September 12th, 2000

The hum of the private jet had become little more than white noise, a steady, rhythmic thrum that blended into the background of their journey. Leo, who seemed fine, barely noticed it anymore. His focus was on the notebook in his lap, where his pencil danced across the page, sketching intricate diagrams of the jet’s engine. Every line, every note, was a testament to his obsession with understanding the mechanics of flight. He’d devoured every tech manual he could get his hands on, and it showed in the precision of his drawings.

"Almost there, sweet pea," Victoire murmured, her voice barely audible over the cabin’s low rumble.

Leo nodded absently, his pencil never pausing as he added another annotation to his diagram. “So many variables,” he mused, “but the core mechanism is elegantly simple.”

Across the aisle, Cross grunted, his eyes glued to a news broadcast about recent legislative changes in the Netherlands. His scowl deepened as he watched the screen. "Can you believe this?" he muttered, shaking his head. "Same-sex marriage, divorce, adoptions... It's all gone to hell."

Victoire stiffened, her fingers tightening around the armrest. "It's about time," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut through the cabin’s hum. "Equality is long overdue. People deserve to build families with the ones they love, no matter who that is."

Cross leaned forward, his scowl turning into a sneer. "Equality?" he scoffed. "This isn't about equality; it's about tearing down tradition. It's a slippery slope, Doc. Next thing you know, they'll be trying to legalize it back home." He took a slow sip of his coffee, his expression grim. "Hope I'm dead before I see the day they pass that garbage in the States."

Victoire’s eyes narrowed, her gaze icy. "Don't be a bigot, Cross. Love is love. You can't put a damn legalistic cage around it."

"It's not bigotry," Cross shot back, his tone defensive. "It's common sense. It's just... wrong."

Leo looked up from his notebook, his brow furrowing in confusion. He glanced at Victoire, then at Cross, then back to his drawing. He didn’t understand. Why were they so upset about who loved whom? It seemed so... simple. A person loved another person. That was all.

“Is 'love' a law now?” he asked, his voice filled with the innocent curiosity of a child. “Does it have to be legalized?”

Victoire’s anger softened instantly as she looked at him. She reached over and gently took his hand, her grip warm and reassuring.

"No, sweet pea. Love has always been there. This is just a country finally deciding that everyone's love matters enough to be protected by law." She shot one last, cold glare at Cross. "It's about making a statement that every family, in every form, is valid."

Cross let out a low growl but kept quiet, his gaze fixed on the endless sky outside the window. He was a man with strong beliefs, and this was one boundary he wouldn't cross, not even for Victoire's anger. But in the silence that followed, only the soft hum of the jet and the quiet rustle of Leo's notebook remained. Sometimes, the biggest battles are fought not with guns, but with deeply held beliefs and a deafening silence.

Stepping off the plane, Leo found himself in Sparta, but it was nothing like the ancient city he'd devoured in books. No warriors in training, no glint of spears—just the hum of traffic, the chatter of regular folks, and buildings that stretched toward the sky. The disciplined, battle-ready society he'd envisioned was a far cry from the modern reality. Every detail highlighted how history had morphed into something entirely new, and, to him, a bit less sensible.

Sparta is not what the books described, Leo thought, his brow furrowed in concentration as he absorbed the modern landscape. Where are the warriors? The disciplined citizens? It seems… less efficient.

He glanced at Cross and Victoire, a silent question in his eyes.

"It’s a long time ago, sweet pea," Victoire said softly, almost reading his mind. "Things change. Cities grow and adapt."

"But the core principles… they should remain," Leo said, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Efficiency. Discipline. They were the foundation."

Cross clapped a hand on Leo’s shoulder. "Sometimes, kid, principles adapt too. Or they just get buried under a pile of concrete and bad traffic." He gestured to a bustling street outside. "Still, there’s a kind of discipline here. Just a different kind."

The taxi pulled up to an imposing, marble-clad building—the Gerousia. It stood on a hill overlooking the city, an ancient-looking structure with modern security. The air around it felt heavy, almost oppressive.

"Alright, Leo," Victoire said, her voice dropping to a serious tone. "Remember what we talked about. This is just a check-up. Be polite, answer their questions, and let me do most of the talking, okay?"

Leo nodded, his face unreadable. “I understand. I will adhere to the parameters of the evaluation.”

Cross gave him a reassuring nod. "That’s our boy. Just be yourself, kid. The rest is on us." He gave Victoire a quick, almost imperceptible squeeze of her hand. This is it, he thought, the grand deception.

The Gerousia chamber inside was even more serious than Cross had imagined. High ceilings, dark wood, and a long, shiny table held several cloaked figures, their faces in shadow and hard to read. The air was cool and still, with only the faint scratch of a pen breaking the silence.

