Genetic Ascension

Chapter 3 Turncoats

Sylas had been thinking about a great many things in the last day, and he felt that he had cobbled together some puzzle pieces.

For one, just to make it here, one had to have a certain status, or at the very least be willing to take such a risk.

A single flight hour for a pilot costed thousands. Even if you were near the estate, relatively speaking, you'd easily be five figures down the drain for this single trip—at best. No normal family could charter a plane on a whim like this.

That was just the first filter, though. The second filter, and arguably the more important one, was daring to come in the first place.

Objectively speaking, his grandfather's words were ridiculous.

An apocalyptic event? Only known by the truest elites of the world? Next thing the old man would be saying was that the Illuminati was real too.

However, even though it sounded ridiculous, there were countless methods of checking the veracity of the claim. Sylas' method was just one. If you knew what you were looking for, Sylas could think of at least half a dozen other viable methods.

There might be some among the families that came today who were just looking to come up in the world. Maybe they thought the Browns would provide them an opportunity to soar beyond their current station.

In Sylas' opinion, these people should be the minority. The rest were similar to himself, sharp-eyed and looking to satiate their curiosity.

The families were led into a large dining hall, each assigned to their own tables.

'Separated again,' Sylas noted.

It was subtle, but there seemed to be a conscious effort to make it difficult for these various small families to interact with one another and start asking questions.

Sylas didn't believe there was anything sinister about it, at least not yet. It was more likely to be a form of crowd control.

A full three-course meal was served and the dining hall was filled with sounds of quiet chatter.

Sylas' eyes landed on a few figures at the head tables, three in particular that he recognized instantly.

Lucius Brown, Malachi Brown, and Astrid Brown, two men and a woman, each unique in their own way. They all shared one long table, facing the dining room as though this was the Renaissance Era and they were Kings and Queens.

Oddly enough, they seemed to have no intention of addressing everyone. In a situation where everyone was meticulously following etiquette, this action, or inaction rather, stuck out like a sore thumb.

Dessert was served, a nice light and airy cheesecake drizzled with strawberry jam. It looked delicious, though Sylas didn't eat it. He tended to stay away from sugar. He found that his body was a bit too sensitive to it.

His little sister, though, happily stole away his piece. He really didn't know where this little munchkin found the room in that bite-sized body of hers.

Someone stood from their seat.

Sylas didn't need to look to know who it was. He had been focused on these people for the entire night. The moment his ears twitched, he knew it had to be Astrid.

Astrid was about the same age as Sylas' mother, and their looks were so similar that they could easily pass as sisters. They were two women in their mid-forties that looked to be in their early thirties instead. Their style of dress was simple and elegant, and their choice in jewelry was muted and not very bombastic.

Astrid wore a black gown that managed to not carry the gloominess one might expect. A pearl necklace graced her slender neck, and her hair carried quite a bit of volume, almost as though she had hosed it down with hairspray, and yet it didn't carry the expected stiffness as it loosely flowed to her shoulders.

She was beautiful, but her brows carried an undisguised authority.

There was a saying that most of the richest women in the world were widows or divorcees, but Astrid was neither, never having been married. She had every right to stand shoulder to shoulder with Lucius and Malachi. The two even seemed to defer to her somewhat.

'Not defer,' Sylas thought to himself. 'More like they are content to let her take the lead. They see one another as equals. What an interesting dynamic. What are they competing for that such a hierarchy is necessary?'

"I know you all have many questions, so I will speak once for all of you. Though these words sound arrogant, the family needs you all to understand that the current ways of the world cannot continue as presently constructed.

"In the future, we will not all be equals. What you have must be earned, and only what you've earned, can you use."

Astrid's gaze swept through the dining hall. She was setting the tone and her authority made it difficult for anyone to even think of refuting her.

"Earth has undergone six extinction-level events over the course of its history.

"The Ordovician Extinction. The Devonian Extinction. The Permian-Triassic Extinction. The Triassic-Jurassic Extinction. The Cretaceous-Paleogene Extinction. The Holocene Extinction."

Many frowned when they heard this.

They were all educated people. They had heard of these extinction events in passing, though not many had heard of them in so many words. But those that had felt odd that they were being grouped together like this.

The Holocene Extinction, for example, was an extinction event currently ongoing, caused at the hands of humans and their impact on Earth's wildlife.

Why mention these things?

"Your textbooks have told you that these extinction events were caused by various things. Volcanoes, ice ages, asteroids, countless horrible things.

"However, I am here to tell you today that this is all nonsense.

"Every one of these extinction events, even the so-called "ongoing" one, have all been caused by one single matter.

"The Summoned Ascension."

Astrid's expression became solemn.

"Many of you will choose to leave after tonight. I want to make it clear that the family will not stop you. We are not a charity, nor do we believe that those who carry our blood need such coddling.

"Once you step out of that door, there is no return. Whatever happens afterward will have nothing to do with us. We have no patience for turncoats."

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