Ex rank talent Awakening: 100% Dodge rate

The fifty friends continued their adventure, this time unbound by the fear of death. Unlike their previous voyage—where death lurked with every misstep—now they moved freely, no longer shackled by mortality. With eternal life granted by their absolute concepts, they became bolder, more expressive, and more curious than ever. The atmosphere among them was lighter, more joyful, and filled with reckless laughter that once would have been silenced by caution.

This time, however, there was a rule—an unspoken agreement that no outsiders would be allowed to join their group. The mistakes of the past had taught them well. They carried a secret now, something known only among themselves. It was sacred, unbreakable, and dangerous if revealed. Their bond had matured into something deeper than friendship—an alliance forged by eternity, held together by purpose, and haunted by truths the world could never understand.

As they continued their voyage, they trained ceaselessly. The mastery of their absolute concepts became both art and obsession. Each friend had a unique affinity—whether it was over time, space, logic, emotions, creation, or decay—and with endless time at their disposal, they honed their powers to terrifying precision.

Decades slipped by like days. A century passed. Then two. And still, they journeyed together, bound by a shared past and the promise they had made.

By the two-hundredth year, cracks began to form. Not out of hatred or betrayal—but the inevitability of growth and divergence. Some friends began to walk different paths, focusing on their individual goals. They laid the foundations for what would later become the "hidden families," passing on traces of their abilities to select descendants and forming legacies that would stretch across eras.

Though they drifted apart, they never truly severed ties. Occasionally, they would meet again—sometimes in secret, sometimes in shadow—and recall the golden days of adventure. But time, as always, changed them. By the third century, each of them had become something more—and something less—than human. They were now beings of principle and power, shadows that pulled strings from behind the curtains of history.

They began erasing all records of their existence. History books were subtly rewritten, eyewitnesses silenced, and evidence destroyed. To the world, they had never existed. They became myths, phantoms, whispered names in forbidden libraries.

By the five-hundred-year mark, a terrible transformation had taken place. Their emotions—once the glue that bound them—began to fade. Joy no longer felt as sweet. Sorrow no longer ached. Love became memory. Hatred turned to cold calculation. They still remembered who they were, but the colors of their humanity had dimmed into grayscale.

Time became meaningless. Eventually, a million years passed.

By then, they had become legends unto themselves—immortal architects watching the world evolve like gardeners tending to a planet-sized bonsai tree. Their absolute concepts had been polished to perfection, but even perfection has limits. A wall stood before them, a silent declaration that they could go no further.

Some accepted it, deciding it was time to let go. Others could not bear to be contained. The hunger to evolve—an addiction born from limitless time—drove them mad.

Thus, came the First Hidden Family War. The world simply called it the World War, never knowing the truth that lay beneath its surface. The reason for the conflict was kept hidden from mortals, buried under layers of misdirection. But within the hidden families, the truth burned like wildfire: they had turned on each other in a desperate search for transcendence.

Ten of the fifty were slain—beings who had once called each other brother, sister, friend.

The pain of the war lingered far longer than the battles themselves. And when the dust settled, it was Daniel—the one with the concept of balance—who took up the role of mediator. It was through his strength and sorrow that peace was forged once more.

But history has a way of repeating itself.

Years later, a new legend emerged. A child, trapped within a time sphere—an anomaly untouched by the flow of eras. He was said to be the key to a higher truth, one that might shatter the wall that held them back.

The friends argued. Some believed the child was a gift—a sacrifice meant to be used for their ascension. Others, even with dulled hearts, could not stomach such betrayal. A line was drawn, and another war ignited.

The Second World War to the mortals. The Second Hidden Family War to those who knew.

This time, the conflict was even bloodier. Fifteen died, including Hephaestus and Pythagoras—giants among gods, felled by those they once laughed with.

When the war finally ended, it wasn't due to victory, but exhaustion.

The remaining twenty-four made a decision—one final act of unity. They would put themselves into eternal sleep, sealed beneath the foundations of the world. Only when the legend—the child in the time sphere—was released, would they awaken again.

Their hidden families would wait. Watch. Guard.

Until now.

---

***

"Why are you telling me all this?" Greg asked, his voice tight, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sabbah's words had become a storm in his mind—each sentence a lightning bolt shattering what he believed to be reality.

"Because you are that child," Sabbah said. "The legend. The true ruler of all entities."

Greg's mouth opened, but no sound came out. His thoughts spiraled. He wanted to laugh, scream, deny it all—but his body wouldn't let him.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" he finally managed to choke out. His voice trembled, not with fear, but with disbelief. "My parents are humans—the Austins. You've got the wrong person."

"You're right. They are human. But they're not your birth parents," Sabbah replied, calm but serious. "They raised you, protected you, loved you—but you were never theirs by blood."

Greg flinched.

"Your parents were once elite members of a special operations unit," Sabbah continued. "Cold-blooded missions, black-ops work, the kind of people who don't exist on paper. After one particular incident, they vanished from the military record and reemerged as civilians."

Greg shook his head. "That's impossible."

"Listen closely," Sabbah said. "They were sent on a suicide mission. A setup. Their commander used them as bait to draw out a terrorist air fleet. A lone jet against several enemies. They thought reinforcements would come. They didn't. The country betrayed them—left them to die."

Greg clenched his fists.

"They fought valiantly. They ejected after their jet was struck, falling into the sea with nothing but their instincts and each other. And as they sank, drowning, unconscious... fate intervened."

"They washed ashore?"

"Yes. On an island that shouldn't exist. A place formed by the remnants of the meteor—the one that started it all."

Greg froze.

"They wandered it for weeks. No strange fruits. No monsters. Just ordinary nature. Until they found you—lying alone on a bed of roses inside a cave. Crying. Alive. Waiting."

Sabbah's voice lowered. "You were the only thing on that island that didn't make sense."

Greg's eyes flickered, his mind screaming for this to be a lie. But something in him, something buried deep beneath years of normalcy, began to stir.

"They stayed for over a year. Grew attached. Loved you. When they finally called for help, they took you with them. They forged documents. Threatened the military brass. Disappeared into civilian life with enough compensation to live freely."

"And Annabelle?" Greg asked in a whisper.

"Born a few years later. Your sister in every way that matters. But only she carries their blood."