CHAPTER 215: CHAPTER 215: DINNER (1)

Ego blinked once. Then, against all odds, he laughed.

It wasn’t the cold, polite one like earlier, but it was a deep and startling laugh that filled the air like thunder before a summer storm. The sound cracked through the tension, made the chandeliers hum faintly, and left everyone in the room staring like they’d just witnessed an act of divine heresy.

Samael straightened, eyebrows lifting. Connor’s grin faltered, unsure if he should be amused or terrified. Even Victor turned slightly, eyes narrowing with the quiet disbelief of a man who hadn’t heard that sound in decades.

"You have teeth," Ego said at last, his voice warm but edged with authority. "Good. He needed someone who doesn’t flinch when he breathes." He gestured vaguely toward Victor without taking his eyes off Elias. "My son commands fear, not balance. Finally, someone reminds him he’s not infallible."

"I do that daily," Elias muttered before he could stop himself.

Ego smiled slow, sharp, and far too satisfied; Elias felt the creeps when he realized that Victor was Ego’s carbon copy. "Yes. I can see that."

Victor exhaled quietly. "Father."

Ego waved a hand, dismissive. "Relax, I’m not insulting him. I’m complimenting your taste. I was starting to think you’d never find someone capable of looking you in the eye."

Connor leaned toward Samael, whispering, "I give him ten minutes before Victor regrets coming here."

Samael smirked. "You’re generous."

Ego turned his gaze on them, and both men sat up straighter in perfect unison. "Dinner," he said, his tone deceptively pleasant. "Before someone bleeds on my marble."

—

The dining hall was everything Elias expected from the Numen: grand, immaculate, and designed by people who clearly believed moderation was a moral failing. The table stretched halfway to eternity, the dark wood gleaming under soft light. The air smelled faintly of polished stone, rain from the garden, and a rich and spiced human comfort laced with old dominance.

Ruo was already there, legs crossed, wine glass in hand, expression set to theatrical suffering. She looked up when Elias entered and smiled like she’d been waiting for him to share the misery. "Finally," she said, raising her glass. "Another victim."

"Ruo," Victor warned.

She tilted her head. "Brother."

Ego took his seat at the head of the table, every motion deliberate. "Sit," he ordered.

Victor’s hand brushed Elias’s back as they sat side by side. Across from them, Samael and Connor had already started arguing quietly about who would die first if Ego lost patience.

Ruo leaned closer to Elias. "If he offers you tea," she murmured, "say you’re allergic to water."

Elias arched a brow. "That bad?"

"Let’s just say his ’cleansing blends’ have sent people to therapy." She said with a mock expression of eternal suffering.

Ego cleared his throat softly, and the table fell silent. His gaze moved between Victor and Elias, curiosity replacing the earlier edge. "Tell me," he said, voice smooth, "how does it feel to live beside my son?"

Elias hesitated. "Like living with a thunderstorm," he said. "But one that sometimes makes coffee."

Samael nearly choked on his drink. Connor’s laugh was immediate and unrepentant. Even Ruo smiled into her glass, her black eyes glinting with satisfaction.

Ego’s eyes glimmered faintly, a spark of genuine amusement. "I like you," he said simply.

Victor didn’t hide his sigh this time. "Of course you do."

Ruo swirled her wine, her grin turning wicked. "So," she said, "do we tell him, or do you?"

Victor gave her a look sharp enough to cut through marble.

Elias frowned. "Tell him what?"

Ruo lifted her glass. "That you’re carrying the next Numen, obviously."

Silence.

Even the light seemed to still for a heartbeat.

Ego’s gaze flicked from his daughter to Victor, then to Elias, who sat frozen, somewhere between disbelief and mortification. He for once wanted to know how to use ether to teleport away from there.

After a long pause, Ego leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable at first. Then, faintly, he smiled. "So the legacy continues," he said softly. "And this time, maybe without war."

Ruo raised her glass. "A miracle."

Samael grinned. "Or an omen."

Connor muttered, "Either way, I’m pouring another drink."

Victor’s hand found Elias’s beneath the table and squeezed it. "He’s not an heir," he said. "He’s ours."

Something flickered across Ego’s face, possibly pride or the realization that his son had finally stopped attempting to be untouchable. "Then you both have my congratulations," he said, voice quieter now. "And my warning: a Numen child is never just mortal."

Ruo leaned toward Elias again. "Don’t worry," she whispered. "He means that in the most terrifyingly affectionate way possible."

Elias huffed out a laugh. "I’ll take it."

Victor leaned back in his chair, raising his hand to Elias’s back without shame. Elias didn’t have to look at him to know that he was up to no good now.

"Samael..." Victor drawled, far too entertained by his ideas. "You are the older one; shouldn’t you be the one providing this family with an heir first?"

Samael froze mid-sip, the stem of his glass caught delicately between his fingers. He lowered it slowly, very slowly, until it touched the table with a quiet click.

Ruo was the first to choke on her wine, laughter spilling before she could contain it. "Oh, this is going to be good."

Connor leaned forward, green eyes bright with unholy delight. "Careful, Victor. You’re about to start a bloodline war."

Samael’s dark gaze slid toward his younger brother, calm and sharp in equal measure. "You think you’re funny?"

Victor’s smile was faint, the kind that could be mistaken for civility if one didn’t know him well. "I think it’s interesting," he said lightly. "That you’ve spent forty years lecturing everyone on legacy, yet I’m the one who made it happen."

"Legacy," Samael repeated slowly, setting his napkin aside. Of course Victor had to destroy any ilusion of amusement for him. "You mean chaos wrapped in sentimentality?"