Inheritance is rarely chosen.
Sometimes it arrives quietly, responding to things no one thought to question.
This chapter is about what recognizes blood, and what answers it.
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The house is loud again.
Voices overlap in the lounge as Marcus begins explaining who Rachel and the others are, what they can do, how they found us. My team listens without interruption. Someone laughs, sharp with relief. Someone else asks a question I do not register.
"I have babies to tend to," I say, already moving away.
Seth follows immediately. No discussion. Elara rests against his chest. I carry Ethan as he wrestles with a cookie he is losing badly.
The bathroom fills with steam as we ease them into the water. Elara sits calmly, fingers tracing slow patterns across the surface. Ethan refuses stillness, kicking and splashing with bright enthusiasm as Seth tries to keep him contained.
Then Seth stops moving.
"Max," he says.
His voice is quiet. Focused.
He does not look at me. One hand lifts and pats my arm once. I follow his gaze.
"Look."
He points to the glyph at Elara's navel.
I glance at it and frown, unsure why he is making a fuss. It looks the same as it always has. Large. Dark red. Solid. It does not move. It never has. I shift closer and take Ethan from him, settling our happily squirming son against my chest.
Then something makes me lean back in.
I look again. Properly this time.
The main glyph is still there, unchanged.
But it is no longer alone.
Fine red stems branch outward from the edges of the main glyph, delicate and precise. Along those stems, tiny red glyphs have formed, each one distinct, each one alive. They curve outward in a connected ring beneath her skin, all of them anchored to the central mark.
The smaller glyphs are in motion.
They circle the larger glyph slowly, tracing a deliberate path around it, rotating as a single system rather than drifting at random. The movement is steady and intentional, as if the central glyph has become an axis and everything else now turns in response to it.
"That wasn't there before," Seth says.
"It wasn't," I answer.
I lean closer, reaching out carefully. Elara squirms when my fingers brush her skin, a silent protest, then settles again, unbothered.
"Does it hurt?" I ask her.
She shakes her head once.
The glyphs continue their quiet motion.
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Ethan lets out a pleased sound in my arms, proud of himself as his foot kicks water over the edge of the tub.
The reaction is immediate.
The soap bottle tips and hits the tiles with a sharp clack. The toilet lid drops behind us, slamming shut on its own.
I close my eyes briefly. "That's going to save me a lot of arguments in the future."
Seth exhales a laugh that cuts short.
I pass Ethan to him without looking away from Elara. He takes him automatically, settling our son on his lap and wrapping him in a towel as Ethan squirms with silent delight.
He dries him with practiced ease.
Then he inhales sharply.
His hands stop.
"What now, Seth?" I murmur, already tired in the way only parents can be.
He does not answer right away. He turns Ethan gently, angling him left, then right. The movement draws my attention despite myself.
I look.
And I see what he is seeing.
The snake-like glyphs along Ethan's body have changed.
Where there were once five precise marks in each row, a new glyph has integrated itself into the pattern. Small. Intentional. Seamless, as if it had always been meant to be there.
Seth looks up at me.
"That's new too," he says.
I nod slowly. "Yes."
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
I pull my phone from the counter and take photographs, steady hands despite the unease building in my chest. I send them to Lady Elsa with a single message.
Please look at this. As soon as you can.
Ethan wriggles in Seths arms again, impatience flickering through his small movements, while Elara watches us with quiet awareness.
"They're changing," Seth says softly.
"Yes," I reply. "And this didn't start today but… let me think it through properly first."
He meets my eyes. There is no fear there. Just the steady focus of someone relearning what it means to watch over more than himself. He is learning quickly what it means to be a father again.
"Do you remember Father Martin," he asks, almost gently. "The priest we helped with the house possession?"
I start toward the bedroom, Elara's weight already heavy with sleep. "Mmm, yes. I remember him. Why?"
Seth follows, Ethan bouncing lightly in his arms. "We should baptise them."
The words do not feel sudden. They feel settled.
I nod once. "Give him a call. Find out how soon it can be done."
I dress Elara quickly. She barely stirs before sleep takes her completely. Seth hums under his breath as he settles Ethan, and within moments he follows his sister into quiet rest.