"Welcome, Headmaster Cross," a deep voice resonated from the head of the table. "And you, Doctor Victoire. And this… is the child, Leo."

Leo just stood there, super still, between Cross and Victoire. He was checking out the room, taking in every little thing with his really sharp focus. He didn't make a sound, didn't fidget, just stayed quiet and almost like a robot.

"Indeed," Cross replied, his voice even. "This is Leo. We’ve been working on his integration into the Fraternity."

"We are aware of the… unique circumstances surrounding his arrival," another voice, colder and sharper, cut in. "And the rather… unconventional nature of his development. We understand he has certain… peculiarities."

Victoire stepped forward a bit, a friendly, professional smile on her face. "Leo is an exceptionally gifted child, sir. His cognitive abilities are off the charts. He simply processes the world in a more… literal fashion."

Just on cue, Leo looked at the speaker and pointed a precise finger. “You have a stain on your robe. Approximately two inches from the hem, on the left side.”

The cloaked figures felt a bit uneasy. The man cleared his throat, trying to subtly move and maybe feeling a little embarrassed.

"As you can see," Victoire quickly chimed in, gently pulling Leo’s hand down. "his observational skills are unparalleled. However, his social cues, his understanding of… nuance… are still developing."

Cross nodded gravely. "He’s learning. But it’s a slow process. He needs guidance, structure. He needs to be taught how to interpret the complexities of human interaction." He exchanged a quick, meaningful glance with Victoire. Lean into it. Make it his weakness.

"His remarkable memory and analytical capabilities are well-documented," the deep voice stated, tapping a file. "However, his emotional regulation presents a concern. While Leo, at two months old, exhibits growth comparable to a three-to-five-year-old, his autism could be a liability due to the potential for overloads."

Victoire nodded, her voice firm. "Indeed. His diagnosis is specifically Asperger's Syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism. While it presents unique challenges in social comprehension and emotional expression, his intelligence and capacity for learning are extraordinary. In my professional opinion, with the right guidance and therapeutic interventions—which he has been receiving diligently—he is more than capable of functioning, dare I say, even thriving, within typical parameters. His 'peculiarities' are becoming strengths."

A cloaked figure at the far end of the table scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive. "'Professional opinion,' Doctor? Or biased attachment? You have spent considerable time with this… subject. Your objectivity is clearly compromised."

"Look here, bitch—" Victoire started to speak up, but Cross quickly clapped a hand over her mouth.

Cross quickly whispered something urgent in her ear. "Careful, Doc. I know I'm usually the one losing it, but you gotta pick your battles. This isn't the place."

Victoire flinched, then angrily slapped his hand away. She took a deep, shaky breath, her eyes still narrowed in fury, but she bit back whatever sharp retort was on her tongue.

"Her outburst is proof that the doctor’s words cannot be fully trusted," the cloaked figure sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "And this boy… he clearly knows too much. We should have the child killed immediately."

Cross stepped forward, placing himself directly in front of Leo and Victoire. Victoire pulled Leo close, her arms a shield around him, and Cross’s stance—shoulders squared, jaw set—showed he was ready to fight.

The leader of the Gerousia, the deep voice from the head of the table, observed Cross for a long moment. "I see nothing in this child that prohibits him from combat or taking orders," he finally stated, his voice resonating through the chamber. "He displays no deformities. I will allow him to stay."

A wave of relief washed over Cross and Victoire, their tense shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly. The other cloaked figures remained silent, their disapproval palpable but unvoiced.

"However," the leader continued, "he will still need a DNA test. If he possesses a creed lineage, that would be an even greater asset."

Cross’s relief was short-lived, replaced by a fresh wave of anxiety. The DNA test was the one thing he couldn’t risk.

Two quiet figures, cloaked and unreadable, approached Leo. One held a long, sterile swab, extending it toward his mouth. Leo, seemingly unfazed, opened his mouth without protest, allowing the cold cotton to brush against his inner cheek. The figures then retreated, disappearing into a back room, the soft click of the door echoing in the tense silence.

Minutes felt like forever. Victoire paced, glued to the closed door, a million worries buzzing in her head. What will they find? she wondered, her heart pounding. What dark secrets are hidden in his genes?

Cross, picking up on her growing anxiety, tried to lighten the mood with a bit of dark humor. "Chill out, Doc. We're probably just gonna find out he's got four dads and a time-traveling, uh, slutty mom."

Victoire whipped her head around, punching his arm. "Cross!" she hissed, but a little giggle slipped out, quickly stifled. Even in their crazy situation, his goofy humor somehow managed to break through her worry, if only for a second.

So, Dr. Mikael and Claudia were just hanging out in the lab, chatting away, with the machines doing their quiet thing in the background.

