The Grant Estate did not greet its new resident.
It judged him.
Black obsidian walls rose like frozen waves, sharp and deliberate, catching the late afternoon light in fractured reflections. Gargoyles perched along the rooflines, their carved eyes staring down as if cataloguing every trespasser's worth. The massive iron gates groaned open not in welcome, but in reluctant compliance.
Inside, the courtyard stretched wide and empty. No laughter. No scattered toys. No signs of life beyond precision and control.
Lucas stepped out of the carriage first.
Then he turned, still holding Dwayne in one arm.
"…We've arrived," he said.
"I am aware," Dwayne replied calmly, eyes scanning the structure. "The architectural design prioritizes intimidation over thermal efficiency."
Lucas paused.
"…It is effective."
"It is inefficient," Dwayne corrected.
A beat.
Lucas set him down.
Dwayne landed steadily, immediately adjusting the oversized book in his arms. He took three small steps forward into the grand foyer—and stopped.
The doors behind them shut with a heavy finality.
Servants lined both sides of the hall.
Silent.
Rigid.
Watching.
And in the center of it all—
A very small boy stood on polished marble floors, looking like a stray thought that had wandered into a cathedral.
Dwayne did not look overwhelmed.
He looked… critical.
"…The vertical space is excessive," he murmured. "Acoustic echo will disrupt concentration."
Lucas, standing behind him, felt something dangerously close to pride.
At the same time—
Internal chaos.
Where do children sleep?
The thought struck like lightning.
Do I put him in the dungeon?
No.
Absolutely not.
The dungeon is damp.
Unacceptable for cognitive development.
The master suite?
No.
Too close.
Too—
He stopped that thought immediately.
I will place him in the adjacent room.
For monitoring purposes.
Yes.
Monitoring.
"Your Grace," a head maid said carefully, stepping forward. "The room has been prepared."
Lucas nodded once.
"Good."
He glanced down at Dwayne.
"…You will be escorted."
"I can walk," Dwayne replied.
Lucas stared at him.
Then nodded.
"Acceptable."
They began moving.
The servants followed at a respectful distance.
And quietly—
Very quietly—
The entire estate shifted.
A system built for silence now had a variable.
---
Before the carriage had even left the orphanage grounds earlier that day, Lucas had already given instructions.
"Prepare a room."
That was all he said.
Efficient.
Clear.
Unfortunately—
The servants had interpreted.
The door to Dwayne's new room opened.
Lucas stepped in first.
Then stopped.
A rare occurrence.
The room was…
Soft.
Warm lighting replaced the usual cold glow. Plush carpets layered the floor in subtle gradients. The bed—centered against the far wall—was carved into the shape of a small ship, complete with polished wooden rails.
And scattered across it—
Stuffed animals.
Many.
Various shapes.
Various sizes.
All undeniably—
Cute.
Lucas inhaled slowly.
This is… excessive.
Behind him, the maids stood frozen, bracing for judgment.
"…Explain," Lucas said.
"The young master requires comfort, Your Grace," one maid said, bowing slightly. "We prepared according to… developmental standards."
Lucas said nothing.
Because technically—
This aligned with… certain private preferences.
He just hadn't expected them to manifest so publicly.
Behind him, small footsteps.
Dwayne walked in.
Stopped.
Looked around.
Silence stretched as his blue eyes scanned every detail.
Then—
He walked to the bed.
Picked up a stuffed bear.
Poked it.
Once.
Twice.
Then turned slowly toward Lucas.
"Father," he said.
The word landed quietly.
Unexpectedly.
Lucas did not react outwardly.
"This creature has no skeletal structure," Dwayne continued. "Its existence is biologically impossible."
A pause.
"Why is it on my sleeping platform?"
Lucas coughed lightly.
"It is a… tactical stress-relief device."
The maids blinked.
"Use it," Lucas added, "or discard it."
Dwayne considered the bear again.
Then nodded slowly.
"…Understood."
He placed it back down.
Then picked up a dragon-shaped plush.
Examined the wings.
Turned it upside down.
"…Aerodynamically unsound," he muttered.
Lucas remained silent.
For the next hour—
Dwayne lectured.
"…The wing-to-body ratio is inefficient. Lift generation would be insufficient for sustained flight. Additionally, fire-breathing organisms would require—"
Lucas stood by the window.
Listening.
Not interrupting.
Not stopping him.
Because—
Strangely—
This was… peaceful.
---
Flashback: The Orphanage Conversation
Earlier that day.
Just before departure.
The headmistress had approached Lucas privately.
"…Your Grace," she said carefully. "May I ask… why him?"
Lucas didn't look at her.
"He meets the requirements."
"He is… unusual," she pressed.
"Yes."
"…He does not behave like a child."
Lucas finally glanced at her.
"That is precisely why."
The headmistress hesitated.
"He has difficulty… connecting with others."
Lucas considered that.
Then said simply:
"So do I."
