Grievous watched silently, his expression unreadable. The soft light from a lone candle flickered behind him, casting elongated shadows that danced quietly across the room. He noticed Edmund's tentative movements, the way the boy tried to appear composed despite the evident confusion etched across his features.
After the child became cleaner, Grievous began to show him to the room that the butler had prepared, which was directly next to Grievous'. The two entered the room quietly, and the child looked around and did not say anything.
In his false memories, he lived with his mother in a country house until his father came and took him. For him, the room was very luxurious, with a large bed, a giant mirror, a table, a closet, and even a private bathroom. He felt like he had entered a place far beyond his rank.
The bed looked impossibly soft, draped in thick, cream-colored linens that seemed to invite sleep with their gentle folds. Heavy curtains framed a tall window, their deep burgundy fabric catching the fading light from outside.
The air smelled faintly of lavender and cedarwood, a scent meant to soothe and calm. A polished wooden desk sat near the window, its surface scattered with quills, parchment, and a neat stack of books bound in worn leather.
Edmund's fingers traced the edge of the mirror's ornate frame, his eyes wide as he took in every detail. The room was a stark contrast to the cramped, dusty quarters he had imagined from his shadowy memories. His gaze lingered on the small, brass handle that opened the private bathroom door. The luxury felt surreal, as if he had stepped into a dream meant for someone else.
"Rest tonight," Grievous said, his voice low and steady. "And tomorrow you will begin your academic studies."
The child nodded silently, his lips pressed into a thin line. He seemed overwhelmed yet determined, as if trying to anchor himself in this strange new reality. After Grievous left the room, the child jumped directly onto the bed and extended his limbs, moving them slowly to test the softness beneath him. A small giggle escaped him.
"This amazing! It is like I sleep on cloud."
The words were clumsy, the grammar rough, but they carried a genuine wonder. From behind the door, Grievous heard the child's voice and thought, 'This is what is expected of an uneducated person. It seems that his teachers are going to face some difficulties.'
He quietly turned his body and moved to his room, closing the door with a soft click and locking it behind him. His footsteps barely made a sound on the wooden floor. Inside, he stripped off his clothes and stood before the long mirror. His reflection stared back, long and slender, skin the color of ripe wheat kissed by the sun, and hair as black as the midnight sky.
His blood-red eyes were sharp and calculating, set deep within prominent cheekbones. A faint dusting of fine hairs dotted his chin, a subtle sign of his passage into manhood. He extended his limbs deliberately, flexing his fingers and toes as if testing the strength that lay beneath the surface.
"It is a young man's body, but it is not trained enough," he murmured to himself. "Although the magical empowerment has enhanced the strength, the body is still somewhat weak and not as strong as it could possibly be."
He studied the way his muscles moved beneath the skin, imagining the hours of grueling training that lay ahead. Strength would not come from magic alone. Discipline and sweat would be necessary to forge the body into a weapon worthy of his ambitions.
"During this week, until the rest of the spells come, I must sort out the memories of that old mage," he said quietly. "And I must also go to the blacksmith. It seems that it will be a really busy week."
His fingers brushed over the mirror's surface, as if trying to grasp some hidden truth reflected there. This was the beginning of something new, a chance to shape his destiny.
He slipped into his pyjamas, the fabric cool against his skin, and stretched out on the comfortable bed. The slight cool air seeped in from the open window next to his bed, carrying with it the scent of night flowers and distant rain. He took a deep breath, letting the calm wash over him.
"Since I am sure that my abilities will work on anyone below the third advanced rank," he whispered, "there is no need to act at home. I will do what I want, as in the end, they are all just puppets tied with strings in my hands."
He smiled faintly, a glimmer of dark amusement in his eyes.
"As the ceremony to choose my fiancée is approaching, there is about a year left. I think that the most appropriate choice in this case is Miss Viola from the Davulcanti family."
He thought of the Davulcanti family, a powerful and wealthy house known for their shrewd alliances and vast economic influence. Their silk trade routes and banking enterprises had long intertwined with his own family's fortunes.
"They are a family close to this family and have good economic relations," he mused, "which will make an ideal cover for me in case I need more items to make medical baths."
The thought brought a flicker of satisfaction. In a world where appearances masked countless secrets, such an alliance would be invaluable. He imagined the lavish halls of the Davulcanti estate, the whispered conversations behind closed doors, and the subtle power that came with being tied to such influence.
"Looks like next year will be fun," he said softly.
His eyes drifted closed as the estate's quiet night wrapped around him. Outside the window, the stars blinked faintly, distant and cold. But inside, the warmth of the bed held him, a brief sanctuary before the storm of days to come.
He wondered quietly, 'Will I ever truly belong to this world? Or will I always be an outsider, playing a role scripted by others?'
For now, those questions could wait. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new lessons, and new steps toward the future he intended to claim.
And with that thought, sleep finally claimed him, soft and deep like the clouds he had imagined beneath him.