"So, what do you think about Van Gaal’s debut?" Claudia asked, her gaze fixed on the monitor displaying various genetic sequences, none of them Leo’s. "A draw against Ireland, and two PSV players making their debut. Not exactly a triumphant start, but not a disaster either."

Dr. Mikael, a guy who loved soccer as much as he loved genetics, flashed a faint smile as he leaned back in his chair. "Ah, Claudia, patience is a virtue in both football and science. Van Gaal is a master strategist. He’ll integrate Bruggink and Bouma, and the team will find its rhythm. It’s a process, just like unwinding the complexities of the human genome." He gestured to the humming diagnostic machine. "Speaking of which, Leo’s results should be printed any moment now."

So, the little green light on the machine blinked, and a whirring sound meant the DNA test was done. A sheet of paper slowly came out of the printer. Dr. Mikael got up, still super calm, and walked over to grab the results.

He quickly scanned the genetic data on the paper. His relaxed posture suddenly stiffened, shoulders slumping a bit. The faint smile vanished, replaced by deep shock, then cold dread. The hand that had loosely held the paper tightened, creasing the edge.

"Dr. Mikael?" Claudia’s voice was hesitant, laced with growing worry as she watched his reaction. "What’s wrong?"

He just stared at the printout, as if it held some awful secret. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Then, in a hushed, disbelieving voice full of dread, he just said one name.

"Thutmose III…"

Claudia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror. "He’s a match?"

Dr. Mikael finally looked up from the paper, his eyes, usually so bright and analytical, now wide with a mixture of terror and awe. He looked at Claudia, his voice low and urgent. The casual banter from a few moments ago was long gone.

"Claudia, call the Gerousia… They must know now."

The lead Gerousia's phone vibrated loudly on the table, a really annoying sound in the quiet room. He grabbed it, grunting a low "hello." His already serious face tightened even more with every word. His eyes widened, showing a quick flash of shock, then fear.

He hung up fast, the click way too loud in the suddenly silent room. He leaned forward, whispering to the cloaked figures, his voice a strained hiss. As his words sank in, the others freaked out, their collective gasp a soft, chilling sound.

Cross was sweating buckets, his stomach all twisted up. He didn't need anyone to tell him; the silence was screaming that everything had gone totally wrong. Victoire gripped his hand so hard his knuckles went white. "I'm strong for my age, but this place is surrounded by S-class. I'm not sure if I can win, even if I'm not protecting them at the same time." Cross prepared himself for anything.

The Head cleared his throat, his voice returning to its resonant boom. "Headmaster Cross, the child has passed. Train him well."

Cross’s brow furrowed, a knot of confusion tightening in his gut. "Passed? But… why do you all look like you’ve seen a ghost? What’s going on?"

The Head paused, shooting a quick, uncomfortable look at the other cloaked figures. "The test results were… peculiar. The father’s DNA was untraceable, an anomaly we’ve never encountered. We suspect a rare error in the sample, or perhaps the equipment." He paused, then continued, his voice tinged with an unnerving awe. "However, his maternal lineage… it points directly to Thutmose III."

A collective shudder ran through the room. Cross’s eyes widened. "Thutmose III? The Pharaoh? But… that’s impossible."

"And that’s not all," another cloaked figure chimed in, their voice a strained whisper. "Despite the untraceable paternal DNA, the Foxo3 gene was detected—a marker for extreme longevity, resilience, and enhanced cognitive function. It appears to be inherited from that unknown paternal line."

Cross stood frozen, the words echoing in his mind. Thutmose III. The very founder of their creed. It was beyond impossible, a twist of fate so profound it bordered on the divine. His mind reeled, trying to reconcile the smiling boy before him with the ancient lineage that now coursed through his veins.

Beside him, Victoire let out a joyful shout, her arms wrapping tightly around Leo. "You passed, sweet pea! You passed!"She cheered, spinning him around in a delighted hug. Leo, still a little lost, looked up at her, a small, curious smile playing on his lips. He didn't quite grasp the full weight of the news, only that Victoire was happy, and her happiness was infectious. He giggled, returning her hug with an innocent squeeze, completely unaware of the centuries of history that had just been unearthed within him.

This new information changed everything. The Head Gerousia's voice, now with a hint of respect, boomed through the chamber. "Due to Leo's undeniable lineage to Thutmose III, the very founder of our creed—a bloodline we believed lost for over three millennia—he is to be treated with the utmost respect and care. He is a living bridge to our origins, a symbol of our enduring legacy. His training will be of paramount importance, and his well-being, above all else, is our greatest priority."

Victoire turned to the Head, her joyful expression replaced by a look of incredulity. "That's a lot to put on a boy who's not even a year old! Hell, kids his age can't even talk or use the bathroom!"

The Head Gerousia stayed cool, keeping his eyes on them. "But he can, Doctor. And we are not demanding strictness yet, merely preparation. Get him ready."

