His awareness expanded beyond the confines of his cradle. He could sense the Aether flowing through the walls, connecting to larger conduits that fed the entire palace.
He perceived the subtle differences in density and flow rate, the way certain junctions acted as amplifiers while others served as regulators.
The nursemaid's soft breathing in the next room. The guard shifting position in the corridor beyond. The subtle variations in temperature throughout the chamber.
All became unexpectedly perceptible, as though his consciousness had extended beyond the limitations of his physical senses.
'This is what they mean by the Nexus,' he realized. The historical texts had described it as an internal structure through which practitioners channeled Aether, but he had assumed it was merely metaphorical or religious terminology.
Now he understood, it was a genuine capacity to interface directly with the Aether field, to perceive and potentially manipulate its flow.
He pushed his awareness further, straining to maintain the connection. For a brief, exhilarating moment, he felt the Aether respond, not just flowing around him, but subtly shifting in reaction to his focused thought.
A single thread of blue-white energy wavered from its path, bending almost imperceptibly toward him before snapping back to its original trajectory.
The effort cost him immediately. Exhaustion crashed through his small body like a physical blow, his muscles going limp as his focus shattered.
The expanded awareness collapsed, leaving him once again trapped within the frustrating limitations of infant perception.
But the insight remained. Aether responded to structured thought, to focused, mathematical intention. It wasn't mystical or divine, but a natural force that could be systematically understood and potentially controlled.
His tiny chest heaved with exertion, his heart racing as though he'd run for miles. The physical toll was severe, but the knowledge gained was worth the discomfort.
He had discovered the first key to unlocking the power that would eventually reshape the empire, or at least prevent its destruction.
As sleep finally claimed him, one certainty crystallized in his mind: he would master this. Not through the ritualistic approaches the Valorian mages employed, but through precise, analytical understanding of the underlying principles. The scholar in him had found his research subject.
–
"The little prince will meet his brother properly again," announced a courtier the following morning, as sunlight streamed through the tall windows. "The Crown Prince has been asking when he might hold the infant since yesterday."
Riven, freshly changed and fed by the nursemaid, observed the bustle of activity with detached interest. He felt the lingering fatigue from his Aether experiment, but his mind remained sharp, cataloging each new development.
The nursery doors swung open to admit a small procession. First came two attendants in the formal blue and silver of the royal household, then the Emperor himself, his tall frame stooped slightly from some unseen weight.
Beside him walked Alaric, his silver hair catching the morning light, his posture mimicking his father's regal bearing despite his small stature.
Behind them, somewhat unexpectedly, glided the Empress. Liriane Valoria entered the room with measured steps, her elaborate silver-blonde coiffure framing a face that revealed nothing.
Her green eyes, so like Riven's own, swept the chamber with a single assessing glance before settling on the cradle.
"Your Majesties," the nursemaid curtseyed deeply. "The young prince is awake and alert this morning."
The Emperor nodded absently, his attention focused on Alaric. "Remember what we discussed, my son. A gentle touch for your brother."
Alaric approached the cradle with obvious curiosity, standing on tiptoes to peer over the edge. His blue eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Riven, head tilting to one side with the unguarded inquisitiveness of childhood.
"He really is very small," Alaric observed, his voice carrying the clear, precise diction of someone extensively tutored in proper speech. "Smaller than I noticed yesterday."
"You were once this small yourself," the Emperor said with a rare smile. "Though not for long. You grew quickly, eager to take on the world."
Alaric preened slightly at this, his chest puffing with pride. Then, with the sudden changeability of children, his expression shifted to one of mischievous calculation.
Before anyone could anticipate his movement, he reached into the cradle and flicked his finger against Riven's forehead, not hard enough to hurt, but with deliberate, testing pressure.
"Alaric!" the nursemaid gasped, scandalized.
But the Emperor chuckled, a fond sound that transformed his severe features. "Testing his mettle already, are you?"
