt like a man who could choose what came next.

And maybe, just maybe... that was enough.

...

The Sphere of Accord was empty.

Zark stood at its center, a coliseum of crystal and gold that echoed with the footfalls of ghosts. The high arched ceilings still shimmered with celestial inscriptions, remnants of the old world etched by fate itself. Here, decisions that shaped empires had once been made. Here, kings had knelt, and tyrants had fallen. And now, in the silence that followed Ethan's awakening and Trevor's silent judgment, it felt like the one place where he could breathe.

He folded his arms, his black coat rippling gently behind him despite the lack of wind.

The power that pulsed in his veins was ancient—older than stars, older than kingdoms. It was the kind of power that once made gods bow. And yet, for all his strength, for all his divinity, Zark felt... out of place.

Not weak. Not uncertain. Just unfitting.

He was not supposed to be here.

By every account of time, lineage, and blood, he was an outsider. A variable introduced by the whims of fate. A man who had not fathered Ethan or Trevor, but now bore the title of "Father" by supernatural design. A fracture in the narrative. A cosmic decision made above his will.

And it hurt more than he thought it would.

He didn't expect Trevor's acceptance—Zark had lived too long to believe in simple resolutions. But the boy's eyes… those deep, cold eyes had pierced through him like blades. Not of hatred, but of longing buried under pain.

Pain Zark couldn't erase.

Not with power.

Not with wisdom.

Not even with love.

Still, he had tried. Not because he was obligated, but because he wanted to. Somewhere between the edicts of fate and the reality of war, he had looked upon Ethan and Trevor and felt something awaken in his ancient heart.

Not pride.

Not command.

But devotion.

A father's devotion. Earned, not inherited.

Zark had watched it all.

Had watched Ethan die and return.

Watched Trevor build a kingdom of blood and resolve.

Watched the world kneel to power born not of gods, but of will.

And now, here he stood—invited into their lives not by kinship, but by fate.

He closed his eyes.

"I don't want to replace your father."

"Good. Because we'd rather have no father than a bad one."

Trevor's words stung still.

But Zark accepted them.

He did not come to replace.

He came to protect.

He came to help shape what came next.

Even if it meant standing from a distance, offering silent strength like a mountain at the edge of a storm.

He finally moved toward the arching exit of the Sphere. As he reached its threshold, he paused and looked back once more.

"You don't have to accept me," he whispered, "but I will always be here. Even if it's only to catch you when no one else can."

And with that, he vanished—gold and silence trailing in his wake like the last light of dusk.