Some things are too powerful to leave without intention.
And whatever is writing itself into our children has already begun.
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The next morning greets us without mercy.
Seth and I barely make it down the stairs with the twins before the noise hits us full on.
Jamey and Leah are wrestling on the couch like this is a sanctioned sport. Jamey grunts as he tries to pin her wrist. "I told you that cup has my face on it. Give it back."
Leah presses her palm into his cheek and shoves his head sideways. "Who would willingly drink from your ugly face? It's mine now."
"My face is inspirational," he snaps. "People wake up stronger after seeing it."
"People wake up traumatized," she shoots back.
Samuel sits nearby with Israel settled comfortably on his lap, both of them watching the chaos with the quiet patience of people who know better than to get involved.
I cross the room and hand Ethan to Alec.
He grins immediately. "Come on, little man. Front row seats."
Before I can blink, Alec vanishes.
He reappears on the couch opposite Jamey and Leah, lightning-fast and far too pleased with himself. Ethan's head spins just enough for him to lose his sense of orientation.
Alec settles in casually. "Sit with Uncle. We'll watch the showdown and decide who owes who an apology."
Ethan blinks.
Then he burps.
A ribbon of blue glyph slips free with the sound.
Alec freezes.
So do the rest of us.
Seth and I turn our heads at the same time. The table. The chairs. The shelves. The lights. Anything that could shatter if this goes wrong.
We go still.
"Oh," Alec says mildly. "That might be on me."
The dining table lifts off the floor.
So do the chairs.
People rise with them, a good half meter up, startled yelps cutting through the air as plates slide and cups tip. Samantha grips the edge of the table. Marcus plants his feet instinctively. Israel clutches Samuel's shirt, wide-eyed but silent.
Everything drops back down in a single, unified thud.
Nothing breaks.
Somehow, most of the food lands back where it started.
There is a beat of stunned silence.
Then the room erupts in laughter.
Jamey wheezes from the couch. "I knew today was going to be special. I could feel it in my soul."
I take a bite of toast like this happens daily.
"Seth and I have decided to have the twins baptised," I say calmly.
The room settles just enough to listen.
"Father Martin will arrive in four days."
I look at Samantha, then Samuel. "Can you hand out invitations to the people on this list, please."
I pass the paper to Samantha. She nods.
Elizabeth pats Samuel's hand. "I'll help with the preparation."
I tilt my head, studying them. "Wait. Are you two an item?"
The room goes quiet.
Samuel's ears turn red. He glances at Elizabeth, then back at me. "We started dating while you were gone."
Jamey calls out without missing a beat, still half-pinned beneath Leah's elbow. "See, Max. I told you. First baptisms, then weddings. You might as well keep Father Martin on retainer."
Leah elbows him again.
Breakfast continues.
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Father Martin arrives a day earlier than planned.
We give him the briefing carefully. The twins. Their nature. The importance of keeping them calm and, above all, silent. He listens without interruption, hands folded, expression steady. When we finish, he only nods once.
"I understand," he says simply.
Not long after, he sits on the patio with Ethan and Elara balanced comfortably on his lap, murmuring something gentle to them while the rest of us finish preparations.
Victor and Adrian set the last of the chairs into neat rows in the garden. The women move through the aisle and the small sanctuary, weaving flowers into arches and railings. Inside the house, furniture shifts and tables are dressed as the catering team works around the others with practiced ease.
Seth passes me with a box of candles just as I carry a bag of soil toward the bin. He pauses long enough to press a kiss to my forehead.
"Everything seems about settled," he says.
I glance around the garden, the house, the people moving with quiet purpose. "Mostly," I reply. Then I tilt my head. "Do we have afterimages watching the perimeter during Mass?"
He brushes a stray strand of hair from my cheek. "I think we should. They might as well help us welcome the guests."
I snort. "That's not funny."
Then I consider it. "Actually… it's workable."
I walk back to the patio and take Elara from Father Martin, settling beside him. I hand Ethan his bottle, who takes it eagerly, small hands gripping tight.
"So," I say lightly. "How have you been?"
