Ancestral Lineage-Chapter 297: Made For You

Christel shuffled lazily through the quiet hallway of their mansion, her expression unreadable beneath the veil of sleep still clinging to her features. Her short red hair stuck out in wild angles, a chaotic crown that matched the oversized, wrinkled pajamas draped over her frame. Clearly, she'd only just tumbled out of bed.

As she yawned and stretched, her bare feet padded softly against the polished floor until she reached the living room — a wide, sunlit space basking in the golden spill of morning light.

There, on the couch, sat Ethan.

Or rather, lounged.

Half-dressed in just a pair of dark tracksuit bottoms, his well-toned torso bare to the warm light, Ethan's focus was fixed entirely on the sleek device in his hand. A soft blue knit cap rested over his hair, hiding the usual untamable strands, while a familiar pair of circular-rimmed glasses perched delicately on his nose — the same kind he wore back when he was younger, back when he still needed to squint at text and data pads.

His golden eyes gleamed behind the lenses, catching the light in a way that made her breath hitch for a moment.

'How can someone be so devastatingly handsome and ridiculously cute at the same time?' Christel mused, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

Moving quietly, like a hunter drawn by instinct, she crept closer — not to startle him, but to simply admire the view a little longer before announcing her presence.

Christel crouched low as she tiptoed across the living room floor, her pajama sleeves flopping comically as she inched forward like a mischievous cat.

Ethan didn't lift his eyes from his device. "You do know I can see your reflection in the glass, right?"

She froze mid-step, then groaned loudly as she stood upright. "Ugh! You ruin all my fun."

He chuckled softly, finally looking up — and just like that, her heart did that annoying little skip it always did when he looked at her like that. "You call that sneaking? You were dragging your feet like a lazy spirit."

"It's called being fashionably tired," Christel countered, flopping down beside him on the couch and dramatically draping her legs across his lap.

Ethan raised a brow, resting his hand absentmindedly on her knee. "You look like you wrestled with a pillow and lost."

She narrowed her eyes. "Bold talk for someone who looks like a sci-fi librarian version of a thirst trap."

He laughed — low and warm — and leaned back, letting his arm settle behind her on the couch. "That sounds suspiciously like a compliment."

Christel smirked. "Take it however your golden ego wants."

There was a pause, a quiet, lazy kind of silence filled with the soft hum of the mansion's systems and the occasional chirp from outside.

Ethan turned his head slightly, eyes softening behind the lenses. "Sleep okay?"

She nodded. "Weird dream. Nothing serious."

His thumb traced absent circles on her leg. "You sure?"

"Mm-hmm." She leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin — a mix of morning warmth, faint ozone, and something uniquely Ethan. "I like mornings like this."

He tilted his head against hers. "Me too."

A moment passed.

"…Even if you sneak around like a half-dead burglar," he added.

Christel grinned. "Shut up and let me enjoy your six-pack in peace."

Ethan chuckled again, the sound reverberating through her comfortably.

Christel crouched low as she tiptoed across the living room floor, her pajama sleeves flopping comically as she inched forward like a mischievous cat.

Ethan didn't lift his eyes from his device. "You do know I can see your reflection in the glass, right?"

She froze mid-step, then groaned loudly as she stood upright. "Ugh! You ruin all my fun."

He chuckled softly, finally looking up — and just like that, her heart did that annoying little skip it always did when he looked at her like that. "You call that sneaking? You were dragging your feet like a lazy spirit."

"It's called being fashionably tired," Christel countered, flopping down beside him on the couch and dramatically draping her legs across his lap.

Ethan raised a brow, resting his hand absentmindedly on her knee. "You look like you wrestled with a pillow and lost."

She narrowed her eyes. "Bold talk for someone who looks like a sci-fi librarian version of a thirst trap."

He laughed — low and warm — and leaned back, letting his arm settle behind her on the couch. "That sounds suspiciously like a compliment."

Christel smirked. "Take it however your golden ego wants."

There was a pause, a quiet, lazy kind of silence filled with the soft hum of the mansion's systems and the occasional chirp from outside.

Ethan turned his head slightly, eyes softening behind the lenses. "Sleep okay?"

She nodded. "Weird dream. Nothing serious."