The Empress's lips curved into what might generously be called a smile, though it never reached her eyes. "The Crown Prince establishes hierarchy early," she observed, her tone neither approving nor disapproving, merely analytical. "A natural instinct."
Alaric, encouraged by his father's reaction, laughed, a bright, silvery sound. "He didn't even cry," he noted, sounding both impressed and slightly disappointed. "Is he broken?"
"Not broken," the Empress said. "Merely... composed. Some children reveal less than others."
Riven lay perfectly still, his green eyes fixed on Alaric's face. He couldn't retaliate physically, his motor control remained frustratingly limited. He couldn't protest verbally, speech was months away at minimum. All he could do was observe and record: the casual dominance display, the Emperor's approving response, the Empress's clinical assessment.
In the mind of a scholar, this interaction became data, evidence of personality, of hierarchy reinforced through performance, of power dynamics established in earliest childhood. He parsed it dispassionately, separating emotion from information.
Yet beneath that scholarly detachment, something else stirred, a cold, clear determination unlike anything he had experienced in his previous life. Not anger, which was wasteful and imprecise, but resolution. A mathematical certainty.
'When I can speak,' he thought with perfect clarity, 'I will never be beneath him again.'
Alaric reached into the cradle once more, this time patting Riven's head with exaggerated gentleness. "I'll teach him everything when he's bigger," he declared to his father. "How to fight and ride and use Aether."
"Indeed you will," the Emperor agreed, placing a hand on his heir's shoulder. "The bond between brothers is sacred in the Valoria line. You will be his guide and protector."
The Empress's gaze lingered on Riven for a moment longer than necessary, her expression unreadable. Then she turned to her husband. "The Consortium representatives await your audience, Your Majesty. We should not keep them waiting."
The imperial couple departed with their entourage, leaving Alaric to stare down at Riven for a final moment. "Goodbye, little brother," he said with the solemn formality of a child mimicking adults. "Try to grow faster."
As the nursery door closed behind them, Riven's mind began calculating, processing the interaction with methodical precision. The nursemaid fussed around him, straightening blankets and cooing meaningless platitudes, but he barely registered her presence.
His thoughts were elsewhere, analyzing power structures, familial dynamics, the subtle currents of expectation that already shaped his existence.
The data points accumulated, forming the beginnings of a pattern that would require years to fully understand, and eventually manipulate.
–
The palace slept. Outside, twin moons cast their silvery light through high windows, creating pools of ghostly illumination on the marble floors. The Aether conduits had dimmed to their lowest setting, pulsing with the slow, steady rhythm that mimicked the breathing of the sleeping city.
In his cradle, Riven lay awake, his mind humming with quiet intensity. The encounter with Alaric had provided valuable insights, additional variables to incorporate into his calculations. Each passing day brought new information, new observations to catalog and analyze.
Tonight, with the clarity that came in these quiet hours, he ordered his goals in sequence. Not as vague aspirations, but as concrete objectives with defined parameters:
First, survive infancy. In this era, even royal children faced mortality rates that would horrify the medical practitioners of his former lifetime. He would need to avoid illness, accident, and the more insidious threat of court politics that occasionally eliminated inconvenient royal offspring.
Second, master language, both spoken and written, with perfect fluency. Communication would be his primary tool, his means of gathering information and eventually exerting influence.
Third, study the empire's current timeline. He needed to locate the precise points where this reality diverged from the historical records he had studied in his previous life. Knowledge of the general trajectory was useful, but identifying the specific trigger events would be crucial.
Fourth, understand the Emperor's political machinery. The imperial court was a complex system of alliances, rivalries, and power exchanges. He would need to comprehend its functioning before he could begin to redirect its course.
Fifth, and most ambitious, protect the family long enough to rewrite fate itself. The collapse of the Valorian Empire had not been a single catastrophic event but a cascade of failures, a system breaking down at multiple points simultaneously. To prevent it would require precise interventions at key moments over decades.
The Aether pulsed overhead, its blue-white light casting shadows that shifted with mathematical precision.