A sudden thought crossed Eros’s mind. If the family had survived for tens of thousands of years, surely they must have some high-sequence powerhouses. He couldn't help but ask, "So... what’s the highest Sequence currently held in our family?"

  The air in the room suddenly turned stagnant.

  Duke Alaric, who had been puffing his chest out about the family’s "complete pathways," suddenly looked like a punctured balloon. After a long, awkward silence, he muttered a single sentence:

  "Sequence 5: Flamebearer."

  Eros stared at him in disbelief. A family that had survived for eons, whose ancestors were literal gods, topped out at Sequence 5? We’re doomed, he thought. Pack it up, boys. We’re cooked.

  Seeing his son’s horrified expression, Alaric cleared his throat awkwardly. "It’s a matter of the bloodline being spread too thin over too much time. For millennia, our high-sequence ancestors sacrificed themselves to cover the retreat of the younger generation. Often, they died in battle before they could father children with purified blood. It became a vicious cycle."

  "But things have stabilized now," the Duke continued. "That’s why the clan encourages... prolific breeding. If we can produce even one descendant with high latent talent, we can break this embarrassing deadlock."

  Quality through quantity? Eros shot a skeptical glance at his father. He suspected his father "enjoyed" the clan’s encouragement a bit too much.

  Alaric ignored the look of judgment and sighed. "The other method is to follow the lead of the Imperial families—to stop intermarrying with outsiders. It’s a way to ensure the bloodline doesn't dilute further, even if a genius doesn't appear immediately."

  Eros looked at him with wide eyes. Alaric shrugged helplessly. "It’s a desperate measure for desperate times. Relying on a handful of Sequence 5s to hold up a house of our size is... precarious, to say the least."

  Eros nodded. He could sympathize. Facing the pressure of the world’s nine greatest superpowers with only a few mid-level mages? If they ever got exposed, not even a mouse would escape the manor alive.

  They talked more as they walked, and Eros’s understanding of the supernatural world grew more complete. Eventually, they stopped before an ancient, solemn cathedral.

  The Duke pushed open the heavy, slightly ajar doors. A soft, ethereal glow spilled from the hall. Inside stood a group of people, mostly elders with snow-white hair and beards. Some Eros recognized; many he didn't.

  His mother, Estelle, was among them. When she saw him, she gave him a soft, encouraging smile. Her eyes remained as clear and gentle as water.

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  Eros looked toward the far end of the hall. Perched high above was a statue that radiated an aura of mystery and absolute majesty. The Ancestor, he realized.

  Duke Alaric, after conferring with the elders, beckoned Eros over. He led him to the foot of the statue, offered a solemn prayer, and then motioned for Eros to kneel on the floor—directly in the center of a mosaic of intricate mystical runes.

  "Prepare the Bloodline Baptism," Alaric commanded, his voice heavy with gravity.

  Following his order, the elders began placing chunks of milky-white Spirit Marrow along the winding patterns on the floor. As each piece was set, the corresponding runes began to ignite with a faint, pulsing light.

  While the preparations were being finalized, Alaric whispered the final instructions. It was simple: because this was the Ancestor’s private realm, the ritual was safe. Eros simply had to "walk." Once the vision began, he was to follow the path that appeared before him and go as far as he possibly could.

  Eros nodded, signaling he understood. He knelt silently, bowing his head as he waited for the unknown to unfold.

  Minutes ticked by. At first, Eros felt nothing. But gradually, a warmth began to cling to his skin, seeping through his pores and into his marrow. It was an incredibly comfortable sensation—so cozy it made him drowsy. His eyelids felt heavy, eventually sliding shut.

  Suddenly, Eros snapped awake. Wait, I’m in the middle of a ritual! I can’t fall asleep!

  He forced his eyes open, only to find himself in a completely foreign place. Everything around him was shrouded in a thick, grey fog. He couldn't see a foot in front of him. His father and the elders were gone. He was utterly alone.

  "Is the baptism starting? But... where’s the path?" he wondered, looking around the misty void in confusion. "The old man said a path would appear. Where is it?"

  Outside the Vision:

  The elders watched Eros, who had entered a deep trance. They began to whisper amongst themselves, their eyes filled with anticipation. This child had shown incredible wit since infancy; they believed his talent would be the best the family had seen in decades.

  An old man with a monocle and impeccably combed white hair spoke slowly. "In my estimation, little Eros should be able to reach back at least five thousand years and witness the imprint of an ancestor from that era."

  The others gasped. Five thousand years ago, the family still boasted Sequence 2: Wanderers.

  A Sequence 2 was a Mythical Lifeform—a being that had transcended the limits of mortality and stepped into the divine realm. The elder was essentially saying that Eros had the potential to become a living myth.

  "But the bloodline is so tainted now," one elder whispered. "Can we really produce a Mythical Lineage?"

  Deep down, they knew it was nearly impossible. Usually, it took generations of selective breeding to purify the blood enough to support such a high-level awakening.

  Yet, they couldn't ignore the speaker. He was one of the most senior members present and one of the only three Sequence 5s left in the clan. He didn't make empty boasts.

  Excitement rippled through the hall. It had been so long since a Mythical Lifeform had appeared in their ranks. While a single Sequence 2 wouldn't solve all their problems, it would provide a safety net. If the family were ever exposed, a Mythical Lifeform could at least ensure that a few seeds of the bloodline survived.

  Duke Alaric was already grinning ear to ear, practically radiating paternal pride. Estelle didn't laugh as openly as her husband, but a soft, joyous light danced in her eyes.

  As time passed, the elders replaced the exhausted Spirit Marrows with fresh ones, again and again. No one grew impatient. Instead, their excitement only mounted.