His thumb traced absent circles on her leg. "You sure?"

"Mm-hmm." She leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin — a mix of morning warmth, faint ozone, and something uniquely Ethan. "I like mornings like this."

He tilted his head against hers. "Me too."

A moment passed.

"…Even if you sneak around like a half-dead burglar," he added.

Christel grinned. "Shut up and let me enjoy your six-pack in peace."

Ethan chuckled again, the sound reverberating through her comfortably.

The laughter faded, replaced by a mellow quiet. Christel remained curled up beside him, her fingers lightly tracing the lines of a scar on his torso — one of many reminders of battles fought long before her time in his life.

She didn't speak for a moment. Then, softly, "You ever wish things had been different?"

Ethan blinked, slowly lowering his device to his lap. "What do you mean?"

"I mean before… all this. Before Anbord. Before the wars. The throne. The bloodlines and prophecies and ancient curses," she said, voice low but steady. "Before you became... well, you."

He didn't answer right away. His golden eyes drifted upward toward the ceiling — though he wasn't really looking at it.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "Sometimes I think about what life would've been like if I'd just been a nobody. Just Ethan. A mechanic, maybe. Or a researcher. Somewhere quiet. No burden. No lineage. No monsters."

Christel's voice was almost a whisper. "Would you have wanted that more?"

His gaze flicked down to her, and a quiet smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

"I wouldn't have met you in that life," he murmured.

She smiled too, though there was a wetness in her eyes she tried to blink away. "Smooth."

"I'm serious," he said, brushing a strand of her messy red hair behind her ear. "In that life, maybe things would've been simpler. Easier. But this one… It's messy, yeah. Violent, terrifying at times. But it gave me you. Gave me Lisa. Gave me Delphina. Gave me all of you. Gave me reasons to keep going."

Christel exhaled slowly, resting her hand against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat — steady and strong. "Do you ever get tired? Of carrying it all?"

"All the time," he said quietly. "But that's the thing about carrying weight. You don't stop because it's heavy. You stop when someone reminds you that you're not carrying it alone."

A silence passed. The kind that didn't need to be filled.

Then she said, "I'm glad it's you. And I'm glad it's me beside you."

Ethan pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Me too."

Christel rested her head against Ethan's shoulder, his warmth soaking into her skin. The soft hum of the mansion's temperature regulators was the only sound, wrapping them in an oddly calming stillness. Her fingers absently brushed against his abdomen again, tracing the faint ridges of old wounds now smooth with time and healing.

"I used to think I wasn't built for this," she murmured, her breath warming his skin. "For loving someone like you."

Ethan tilted his head, looking at her fully now, his brow furrowed in a quiet vulnerability. "Why?"

She hesitated. "Because you burn so brightly. Because the world moves when you do. And I thought… I'd be swallowed whole just trying to keep up."

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies aligned like the edges of a puzzle piece. "You're the one person I never had to fight to keep up with. You move beside me, Christel—not behind."

Her breath hitched, eyes glistening. "Then why do I still feel so lucky?"

He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips across her forehead. "Because we both are."

Her hands slid up his bare chest, palms flat against his heartbeat, anchoring herself to his presence. When he kissed her next, it wasn't rushed or desperate—it was slow, tender, and reverent. A kiss that spoke of nights they'd endured apart, and of the mornings they'd silently hoped would come.

Christel melted into him, arms around his neck, their lips meeting again and again—each time a little longer, a little deeper. The fabric of her oversized pajamas bunched under his fingers as he held her against him, the warmth between them growing. Not from lust, but from love—the kind that softened jagged edges and made even the strongest warriors feel safe.

They didn't need to say much more. Their movements were quiet—gentle brushes of skin, fingers lacing together, quiet sighs against necks and shoulders. He laid her down gently on the couch beside him, one arm under her head, the other wrapped around her back.

He pulled the soft throw blanket over them both, their legs tangled together beneath it.

"You still think you're not built for this?" he asked, voice husky and low.

She smiled sleepily, her lips brushing against his jaw. "I think I was made for it. For you."

Ethan kissed her again, and they lay there in the hush of the morning light, two souls forged in chaos, finding peace only in each other.