Ancestral Lineage

Her red hair fanned across the cold tiles like a spill of crimson wine, strikingly contrasting the black, curved horns that crowned her head. She hadn't changed clothes in days. The rich fabric of her once-regal attire clung to her like a memory of dignity, wrinkled, faded, and forgotten. Mirrors in the room were turned away or covered. She had no desire to see herself—not like this.

The bed told its own story: sheets twisted and stained with the salt of silent grief, the pillows still bearing the imprint of sleepless nights. Her room—her sanctuary—was in ruins. Scattered belongings, cracked vials of perfume, books left open at pages she couldn't recall. It wasn't just her room that had fallen apart.

It was her.

And the cause of this collapse had a name. A face. A presence.

Zark.

The name sounded noble and distant in her mind, like the toll of a bell announcing something sacred—or cursed. She didn't need to close her eyes to see him. The image came unbidden: long, white hair like strands of moonlight, and golden eyes that shimmered not just with power, but depth, wisdom, pain, and something she couldn't tear herself away from.

Strength.

Not brute force. Not a show of dominance. But the strength to exist, to hold everything together without unraveling. That strength had captivated her, just as it had terrified her. That man—that god—Ethan introduced as "the father Fate has given Trevor and me."

That was the moment everything shattered.

She didn't scream. She didn't argue. She simply… broke.

Locked herself away, hoping that isolation would undo reality. But reality did not bend to her will. Not even hers. Not anymore.

The once-feared and respected Princess of the Smith Clan, the woman whose name turned generals pale, now curled up in her own despair, hiding from the world like a frightened child.

Just like when Ethan slipped into his coma two decades ago.

Back then, she had fasted through her grief. Days. Weeks. Sometimes months. And now, here she was again—haunted, hurting, hollow.

And Zark? The man at the center of it all?

He hadn't even tried to reach her.

Not once.

That absence should have made it easier. Should have reaffirmed her resentment. But it didn't. It only made things worse. Because in the quiet—beneath the ache and the confusion—she had felt him. Felt his strength ripple through the earth. His silence wasn't ignorance. It was restraint. And that restraint made her feel seen… and dismissed.

He could shake the world.And yet, he just watched.

Not with pity. No. It was worse than pity.

It was understanding.

She hated that.

Because it meant he knew. He knew what it was to be helpless, even with power that could unmake the stars. Knew what it was to be a pawn in Fate's cruel game. They were the same, in that broken, twisted way.

And she hated that too.

What made it unbearable was the truth she couldn't admit aloud:

She had fallen in love.

Not in the bright, fluttering way she once dreamed of as a girl. No. This was heavier. Guttural. The kind of love that formed in the aftermath of despair. A bond forged by shared silence, shared wounds. And not just love.

She had felt something deeper—a binding. Something ancient. Eternal.

The link between her… and him… and the two boys who once clung to her for comfort and now ruled empires.

Whether she liked it or not, Zark was now part of their destiny.

A man fated to be the father of her children. A man who carried their resemblance like echoes of a life they never lived. A stranger who felt more familiar than blood.

She had once begged the gods for someone—anyone—who could love and raise her sons as their own. She had prayed for a protector, a father, a guardian who wouldn't leave like the one who gave them his blood and then cast them aside.

And now here he was. Not a dream. Not a myth.

A god in the flesh.

But was he the answer?

"Is he a blessing…" she whispered aloud, voice cracked and hoarse, "…or a curse?"

No one answered.

Her mother—her guiding star—was far from Anbord, deep in honeymoon travels with her husband. Elmira had welcomed her back with Ethan, and just as quickly let her go. They deserved peace.

But what did she deserve?

Was this what she had longed for?

Or was it just another cruel gift from the same Fate that had stolen her son for two decades?

She buried her face in the crook of her arm, curled tighter on the cold floor, and sobbed. Not for Zark. Not for her sons.

But for herself.

Because for the first time in a long while…

She no longer knew who she was supposed to be.

"You shouldn't go down this path, Madeleine Elmira Smith. Ethan and Trevor… they'll break even more if they see you like this."

The voice struck her like thunder, radiant and deep, cutting clean through the fog of her sorrow and chaos.

She lifted her head slowly, strands of red hair falling over her tear-streaked face. There he stood—Zark—in the flesh. The one she feared seeing. The one her heart ached for.

"Forgive the intrusion," he said softly, his golden eyes calm, unreadable. "Your sons are trying very hard not to barge in here. Ethan is cultivating to center himself. Trevor… well, Trevor is currently hot on my trail."

A faint, amused smile played on his lips.

"I hope you've been well," he added gently. "Although… I doubt that."

Her body stiffened.

"You!" she snapped, stumbling to her feet as rage twisted in her chest. "What do you want?! You think you can just appear and say whatever you want to me?! Are you here to do something to me?!"

Her aura exploded—raw, crackling, and dark. The despair of earlier was gone, replaced by fury forged in heartbreak. A storm cloaked her as her posture shifted into that of a predator.

The once-weeping woman had transformed into a living tempest.

Zark raised both hands in surrender, his eyes still oddly calm.

"Whoa now… let's relax a bit, shall we?" he said, voice calm but wary. "I didn't come to do anything. I barely even know what I'm apparently guilty of."

"Liar!" she spat. "Do you think I'd believe a god in human skin?!"

Zark raised an eyebrow, then offered a sheepish grin. "Well, elf skin to be precise—oof!"

He doubled slightly as her fist slammed into his gut, a shockwave rippling from the blow. Zark skidded back five full inches, boots scraping against the tile.

He let out a low whistle. "To be able to push me back like that… You really are strong. The boys clearly got it from their mother."

"Don't get sentimental with me, god."

"My bad," he said, wincing. "Can't we just talk?"

"Piss off!"

"I'm not a god, actually," Zark offered with a chuckle, straightening his coat. "I'm an Emissary. Technically higher than a god."

"Then I am the Creator!" she barked with sarcasm.

Zark tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Honestly, that might not be impossible, considering that—whoa!"

He ducked just in time as her foot sliced through the air with lethal force, a high-velocity kick that cracked the wall behind him. His long white hair flew up from the wind, and his coat flared dramatically.

He hadn't moved an inch otherwise.

"Why won't you fight back?!" she screamed. "Fight me!"

Zark scratched the back of his head. "Ethan will murder me if I so much as bruise you."

"Oh, so you won't fight me because of him?! Are gods always this sentimental?"

"No. But I also might end up destroying Anbord if I move," he said, tone casual but firm. "And more urgently, I'm keeping your aura from tearing the mansion apart."

"What are you talking about?!"

Zark pointed calmly toward the trembling walls and floating shards of shattered crystal, all suspended midair within a thin, glowing barrier.

"You don't even realize what you're doing, do you?"

"Don't tell me what to do!" she roared, her energy surging again.

Zark sighed as the floor cracked beneath them. "Here we go again…"