Aeren followed the butler and maid into the grand estate of House Verdan. The size, polish, and sheer scale of the manor reminded him just how small his own family's territory had been. While his expression remained composed, his sharp black eyes carefully noted every detail—the guards, the number of staff, how the interior was laid out. Information was power, and he absorbed every bit of it.
The butler and maid led him down a series of well-maintained halls until they reached the head butler's office. The man was older, stern-looking, with neatly combed grey hair and sharp eyes that measured Aeren the moment he stepped in.
Both of them exchanged formal introductions. Aeren introduced himself politely, his tone humble, his expression kind—his usual mask. The head butler offered no unnecessary pleasantries. After confirming Aeren's identity, he got straight to the point.
House Verdan's youngest daughter, the heir, needed a new personal butler and maid. Two young servants would be selected after a short period of observation and training. Aeren was informed that if he learned quickly, he could be considered for the position.
"There are others in line for the role," the head butler said plainly. "You're young, but that can be an advantage. If you prove competent, the family may take a liking to you."
Aeren smiled gently and nodded, showing the appropriate interest and respect. Inside, however, he felt little enthusiasm. Competing for a position to serve a noble child didn't appeal to him. In the long term, he had plans far beyond simple servitude.
But still—being near the heir could be useful. If done right, it could provide protection, resources, and information. The youngest daughter might become a convenient shield in the future. It was a risky idea, but one worth considering. For now, he chose not to commit either way.
"I'll observe," he said inwardly, "and decide later."
After the meeting, the head butler handed him some minor tasks—cleaning, assisting the kitchen, organizing small items in the storehouse. Aeren handled them all efficiently, working without complaint. He neither overperformed nor underperformed, maintaining a balanced image of a well-trained but unremarkable child.
Once his duties were done, Aeren quietly took some food from the kitchen—enough to feed about ten children. It wasn't stolen, just surplus left after dinner prep. No one questioned him; no one even noticed. He had already taken note of how the household staff rotated during evenings. It was the perfect window.
He slipped out of the estate grounds under the cover of dusk.
What Aeren didn't realize, however, was that someone had noticed.
It wasn't that the owner of the house had some supernatural ability to detect every servant. No, it was because he was powerful—powerful enough to know the flow of every presence within his estate. He monitored for anything suspicious, and Aeren's subtle exit had raised just enough curiosity.
"A child leaving late at night?" he had thought.
Not enough to raise an alarm. But enough to warrant observation. A silent order was passed. A shadow—one of the manor's hidden watchers—was told to follow the boy from a distance. Not to intervene. Only to watch. If anything strange occurred, it was to be reported immediately.
Meanwhile, Aeren was unaware.
He made his way back to the slums, walking the same paths he had scouted before. There, among the broken buildings and worn streets, he found what he was looking for—children. Some his age, others younger. Dirty-faced, thin, curious.
He greeted them casually, spoke in a light tone, and handed out food without expectation.
The act seemed kind, even generous. But for Aeren, it was calculated.
He wasn't trying to make subordinates or build a following. Not yet. Instead, he wanted something else—information. These children, unseen by society, would be his eyes and ears. If nurtured correctly, they could feed him knowledge about the slums—its people, its secrets, and any movement that didn't belong.
He didn't ask directly. Instead, he chatted, dropped vague questions, asked about daily life, danger zones, and places to avoid. The children were wary at first but softened with the food. One even offered to show him where "bad people" gathered sometimes.
Aeren noted everything silently.
He also noticed something others wouldn't—the signs of criminal activity. Bloodstains hidden behind a broken wall, a coded symbol carved into a stone, kids who flinched when a name was mentioned. There had been violence here. Possibly something that only other criminals would recognize.
But Aeren didn't involve himself.
He wasn't here to play hero. Nor was he interested in cleaning filth. Unless it offered him something useful, it wasn't his concern. He smiled, told the children goodbye, and turned to leave. Several of them waved at him—already seeing him as a kind stranger.
Aeren said nothing in return.
As he walked back toward the estate, he considered everything he had learned.
"The slums are more active than they appear. There are layers to this city I haven't seen yet."
He returned before the night turned too dark. The path was empty. Quiet.
No one stopped him. No one asked questions. No one seemed to notice his absence at all.
Or so he believed.
"Maybe I wasn't seen," he thought to himself as he slipped back into the estate grounds. "Or maybe no one cares enough to watch a child."
But a small voice inside whispered a warning.
This world is vast. And I'm still just a child.
He didn't know yet how many eyes were truly watching.