The towering stone walls of Verdan territory stood before Aeren, imposing yet beautifully crafted, a clear distinction of power and wealth. Two gates divided the entrance: one for commoners, the other strictly for nobles and well-recognized merchants. The commoner's line stretched endlessly, a chaotic mass of farmers, travelers, and laborers hoping for entry. Aeren barely spared it a glance.
His dark eyes shifted to the noble gate—smaller in crowd, quieter, but guarded with piercing vigilance. With his slender frame and youthful appearance, Aeren didn't look like he belonged. At only twelve years old, he appeared more like a curious child than someone with a noble identity. But his steps were calm and deliberate, his expression as blank as ever. Inside, he was analyzing everything: the defenses, the crowd, the layout. These were the first threads of a territory he would eventually weave into his future plans.
He walked toward the noble gate.
One of the guards at the gate raised an eyebrow and immediately stepped forward, his hand already halfway to the hilt of his sword.
"Hey, boy," the man said firmly, "this isn't the entrance for playing around. Head to the other side with the rest."
Aeren paused. He didn't flinch or back away—just looked at the man. Then, in a clear and calm voice, he spoke.
"I am Aeren Drevin. Son of House Drevin, sent here by my family to serve under the House of Verdan."
The moment the words left his lips, both guards froze. Their expressions shifted from suspicion to brief confusion, and then into understanding. The Drevin name wasn't one to inspire awe, but it was known—a minor baron family on the far end of the kingdom, relatively isolated and politically quiet. The kind of house that would send a child as a servant to curry favor with higher nobility.
"A kid like you?" one muttered. "No way…"
The other, older guard, gave Aeren a nod. "Wait here."
He returned moments later with a second soldier, who gestured for Aeren to follow. They led him past the gate and into the territory proper.
Verdan was different from Drevin in every possible way. The air was vibrant. The streets clean and orderly. People laughed, cheered, and went about their lives with purpose. Nobles in elegant clothes mingled with merchants who wore polished smiles and fine boots. Children played in the distance, their laughter sharp against the golden sunlight.
Aeren looked around—but not out of wonder. He was observing.
These people… he thought coldly. Smiling, laughing, walking with purpose. But it's all empty. I wonder how they'll scream if everything is taken from them…
He blinked slowly, burying the thought. There was no benefit in thinking that way just yet. He had a role to play—a servant, a child from a minor house seeking favor. He would need to act the part flawlessly.
But before he reached the Verdan mansion, he made a detour.
He asked around, indirectly, subtly. His goal wasn't the polished streets or merchant stalls. He wanted the slums.
"Excuse me," he asked a middle-aged baker with a friendly smile, "I've heard about an old friend who lived… a little outside town. Maybe a poorer district?"
The woman tilted her head. "Poorer? You mean the old side of town?"
He smiled gently. "Maybe. Thank you."
Hours passed. The sun dipped lower in the sky, shadows growing longer. But Aeren was persistent.
By evening, he found it.
The slums of Verdan were far from the central roads—twisting alleys, crooked houses, and a sharp contrast from the lively colors of the noble quarter. Here, the air smelled of sweat and rust. Ragged children played in dust, and tired mothers sat outside broken homes.
Aeren stood at the edge, watching. Inside, he was delighted. Finally… he thought. This is the place I'll return to when the time comes.
But he didn't enter. Not yet.
One or two of the slum-dwellers noticed him, a clean boy standing alone, but they paid him no mind. After all, in places like this, no one asked questions.
He turned and walked back toward the Verdan estate.
And then he saw it.
The mansion of House Verdan.
The gate alone was nearly four times the size of his own family's estate entrance. Large steel bars, decorated with the family crest of a silver flame over dark wood, stood tall as if daring lesser men to enter. The walls shimmered with enchantments only noble houses could afford. Two guards stood firm at the front, their armor shining faintly in the dusk.
As Aeren approached, their eyes narrowed.
"Kid?" one of them said. "This isn't a playground. Who are you, and what's your business here?"
"I'm Aeren Drevin," he replied smoothly. "I was sent by my family. I believe I'm expected."
The two guards looked at each other, then back at him.
"…Aeren Drevin," one murmured, flipping through a small ledger. "Right. House Verdan was told to expect someone from Drevin. You're younger than I thought."
He was. Only twelve. But age didn't matter to Aeren. It never did.
They called another guard, who arrived shortly and led Aeren through the gates. As they entered the estate grounds, the world changed again. Green lawns stretched far, fountains danced, and the cobblestone paths sparkled faintly. The mansion itself was an architectural marvel.
At the entrance, two young servants—a maid and a butler, both in their mid-teens—waited with expectant looks.
"This is the one from House Drevin?" the butler asked.
The guard nodded and stepped back.
The maid stepped forward, smiling kindly. "Welcome to House Verdan. I'm Maren, and this is Roen. We've been told to receive you."
Roen, the butler, looked at Aeren curiously. "You're younger than we expected."
Aeren simply smiled. "I'll do my best."
Maren gestured for him to follow. "We'll introduce you to the head butler tomorrow. Tonight, we'll show you your room, and give you a quick tour. You'll start your duties soon."
As they led him through the halls, Roen whispered to Maren, "He's quiet."
"He seems kind," Maren replied. "Like a normal noble boy, just… polite."
Aeren heard everything. He kept walking.
Kind. Polite. Normal. He repeated the words in his mind. Perfect.