The three of them finally left the imposing Gerousia building, still processing everything that had happened that day. After a quick taxi ride, they ended up in a plain hotel room, the quiet hum of the AC a stark change from all the earlier drama. Leo, totally wiped out from all the intense questioning, was already out cold on one of the beds, his little chest rising and falling peacefully.

Cross, pouring himself a glass of water, let out a low chuckle. "Can you believe our luck, Doc? That DNA machine couldn’t figure out who his dad was, but his mom was related to a damn pharaoh. Thutmose III. Insane." He shook his head, a bit of a smirk on his face.

Victoire, her own nerves still frayed, sat on the edge of the other bed. "Egyptian pharaohs often practiced extensive inbreeding to keep their bloodlines 'pure'," she explained, her voice still edged with the day’s stress. "However, they also had numerous concubines, which offered a wider genetic pool. It’s possible to have a healthy lineage branch out from such a system, but the chances are incredibly slim for someone to carry such a direct, untainted line after millennia."

Cross snorted, taking a long drink. "Right, so basically, they were as inbred as Kentucky fried chicken. At least in Sweet Home Alabama, they kiss their sisters and don’t get them pregnant."

Victoire really tried to hold it in, but a strangled squeak turned into a full-on, dying hyena laugh. The joke was so messed up and totally fucked up for the moment that she just involuntarily shuddered, looking like a human sprinkler system. She buried her face in her hands, partly in shock, partly totally wiped out, and probably a little because she thought her face might crack from trying not to burst out laughing.

“That was not funny, Cross!” she finally managed to choke out, tears of laughter streaming down her face. She swiped at her eyes, leaving a wet streak in her wake. “Seriously. Uncalled for. And so, so disgusting.”

Cross just smirked lazily, shrugging a shoulder as he finished his water. The glass hit the nightstand with a definitive thud. “Hey, you needed a laugh. Sometimes the most inappropriate jokes are the most effective.” He leaned back against the wall, his gaze shifting to the sleeping child. “But for real, Doc. This changes everything. Leo’s not just… the project anymore. He’s family. In the most literal, messed-up sense of the word.”

Victoire sobered instantly, her focus locked on the kid. Leo. The word alone felt heavy. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But it also paints an even bigger target on his back. The Gerousia might be respectful now, but how long until they try to control him? To weaponize his lineage?”

Cross walked over to the bed and gently pulled a blanket over Leo’s small body, tucking it in with practiced ease. “That’s where we come in. We train him. We teach him. And we protect him from anyone who tries to turn him into something he’s not.” His eyes met hers, grim and steady. “It’s not going to be easy, Victoire. But we’ll do it. For him.”

A weary but determined look settled over Victoire’s features as she gave a simple, firm nod. “For him.”

A quiet stillness enveloped the room, broken only by the soft hum of the AC and the gentle rhythm of Leo’s breathing. The sheer weight of their new responsibility—the ancient bloodline, the dangers lurking just beyond the door—pressed down on them both, heavy as a wool blanket on a summer night.

Suddenly, Leo stirred. His peaceful breaths turned into short, ragged gasps. His small body thrashed against the sheets, his face twisting into a silent scream. A thin film of sweat beaded on his forehead, and his eyes, still clamped shut, darted back and forth beneath his eyelids. He’s having a nightmare. A really bad one.

“Leo?” Victoire’s voice was a soft, frantic whisper as she rushed to his side. She gently touched his arm, her tone a mix of soothing calm and raw urgency. “Sweet pea, wake up. It’s okay, it’s just a dream.”

But he didn’t wake. His thrashing intensified, a low, tormented moan escaping his lips. He was trapped, consumed by a nightmare that seemed to have a physical hold on him. Cross was at her side in an instant, his hand resting protectively on Leo’s back.

“He’s really in it,” Cross murmured, his voice laced with concern. “What do you think he’s seeing?”

Victoire shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s terrifying him.” Without a second thought, she pulled him into her arms, cradling him against her chest, rocking him back and forth. “It’s okay, sweet pea. Mama’s here. You’re safe.”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his thrashing subsided. His breathing evened out, the tension draining from his small frame. He snuggled into her embrace, his small hand instinctively gripping her shirt like a lifeline.

Cross sat beside them, his presence a silent shield. He pulled the blanket over all three of them, forming a single, protective unit. Victoire leaned her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around them both, a silent promise of protection in the quiet hotel room.

As the AC hummed and the three of them drifted off, Leo’s dream finally faded. But what dark vision had gripped the mind of the child with the ancient lineage? What future had he seen that had shaken him to his core? A future where the lines of good and evil blurred, where love and tradition clashed with progress, and where his unique existence would either save or doom them all. The answer, for now, remained shrouded in the quiet, undisturbed darkness of his mind.