He exhales and leans back slightly. "That depends on how much you've been following the news."
"I haven't," I admit, adjusting Elara in my lap and hand her bottle to her. "I was in the mountains dealing with my own problems."
He smiles gently in understanding. "Then I'll be brief."
He pauses, choosing his words.
"About four months ago, a group of nearly fifty people committed mass suicide," he says. "They left behind journals. Every one of them spoke about possession."
My hold on Elara tightens slightly.
"They wrote that they could not return to normal life afterward," he continues. "That even after deliverance, something remained. Fear. Filth. Memory. As if the terror never fully let go."
I wipe Elara's mouth and cradle her closer. "I hadn't heard."
"I don't know which sect performed the exorcisms," he adds. "But the writings suggest the damage went deeper than expected."
Samantha approaches quietly and lifts a sleeping Ethan from Father Martin's lap. He smiles at her before turning back to me.
"There's more," he says. "In Turkington, people have reported sightings of unsavory entities. At first, no one knew what they were seeing, only that something was wrong."
He pauses.
"Then the activity started. It began with pets disappearing. Quietly. One at a time."
His voice lowers.
"Five weeks ago, a shop owner vanished. His store was left unlocked, lights still on."
My chest tightens.
"Three weeks ago, a kindergarten teacher disappeared," he continues. "Her car and belongings were found. She was not."
I pass Elara to Alec as Seth joins us, followed by a few others.
"I heard about Turkington," Samuel says. "They thought it was a serial killer at first. Then someone mentioned the animals."
Seth sits beside me. "Do they describe what these things look like?"
Gabriel shakes his head. "No clear descriptions. I sent people in. They stayed a week. Whatever is there moves too fast."
Adrian, leaning against the railing, speaks into the open air. "There was a group of teenagers found in the Adelle Forest. Naked. Hypothermic. No memory of what happened to them."
I look at Gabriel. "Are these incidents being investigated?"
"Yes," he replies. "More than that. With tensions rising between religious institutions, they've called for a mass meeting. Every faith represented."
His gaze shifts between Seth and me.
"Care to attend?" Gabriel asks.
I look around the garden. At the flowers. At the people moving easily between tables and chairs.
"Yes," I say. "We can attend."
Seth glances at me, already understanding where this is going.
"But we do not interfere," I continue. "We do not show power. We observe and we listen. These are ordinary people trying to make sense of a world that has stopped behaving."
The words settle among us.
"When we arrive," I add, voice firm, "no one acts unless I say so. No improvising. No heroics."
I meet Gabriel's gaze.
"Relay this exactly to those who are on site."
My mouth curves just enough to suggest amusement.
"We are guests. We behave like guests. Anyone who forgets that will discover how short my patience actually is."
The garden hums quietly around us, unchanged by the decision.
And somewhere beyond it, the world waits.
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Guests begin arriving in small groups, voices low, movements measured. Those who notice the afterimages pause for half a breath before continuing on, instincts catching up before logic can interfere. Four stand stationed at the front, their gaze never fixed, always shifting, seeing everything.
By the time the garden fills, close to seventy people have taken their seats. Jamey sits at the piano, fingers moving easily across the keys.
Yes. He is talented. Infuriatingly so.
Seth and I stop on the patio, each holding a child. Elara rests against my chest, calm and watchful. I reach across and gently turn Ethan toward me in Seth's arms, lowering my voice. "Now, mommy's jittery bug. I need you to behave today, okay?"
He offers a smile far too pleased with himself, six teeth on full display, and nods once.
Seth leans closer and smooth's Elara's hair, his voice soft, and unhurried. "Daddy's good girl," he murmurs. "I don't need to remind you, do I?"
Elara blinks, slow and deliberate.
As we move toward the front, Seth adjusts Ethan on his hip and passes behind a cluster of guests near the garden path.
The voices are low. Not hidden. Assumed safe.
"I still don't understand what happened at the Obsidian Forum," someone mutters. "What they did there was… unsettling."
Another hums in agreement. "Freakish, if you ask me."
