Almost a year had passed, and by now, the fact that Kallen had failed to activate the Devour bloodline branch—or any branch at all—was old news.
No one knew exactly how the information had spread across Xenith, but then again, neither Kallen nor the Crimson family had ever intended to keep it a secret. In fact, Kallen had personally announced it during an assembly, much like the one held in the hall during his coming of age.
Speculation ran wild regarding the reason behind his failure to activate a branch.
Among the various clans, many dismissed him as too weak, a failure unworthy of his bloodline. Others; particularly the most prominent clans of the human domain, suspected there was something else at play. Of course, they lacked the full picture, as the Crimson family would never reveal such details.
The specifics of the bloodline activation ritual were known only to family members, including those who had married into the lineage, those who had been adopted, and those who had sworn allegiance through the Existential Compendium itself. Breaking such an oath would be the height of foolishness—no one in the universe would dare.
However, only those born of Crimson blood had truly witnessed the ritual firsthand. They had been there that midnight, in that underground hall, under the early dark morning sky, and what they saw defied understanding. Kallen's bloodline resonance, was something else entirely.
And that was why no one could explain how he didn't activate a branch bloodline. It was maddening.
The Saints, on the other hand, were drawing connections to the events surrounding Kallen's birth. After all, only they knew that this wasn't the first time Kallen had drained the bloodline pool.
The first time had been mere minutes after his birth. He had absorbed the pool's essence once before stopping; that time when Azarel had sealed his innate, destructive energy.
There was no clear reason why Kallen possessed such immense talent in everything he did. Then again, he wasn't the only anomaly. His generation had birthed quite some peculiar specimens amongst other races on Ares. Some were said to be even more anomalous than Kallen himself.
Infact, compared to them, Kallen was a side character as his name might not even be known beyond Xenith. And perhaps, the main reason he was even known was due to his position as Luiz's son. Those of other races were already making huge waves in their own domains.
Of course, the Saints knew that the theory of Kallen being unable to awaken naturally was false. That much was obvious. They could feel the immense pull on dynamis his body has.
And yet, even they didn't understand why he hadn't done so. They could only conclude that something was... or he, was holding himself back for whatever reasons, engaging himself in politics.
To them, all the political maneuverings and schemes of the various factions were as exposed as a bare butt under the sun. But it wasn't their place to interfere. Their responsibilities lay elsewhere, in realms beyond the scope of most.
After all, the network of Ares was vast—too vast to be concerned with minor disputes.
It was far... far large to compare.
From an elevated plateau within the Crimson Castle, one could gaze upon the entirety of the Crimson Estates and the sprawling Crimson City beyond—a metropolis of unparalleled, splendor. It was a sight that could steal one's breath, a 6-D city where the boundaries of space, time, and perception warped into something both magnificent and surreal.
Its skyline dotted with gravity-defying skyscrapers that shimmered with dynamis-infused alloys, shifting between transparency and opacity like sentient glass.
Towering structures, some extending beyond the atmospheric veil, housed quantum hubs, docking stations, and sky districts where entire floating ecosystems thrived. Streets pulsed with hover pods that weaved through hyperlanes, their movements dictated by a superb A.I.s that calculated trajectories with near-divine precision.
The city's very foundation resonated with dynisis currents, an energy web interwoven with the planet's ley lines, powering energy conduits that allowed instantaneous teleportation across vast distances. Advertising billboards, constructed from hard-light projections, shimmered mid-air, adapting their displays in real-time to match the emotional responses of passersby.
This was a level surpassing, nanotech, and even what was beyond. This was minthrotech—highly developed technology—a fusion of science and the mystics.
Yet, despite the overwhelming display of technological grandeur outside, the Crimson Castle itself stood in stark contrast. It was almost jarring how primitive it seemed in comparison.
But to call the Crimsons lacking was a mistake only the most ignorant would make.
Their choice of tradition. Unlike the rest of Ares, where the architecture fused Ancient Greek elegance with hyper-advanced engineering, the Crimsons had preserved a more archaic yet formidable aesthetic. Their castle bore the timeless strength of dynastone fortifications, layered with invisible runic barriers that pulsed with the will of their ancestors.
This wasn't to say they shunned technology altogether—far from it. The Crimson stronghold concealed its advancements beneath the surface. Quantum-sealed training rooms, gravity chambers, holographic combat simulations, and minthrotech-enhanced armories existed within its depths, ensuring their warriors remained at the pinnacle of evolution.
But outwardly, their home reflected the philosophy passed down through generations: The closer one is to nature, the closer they are to harmony... Right?
At least, that was what their ancestors believed. The newer generations simply followed the tradition.
On the plateau, Azarel lay sprawled across the grassy floor, arms folded behind his head, and eyes half-lidded against the golden haze of the sun.
The warm blue light of the sun kissed his skin, weaving him seamlessly into the rolling cyan grass that swayed in rhythm with the breeze. His long hair and beard stirred lazily with each passing gust.
A short distance away, Ariel sat in a lotus position. He sharpened a traditional silver sword with slow, practiced movements, the rhythmic grating of whetstone blending into the whisper of the wind.
In contrast to Azarel's unkempt appearance, he had the presence of a prim and refined scholar.
Kallen, seated a short distance from them, wrestled with his thoughts, his face carrying a rare moment of contemplation. His fingers idly traced patterns in the grass as he debated on how best to phrase his reasoning.
'If I tell them I'm holding back my awakening because of the potential outcome of this training, it'll sound vague, but it's my best bet... I think.'
He lifted his gaze, studying the two men. They looked absorbed in their own worlds; one basking in the sunlight, the other refining his blade with meticulous care. A peaceful scene, as if they hadn't a single concern. It reminded him of Lyra and her strange fondness for doing everything outside, under the open sky, as close to nature as she could be.
But Kallen knew better.
Despite their relaxed postures, they were paying very close attention to him.
A short while ago, Atticus, Elyon, and Eliot had left after an extensive teaching from both men. He, however, had been held back. The timing was too precise to be a coincidence.
It was all too convenient. Atticus and the others would likely assume it had something to do with his inability to awaken a branch bloodline. And while they weren't entirely wrong, the truth was far more complex than they could ever imagine.