Silence.
"…Will you treat him well?" she asked, softer now.
Lucas paused.
The question was inefficient.
Vague.
Emotionally driven.
And yet—
"…He will have everything he requires," Lucas said.
It wasn't warmth.
But it wasn't cold either.
It was—
A promise, shaped in his language.
---
Dinner was… an event.
A long table stretched across the dining hall, polished to mirror-like perfection.
Lucas sat at one end.
Dwayne at the other.
Too far.
Lucas noticed immediately.
"…Move his seat closer," he ordered.
The servants obeyed.
Dwayne was relocated to his right.
Still dignified.
Still distant enough.
But… closer.
Food was served.
Carefully portioned.
Nutritionally balanced.
Dwayne examined his plate.
Then—
Paused.
Lucas noticed.
"…Is there an issue?"
"Yes," Dwayne said.
He pointed at the broccoli.
"The caloric yield relative to chewing effort is inefficient."
Lucas stared at him.
"…You will eat it."
"Why?"
"Because," Lucas said, voice cooling slightly, "as a Grant, you will consume your greens."
Dwayne tilted his head.
Then—
"Your consumption pattern indicates a preference for high-protein, low-fiber meals," he said. "Statistically, your directive lacks internal consistency."
Lucas went still.
The servants froze.
"…Are you refusing?" Lucas asked.
"I am optimizing," Dwayne replied.
A pause.
Lucas lifted his wine glass.
Took a slow sip.
To hide—
Something dangerous.
The corner of his mouth had almost—
Almost—
Moved.
"…Eat half," Lucas said finally.
"Acceptable."
Dwayne began eating.
Efficiently.
Quietly.
Lucas lowered his glass.
And for a fleeting moment—
His eyes softened.
---
Later—
A new battlefield.
The bath.
Steam filled the room.
Water rippled gently in the large tub.
Dwayne stood beside it, observing.
"…The displacement will vary based on immersion depth," he murmured.
Lucas stood nearby.
Completely out of his depth.
"…You need to get in," Lucas said.
"I am calculating the optimal entry angle."
"…Just step in."
Dwayne did.
Carefully.
The water rose.
"…Approximately 12% increase," he noted.
Lucas nodded as if that meant anything to him.
Then came the real challenge.
Washing his hair.
Lucas stared at the small, damp head.
Then at the soap.
Then back.
This requires precision.
He reached forward.
Carefully.
Awkwardly.
"…Tilt your head."
Dwayne did.
Water dripped.
Soap applied.
Lucas moved like a man defusing a bomb.
Slow.
Focused.
Utterly serious.
"…You are inefficient at this task," Dwayne observed.
"…I am learning."
"…Acceptable."
---
2:00 AM.
The estate was silent.
Lucas walked the corridor.
Coincidentally.
Of course.
He passed Dwayne's room.
Paused.
A noise.
Sharp.
Immediate reaction—
Sword drawn.
Door opened.
Ready to strike.
Inside—
No assassin.
No danger.
Just—
A small figure on the floor.
Candlelight flickering.
Papers scattered.
Dwayne.
"…What are you doing?" Lucas asked.
"Correcting irrigation ledgers," Dwayne replied without looking up. "They are inefficiently charted."
Lucas lowered his sword.
Slowly.
Then—
He stepped inside.
Sat down.
On the floor.
Silk robes meeting cold ground.
Ruined.
He didn't care.
"…You should be sleeping," Lucas said.
"Sleep is a biological reset cycle," Dwayne replied. "I will engage in it when necessary."
Lucas watched him.
Quietly.
"…Do you dream?" he asked.
Dwayne paused.
"…Define 'dream.'"
Lucas considered.
"…Images. Thoughts. Things that don't follow logic."
Dwayne frowned slightly.
"…Unfiltered hippocampal data dumps."
Lucas almost laughed.
Almost.
"…Yes," he said. "Something like that."
Silence settled between them.
Not cold.
Just… still.
---
Morning came with precision.
And interruption.
A royal messenger arrived.
Kneeling.
Delivering a sealed decree.
Lucas read it once.
Then again.
"…We are summoned," he said.
Dwayne looked up.
"Where?"
"The Royal Gala."
A pause.
Dwayne frowned.
"…Will there be people?"
"Yes."
"…People are unpredictable variables."
"I am aware."
"I do not like variables."
Lucas folded the letter.
Calm.
Composed.
Internally—
Spiraling.
I have to dress him in a tiny suit.
The image struck with devastating clarity.
Small sleeves.
Formal shoes.
Perfectly fitted—
This might be the death of me.
Lucas looked at Dwayne.
Dwayne looked back.
Two beings.
Equally logical.
Equally unprepared.
"…We will prepare," Lucas said.
"…Acceptable."
And somewhere deep within the Grant Estate—
Something unfamiliar began to take root.
Not logic.
Not efficient.
But something quieter.
Something that, one day—
Might resemble a hug.