Thania turns, expression sharp but composed. "The only freakish thing," she says evenly, "is pretending the world works the way it used to. Those children are divine. Anyone who cannot accept that should consider relocating somewhere quieter. Preferably far away."
There is a brief, uncomfortable silence.
Seth does not stop walking.
"Thania's right," he says calmly, as if adding to a casual conversation. His hand settles more securely at Ethan's back. "Misjudging my wife or my children is a mistake people only make once."
Someone laughs nervously. "I didn't mean any offense."
Seth finally looks at him.
"Too late," he says, tone unchanged. "And for what it's worth, they hear everything. Even now."
Ethan chooses that moment to grip Seth's collar and tug, delighted by something only he understands.
"If the day comes when you need them," Seth continues, already moving on, "remember this conversation. Your survival may depend on it."
No one follows.
Seth reaches my side without urgency, expression unreadable, Ethan content against his chest.
Sunlight filters through the trees, shifting gently as the breeze moves the leaves above us. Voices soften. Even the air seems to listen.
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After the Mass concludes and the guests begin to mingle, Eric approaches with his wife and son. He does not look at the children first. He looks at Seth. Then at me.
He hands Seth a small box, then places the second into my palm.
Seth opens his first.
Inside rests a platinum chain, the cross simple and unadorned, a blue stone set at its center. The color is wrong in a way that is hard to define. Too vivid. Too precise.
I open mine.
The twin chain mirrors it in design, but the stone is red. Not bright. Not decorative. A deep, wine-dark crimson that seems to drink the light instead of reflecting it.
Seth looks at me.
I look back at him.
The confusion comes then. Quiet. Shared.
Eric notices and lets out a low chuckle.
"These aren't ordinary stones," he says quietly.
Seth's fingers tighten slightly around the chain.
"The blue is benitoite," Eric continues. "Rare enough that most people never see one outside a museum. It's associated with timing. Thresholds. Moments that begin whether the world is ready or not."
My gaze drops back to the red.
"And that," he says, softer now, "is red beryl. Bixbite. Rarer still. It's tied to authority. To change that does not reverse itself."
Eric steps closer to Ethan first. Before he even lifts the chain toward him, the blue streaks in Ethan's hair stir.
They do not flutter like strands caught by wind.
They lean.
Fine blue threads shift across his head with quiet intent, angling toward the benitoite as if the stone has become a point of pull.
Eric notices. He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly.
Slowly, he moves the chain to the left.
The blue streaks follow.
He shifts it to the right.
They track it again, smooth and precise, as if they are watching with more than sight.
A hush falls over the guests nearest to us. Nobody speaks. Nobody laughs.
Eric exhales once, careful, and lowers the chain.
As the benitoite comes to rest against Ethan's chest, the blue streaks ease back into place. They relax, settling neatly over his head as though the moment of reaching has been satisfied.
Only then does Eric turn to Elara.
He lifts the second chain from my hand. The red beryl catches the light once, deep and dark.
Elara's red streaks respond immediately.
They tilt toward the stone before it touches her, shifting in a faint, deliberate sweep that mirrors Ethan's reaction. Eric moves the chain slightly, left to right, and the red streaks follow with the same controlled attention.
When the pendant finally settles against Elara's chest, the red streaks still.
They lie smooth again, as if nothing happened.
As if everything happened.
Eric lowers his hands slowly.
For a moment, neither Seth nor I speak. We are watching the children, watching the calm that follows the response, watching the silence settle where something profound just passed through.
Then Seth inclines his head toward Eric.
"Thank you," he says. Simple and sincere.
I meet Eric's gaze next. "You've given us more than gifts," I add. "You showed us how little we truly understand." I glance down at the twins, the red and blue streaks lying peacefully once more. "And where to start looking."
Eric's mouth curves into something that is not quite a smile. "Sometimes," he says, "clarity arrives sideways."
I nod. He is right.
A door has opened.
And for the first time, we can see its outline.
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Lunch follows.
Caterers move in and out with practiced ease. Laughter rises, plates clink. And then I hear it.
Jamey and Leah are arguing again.
They both grip the chair to my left like it is sacred ground.
"I just want it noted," Jamey says loudly, pulling harder, "that this seat is clearly reserved for people of emotional importance."
