Time in the Alostrio estate was not measured in days or seasons but in the subtle shifts of power, the whispered ambitions of wives, and the silent games of inheritance that unfolded behind marble walls.
For Ryner, a soul reborn into the fragile shell of a one-year-old, time moved differently. Every second was both suffocatingly slow and unbearably fast. His body was helpless, but his mind—his mind was sharper than ever, carved by death, regret, and the weight of the Fifth Crown.
To the world, he was nothing more than a harmless infant. A boy too weak to crawl properly, too small to speak, too fragile to matter. But within him burned the soul of someone who had lived, suffered, and died once already—and returned with the brand of eternity etched into his spirit.
He listened. He watched. He memorized.
Every servant's whisper as they carried trays through the corridors. Every guard's bootstep as they rotated shifts outside his mother's chambers. Every subtle gesture his father Hannas made when speaking to the other wives. Every flicker of disdain in Maria's venomous gaze.
All of it carved itself into Ryner's mind, etched into memory like scripture. He might not yet be able to walk, but he was already preparing for war.
---
From his crib, Ryner's world was small, but his heart expanded beyond its wooden bars. He saw his mother every day—Alia, the gentle woman who had once been his shield against cruelty. Her voice was his lullaby, soft and warm, her hands steady as she cared for him without complaint.
Sometimes, she would hum an old folk tune from her homeland while brushing his thin hair aside. At other times, she would whisper to him about the future, believing he could not understand.
"My Ryner," she murmured one evening, her lips brushing his forehead. "You will grow strong. Perhaps not like Chris or Carlos—Hannas says they already show promise. But strength is not always in muscle or swordplay. Sometimes… sometimes it's in patience. You will learn, my son. I believe in you."
Her faith pierced him like a blade. Tears welled in his infant eyes, but his heart whispered an oath.
*This time… I won't lose you. I won't fail you.*
---
But not everyone who visited their chambers carried warmth.
The doors often opened to another presence. Hannas's third wife—Maria.
She entered with her usual grace, her silken gown trailing behind her, jewels glittering on her hands and neck. To outsiders, she was elegance itself, a noblewoman who carried herself with pride and dignity. But Ryner knew the truth. He had seen her mask slip before.
Her gaze would always linger on him, sharp and venomous beneath the smile she wore when Alia was present. A tilt of her lips, polite enough to pass as courtesy, but her eyes betrayed it—cold, calculating, filled with disdain.
And behind her, her two sons would follow.
Chris, the elder, was already showing Hannas's height, though his sharp chin and sharper tongue belonged to Maria. He walked with the confidence of a boy who believed the estate belonged to him by birthright. Even at eight, his words carried arrogance.
Carlos, younger by two years, was smaller but crueler. He delighted in mischief, not the playful kind, but the type that left bruises, tears, and broken pride in its wake. He had once tripped a servant boy down the stairs and laughed as the child wept.
They would glance at Ryner in his crib, their smirks cruel, their laughter mocking.
"A weak baby," Chris sneered one afternoon.
"Looks like a rat," Carlos giggled.
Alia's sharp scolding silenced them, but Ryner caught the flicker of Maria's satisfaction, the faintest smirk tugging her lips. She would say nothing, but her silence was permission enough.
Ryner's infant eyes followed them like a hawk, sharp, unblinking. *You think I am the same helpless fool? Enjoy your days of arrogance. The storm is coming.*
---
The estate itself was a labyrinth of politics. Hannas was a man of authority, respected by lords and feared by rivals. He ruled the household with distant composure, rarely involving himself in the petty disputes between his wives. That detachment was Maria's weapon, her tool to tighten her influence while Alia was quietly suffocated.
Ryner remembered it well—the way Alia had grown weaker, the way her smile had faded, the way Maria's whispers had poisoned the air until even Hannas turned indifferent toward her.
But this time, Ryner's eyes saw everything. Every servant Maria favored, every subtle bribe, every manipulative word. He was powerless now, but information was a blade that only grew sharper with time.
---
One night, as the moonlight spilled through the window and painted silver lines across the floor, Ryner felt it.
A stirring within.
His small chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, but deep inside, beneath flesh and bone, something vast awakened.
A faint mark, invisible to mortal eyes, glowed upon his soul—the brand of the Fifth Crown. It was like a heartbeat that did not belong to him, a rhythm that pulsed with eternity itself.
Then, voices.
The first was Luis, playful and mischievous, ringing in Ryner's head like a child's laughter.
"Hey, hey! Still alive, huh? Congrats, Trash Kid!" His tone was annoyingly cheerful, as though Ryner had just passed some simple game. "Your time is rolling forward now. Don't waste it! Heh, I can't wait to see the mess you'll make."
Before Ryner could respond, Rune's calm wisdom layered in, steady as stone.
*"Remember, Ryner—patience. A Crown's path is not taken in a day. You cannot sprint with infant legs. Shape your foundations quietly. Watch. Learn. Strike only when destiny tilts in your favor."*
Then came Ming Zing, his voice thunderous, burning with ruthless certainty.
*"When the time comes, crush them. Do not hesitate. Mercy is for equals, not for those who trampled you. Judgment without hesitation, boy. Burn their arrogance to ash."*
Finally, Lucas spoke, smooth and elegant, his words curling like silk threads.
*"Every thread leads to an ending. Weave carefully, Ryner. Tug too hard, and the tapestry unravels. Too soft, and you strangle yourself. The loom of fate is delicate—be the hand that guides it, not the one caught within it."*
The voices faded one by one, leaving silence behind.
But Ryner's newborn body trembled—not from fear, but from determination.
*So, even here, even now, I am not alone…*
He closed his tiny fists against the blanket, his soul whispering into the moonlit night:
> *"I swear… I will not repeat my mistakes. This time, I will be selfish. I will be strong. I will be ruthless. For her. For myself."*
His infant body could not rise, could not fight, could not even speak—but his soul blazed.
In the stillness of night, under the silver gaze of the moon, Ryner Alostrio's eyes gleamed faintly with a cold resolve no child should possess.
The oath of the Fifth Crown had begun.
And though no one heard it, the world itself trembled.
**(Chapter End)**