Ancestral Lineage

Away from the drama of the wives of Ethan and the determinations of Trevor and Lamair, two beings floated above the skies of Anbord. Jerry and Reginald, the kings of Noctisward and Ashenholt, respectively. They were kings but above all, they were Ethan's friends and family. They were the Ancestors of Chaos and Order.

Jerry Friel Silverbane, leader of Silverbane family. A mutant vampire Progenitor with De-Primogenitor powers. A very powerful man, among the first ten of Anbord. His long braided grey hair swayed lightly behind him. His sharp and cold mismatched red and silver eyes were now filled with a deep burning and excitement. Two short yet sharp horns jutted from his forehead while a long, thin black scaly tail swayed behind him. His pale skin was a sharp contrast to the black turtleneck he wore and the black trousers and boots. As ironic as it sounded, Jerry was the leader of a family who worked in the shadows. They could be said to be the Crown's Shadow, moving in the background but his power was not even related to shadows in anyway. Not like it mattered much. If there was one person among the Ancestors who had a good understanding of their power, then it was Jerry.

He thrived in chaos, and he couldn't be happier.

Unlike his best friend, Reginald was much calmer and collected. His wine-colored ponytailed hair had gained a slight golden hue. His blue lupine eyes glowed slightly as his three four fox tails swayed mesmerizingly behind him. He wore a brown coat, black trousers and brown boots. giving him a rugged yet calm look. He was Reginald Ignifax, king of Ashenholt. He was an Inferno fox from the Youkai race, only second in authority to Archibold Verna, the silver fox and leader of the Verna family. In simpler terms, he was ranked third among all Youkais with their Queen, Clara Kitsune being the first, Archibold second, him third, Hailey Verna fourth and the Crown Prince, Regnare fifth. So, he was pretty powerful.

He was also the Ancestor of Order, the opposite of Chaos.

Now they were tasked with one thing by Ethan, protection. Their job was pretty simple yet delicate. They had to protect the whole Empire of Anbord be it towns, cities etc. They had to protect them all. They didn't know what would come next. The recent attacks had taken them by surprise, which was very unnerving and dangerous. This meant that the attacker was at least at the level of Trevor and probably stronger than Ethan, as laughable as it sounded. This was the reality of the matter.

There was also the matter of Leon's aura and presence in one of the attacks, which made more confusing! It was like they were dealing with two opponents who were known yet unknown, and it was very true. The more confusing part was that they both used Ice magic.

"I wonder, will you also finally breakthrough? You are already there..." Reginald said as he looked at Jerry in the eyes.

"Maybe," Jerry as always, gave a short answer.

"Maybe isn't yes or no, you know?" Reginald said with a faint chuckle, causing Jerry to smile wryly.

"I know right? Honestly, I don't know. It's been so long since I had a good fight. But with these two attacks, I'm sure this won't be the end of them," Jerry said.

"Well, there are more kingdoms scattered around than we know. There are only three known empires, the Dragon Empire, Demon Empire and Anbord. So, of course, we will be facing a whole lot of enemies we know nothing of," Reginald stated matter-of-factly.

"What is the requirement for a setting to become an empire, because I feel like the second attack was more of a challenge than the one related to Leon?" Jerry asked, his expression breaking slightly.

"From what I know, a minimum of a Saint Realm being is needed to form an Empire," Reginald answered with a faint chuckle.

"Then, isn't Anbord more than qualified?"

"And that is also what most do not understand. I don't know the deal with Leon, but the second attacker is surely from a kingdom we know nothing about."

As they conversed, a loud roar disrupted their conversation. Turning towards the direction of the voice, they saw a huge silver scaled beast, a wyvern flying toward them. It was very massive and intimidating but not to the two.

"Zephyrlis," Jerry called out as the wyvern stopped in front of him. Its silver eyes glinted sharply like a blade. "What did you find?" Jerry proceeded to ask but in the next moment, his expression changed, causing the atmosphere to plummet.

"Lamair was right. There are no survivors!" He stated, his voice laced with such killing intent that the wyvern shivered although it was bound to him. He was its master after all.

"Not even one?" Reginald asked, grasping for a faint sign of hope but it was extinguished brutally.

"Not even a fly survived," Jerry stated and turned to him.

"It seems we expected too much," Reginald said, his voice calm but edged with disappointment. His wine-colored hair loosened from its ponytail and began to drift upward as if caught in unseen currents, each strand glowing with a sacred brilliance. The radiance deepened, transforming into flowing strands of pure energy until his head seemed crowned by a mercy-styled halo of living fire, hovering above him like the eternal mark of Order. His vulpine heritage stirred within him—four ghostly tails unfurled behind him, translucent yet burning with flickering tongues of flame. The air around him shimmered, heavy with the authority of a fox youkai whose fire was not mere destruction, but law, balance, and judgment.

"Indeed," Jerry replied, his tone carrying the faint, amused drawl of one accustomed to ruin. His ash-grey hair also took on a life of its own, unraveling into streams of chaotic energy, but where Reginald's gleamed with radiant harmony, his surged with a raw, turbulent pulse. His turtleneck shirt disintegrated in wisps of smoke, exposing a chest and arms carved with wiry precision—thin yet deceptively powerful, a body honed for endurance and savagery. Across his forearms, wrists, and hands, tattooed bands shaped like broken bracelets ignited, each one glowing with an unsteady fusion of crimson and silver. The markings pulsed like veins of liquid moonlight spilling into blood. A whisper of wind coiled about him, violent and untamed, sharp enough to flay stone, while beneath it the faint scent of iron bloomed, heralding his vampiric nature.

Together, Order and Chaos raised their hands skyward.

Reginald's flame rose in quiet pillars, his magic weaving arcs of structured fire that bent reality into geometric patterns, each line reinforced with threads of Spirit Magic drawn from his fox soul. Every spark was measured, deliberate, a law written in light.

Jerry's wind howled in answer, bursting outward with no regard for symmetry, tearing at the edges of creation itself. His gales carried hints of blood's vitality, reckless and wild, raw life feeding raw destruction. Where Reginald's fire traced circles, Jerry's storms shredded them into spirals, yet the clash did not break—they intertwined.

The sky over Anbord split in two: half illuminated by the golden blaze of Order, half writhing with crimson-silver storms of Chaos. And from this contradiction, a barrier was born.

It was neither wall nor dome, but something greater: a living mantle draped across the entire empire. Its skin shimmered like glass yet pulsed like flesh, etched with runes that shifted between fiery constellations and howling glyphs of storm. Villages, cities, forests, mountains—all fell beneath its protective fold.

From afar, it looked as if Anbord had been sealed within a colossal sphere of fire and tempest, a sanctuary and a prison both, depending on the eyes that beheld it.

The exertion was immense. Even Reginald's steady flame guttered at the edges, and Jerry's laughter—ragged, feral, yet resolute—echoed through the heavens.