Leah does not even look at him. "You mean people who talk less?"
"I mean," he says, offended, "people who bring joy, charm, and a certain heroic presence to the table."
She finally turns her head. "You bring noise."
"I bring atmosphere."
"You bring migraines."
I bring my spoon down once.
"Let go," I say. "Or I solve this in a way neither of you will find entertaining."
Jamey releases the chair instantly. "See? Fair leadership. Firm. Inspirational."
Leah sits anyway.
The afternoon drifts.
Some guests leave. Others wander the grounds. A few migrate indoors. It is Lady Elsa who finds me.
"Can we talk?"
I nod toward the path. "Let's take a walk."
Once we are clear of the crowd, she pulls a slim file from her bag and hands it to me. "This is everything I could find. It isn't much, but it matters."
I flip through until an image stops me cold.
"Is this Jesus of Nazareth in Santa Me'Reah?" I ask.
"Yes," she says. "Look at the one beneath it."
On the stone below His feet, the glyph is etched.
Elara's glyph.
She urges me on. I turn the page.
A church interior fills the frame. Above the altar, the same symbol appears again. This time it is different. The central mark remains, but smaller glyphs branch outward, arranged in a familiar, circular pattern.
My chest tightens.
Seth joins us, drawn by the silence. I hand him the images without a word and keep turning pages.
The next image shows the glyph again.
Another row has been added.
What unsettles me is not the design.
It is the way my Flame reacts to it.
The recognition comes without language, heavy and certain.
The war has begun.
"I couldn't find anything on Ethan's markings," Lady Elsa says quietly. "But I suspect what applies to one will apply to the other."
Seth's arm settles around my shoulders. His eyes never leave the pages. "This stays between us," he says. "For now."
I look up at him. "And the team."
He nods once.
We walk back together.
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Later that night, I stand on the balcony outside our room, wrapped in the quiet, eyes lifted to the stars scattered across the lake's reflection.
Seth joins me without a word, draping a shawl over my shoulders. "Penny for your thoughts."
I turn and rest my head against his chest. "I was wondering," I say softly, "what would happen if we decided to have more children one day."
His body stills for half a second.
Then he exhales, relaxes, and kisses the top of my head. "Well," he says lightly, "if it's an army you want, I suppose we can discuss recruitment."
I pinch his side. He winces and laughs at the same time.
"But seriously," I continue, my voice lowering. "What the twins are becoming feels… new. And I don't know how we prepare for something we don't yet understand."
He tilts my chin up with one finger, forcing me to meet his eyes. "We trust the First Breath," he says. "He has never failed us when it mattered most."
We turn back toward the lake together.
Seth lifts one hand, silver breath slipping through his fingers and dissolving into the night air like a quiet promise. "We should find a sign language teacher for them," he adds. "If they can communicate without sound, they might tell us what's happening to them."
I smile and kiss his cheek. "You're brilliant. And it should be someone we trust. I'll ask Sam tomorrow."
My phone vibrates.
Once.
Then again.
Lady Elsa's name fills the screen.
My breath catches.
I step a little away from Seth and answer. "You found something."
"Yes," she says. Her voice is steady, but there is something tight beneath it. "On Ethan's markings."
I straighten. "What did you see?"
A pause. Long enough to mean something.
"I found references," she says carefully. "Old ones. Symbolic carvings. Artifacts that predate doctrine."
I grip the railing.
"They don't describe snakes," she continues. "They describe a crown."
The word settles in my chest, heavy and unwelcome.
"Not of gold," Lady Elsa adds. "Of endurance."
I close my eyes.
Behind me, Seth's breath stills as if he knows, even before I speak.
"I'm sending you the images," Lady Elsa says. "You should see them before anyone else does."
The call ends.
I stay where I am, the stars suddenly too sharp, too distant.
And for the first time since the twins were born, I wonder whether what is forming in Ethan was ever meant to rest gently on a child's head.
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Power does not always announce itself.
Sometimes it watches.
Sometimes it waits.
What the twins carry is older than instruction, and far more deliberate than chance.
The inheritance has begun to take form.