5. Hierarchy

The moment Anora heard the word, her composure crumbled, and fury took over. She stared at David, her voice trembling but resolute.

"David, have you completely lost your fuc##ing mind? Do you even realize what you're saying? Think—just think damn it —before you speak such reckless words! These words aren't harmless; they're fu##king dangerous, David. Words like that could cost someone their life, and you know it.

David did not interrupt her outburst; instead, he keep listening without any change in his expression.

"You need to listen to me, and for once, take me seriously. I know Kevin is a very valuable person to you. He's like the brother you never had. I understand that, and I'm not questioning his character, not even for a moment. But what if—just what if—he's not who you think he is? What if you're wrong? If you slip up even slightly, you won't just face death. No one will remember your name, your family—your existence. You'll be erased along with every family member you know, David. Do you understand that?"

Her voice wavered with emotion, yet she moved closer, her eyes fierce with determination.

"I care about you too much to let you throw everything away. Stop letting your emotions cloud your judgment. Think about what's at stake before it's too late."

David understood the truth far too well—an understanding inscribed into his very being through years of observation and knowledge passed down from his family. Unlike ordinary humans, who lived blissfully unaware, cloaked in the comfortable illusion that their chosen government wielded absolute power, he knew this belief was a mirage. The Keepers families—keepers of true power—had ensured it was designed to appear that way.

To the masses, these families were nothing more than multinational corporations, cooperating with governments, abiding by their laws, and championing progress to provide better employment and a brighter future.

But in reality, these families operated as the unseen rulers, their influence stretching far beyond public insight.

Under normal circumstances, these families avoided interfering with governmental operations, instead offering their support to make countries stronger and more advanced. But when the laws proposed by governments threatened their interests or questioned their dominance over their territories, the families did not hesitate. Blood always flowed, and for the last six hundred years, it was always the governments that had paid the price. Governments clung to Level 1 humans and their technology, which can be called rudimentary at best compared to the technology used by the keepers, as their last line of defense, but it was a losing game.

David reflected on the delicate balance that had endured for centuries, though he knew the truth of it. Keeper families didn't refrain from overthrowing governments out of lack of power. Quite the opposite—families across all nations could win any war against the government, regardless of the battlefield. They refrained because governments served a useful purpose. 

Within each family, a carefully structured hierarchy governed its members. First, there were those who joined voluntarily after proving themselves. These were the outsiders, invited into the fold only after demonstrating extraordinary capabilities in their respective fields.

Then there were those of the bloodline, descendants of deviants, rare and essential due to the inherently low fertility rate of their kind. Descendants of Deviants were few, their numbers within a family rarely exceeding two.

The outsiders had a clear path to advancement—one paved by hard work, contribution, and unwavering loyalty. Only by proving their worth could they access the evolutionary serum, the key to transcending their human limitations.

The structure of power and advancement was defined by levels, each representing a monumental leap in capability, the gap between them ever-widening.

Level 1: The foundation. These were humans who had pushed their physical limits under the effect of muscle enhancers through sheer determination and rigorous training. The time required to reach this level varied based on individual physiology, but it represented the pinnacle of that human physical achievement.

Level 2: The evolution. At this stage, humans underwent their first injection of evolutionary serum, a process filled with risk. Success was not guaranteed; there was a fifty percent chance of failure. But for those who survived, the transformation was profound. No longer human, these beings were now deviants—individuals with enhanced physical and mental capabilities. Deviants defied the natural aging process, retaining their youthful appearances throughout their extended lifespans of 60 to 70 years.

Level 3: The elite. The leap from Level 2 to Level 3 was too big, not just in terms of physical strength or extended lifespans of an additional 30 to 40 years but in the enhancement of sensory perception. All five senses operated at an extraordinary level, far beyond human comprehension. This sensory superiority set Level 3 deviants apart, making them the natural leaders of their families. It was no surprise that all family heads belonged to this level.

Level 4 individuals—deviants of unparalleled capability—were forces of pure destruction, akin to missiles with devastating precision and power. Their strength alone was enough to shift the balance of power, and yet their existence was cloaked in mystery. The process of ascending to this level was known only to the family heads, and even within their ranks, knowledge was few and protected. Each family had one such individual, and their title was always the same—Protector.

The role of a protector was both symbolic and functional, serving as the ultimate safeguard of a family's lineage. They were not just shields; they were swords—living defenders against the ambitions of other families.

A family's claim to authority, recognition, and existence rested on the presence of their Protector. Without one, a family was nothing, cast aside as a mere illusion of power. From what David had learned through rumors and fragmented records, Protectors lived astonishingly long lives, with an average lifespan ranging from 180 to 200 years.

Comparing a family backed by a Protector to a government was laughable at best. To David, it was like comparing a Tyrannosaurus to an alligator. While they might share a distant genetic connection, one was an apex predator at the height of its dominance, while the other merely clung to survival as prey. Governments were no more than the latter, propped up by Level 1 humans and outdated technologies. Yet, for all their weakness, they were not entirely annihilated.

The one reason governments persisted, the singular factor that kept families in check, was the presence of a being whose power was unmatched—a being recorded only in the annals of family history. This individual was known simply as the Watcher.

The Watcher's existence was the evidence of stability within any nation. As the name implied, the Watcher was an observer, an overseer who ensured that families operated within a set framework. They restrained the families, keeping their ambitions in check so that unnecessary clashes did not erupt into chaos. Their goal was singular and unwavering: to maintain balance and ensure the steady progression of the country. Families might dominate, but the Watcher held the reins, guiding them from the shadows and ensuring that the equilibrium of power remained intact.

A country could host multiple families, depending on its size and resources, but there was an unbreakable rule—there could never be more than one Watcher per nation. The Watcher was absolute, a solitary presence whose authority was uncontested by any family.

If a country grew too vast to be controlled by a single Watcher, history provided an almost predictable outcome: war. These wars were catastrophic, yet carefully orchestrated. 

To the eyes of the ordinary public, they were framed as battles for independence or cultural identity, but to those few who knew the truth, they were necessary events.

The result was always the same—the partitioning of the country into smaller, more manageable nations. Each new nation would then fall under the jurisdiction of its own Watcher, and the hierarchy would reset, unshaken and orderly. The Watcher, for all their power, was not just a stabilizer but a guarantor of civilization, their presence ensuring that no family rose too high and no government fell too far.

This methodology, though hidden from the awareness of the masses, was not unique to any one land. The same approach was implemented across all three continents, creating a unified system of power and control. Families ruled from the shadows, governments served as the public face, and Watchers stood as the silent enforcers of balance. It was a hierarchy as ancient as it was effective, a structure that ensured the survival of civilization across generations.

To David, the world was not the chaotic, unpredictable place it appeared to be. It was carefully measured, deliberate, and unyielding in its design. Governments, families, and Watchers were the three pillars on which modern civilization rested, each playing its role in the grand design. And though the common people may never understand the truth of it, David knew the balance was everything. Without it, the world as they knew it would crumble into chaos.