Nine months had transformed Ashen from a helpless newborn into a mobile infant with disturbingly good motor control.
He could crawl now, properly and efficiently, though he'd waited until eight and a half months to demonstrate this ability. His vocabulary had expanded to roughly twenty words, all carefully chosen to seem age-appropriate while maximizing informational value. "Book," "sword," "garden," "food," "sleep"—simple nouns that let him request things without revealing the depth of his comprehension.
The Silverion estate had become his playground, though "playground" was perhaps too innocent a word for what he was really doing. Every room he crawled through, every conversation he overheard, every interaction he witnessed—all of it was data, information to be catalogued and analyzed.
Today's exploration had brought him to his father's personal training room.
Seraphina had brought him along while she discussed something with Aldric, and the Duke had been practicing sword forms when they arrived. Now Ashen sat on a cushioned mat near the wall, ostensibly playing with wooden blocks, actually watching his father move through a sophisticated series of techniques.
Aldric's cultivation was B-Rank Advanced, his lightning affinity EX-Rank. When he trained seriously, the air itself seemed to crackle with suppressed power. But right now he was practicing forms without channeling essence, focusing on pure technical execution.
The sword style was called [Storm Splitting Sword Art], based on the manual Ashen had glimpsed in Aldric's study. It was a high-level technique that incorporated spatial distortion into traditional swordsmanship, creating attacks that could literally cut through the fabric of space.
Ashen watched with genuine fascination as his father demonstrated the third form—[Lightning Descent]—a downward slash that would, at full power, call lightning from the sky while simultaneously cutting through dimensional barriers.
Without essence, it was just a very precise overhead strike. But Ashen's adult mind could extrapolate what it would look like at full strength. The technical foundation was impressive, showing decades of refinement and practice.
"Your form's gotten sharper," Seraphina observed from where she stood near the doorway. "More controlled than last month."
"Had to make adjustments after that bout with the C-Rank Thunderwolf," Aldric replied, transitioning into the fourth form. "The creature was faster than expected. Reminded me that I've been relying too much on raw power and not enough on precision."
"You're not getting old, are you?" There was teasing in her voice.
"Old? I'm in my prime, thank you very much." Aldric finished the sequence and sheathed his practice sword. "Though I'll admit the young ones are catching up faster than I expected. Kael will probably reach C-Rank before he's thirty at his current pace."
"Should we be concerned about him challenging you for military command?"
"No. Kael's good, but he lacks strategic patience. He'll be an excellent field commander, but overall military strategy requires a different mindset." Aldric walked over to where Ashen sat and crouched down. "What do you think, little one? Should your old man retire and let the young warriors take over?"
Ashen looked up at his father, then at the sword still in its sheath. He pointed. "Sword."
"Yes, that's a sword. Good word." Aldric smiled. "Maybe one day you'll learn to use one. Or maybe you'll be like your sister Elara and prefer books to blades. Either way is fine."
If you only knew I've been mentally cataloguing every form you just demonstrated and analyzing the theoretical essence flow patterns required to execute them properly. But I'm nine months old, so I'll just point at things and say single words.
"He's been very attentive today," Seraphina noted. "Hardly fussed at all during the entire council meeting earlier. Just sat there watching everyone like he understood what was being discussed."
"Probably finds the sounds soothing. Babies like voices, even if they don't understand the content."
I understood every word. The eastern monster surge is worsening faster than expected. House Crimson has requested military assistance but doesn't want to appear weak enough to need it officially. You're trying to decide whether to offer help preemptively or wait for a formal request. It's a delicate political balance between appearing helpful and appearing opportunistic.
Ashen stacked two blocks on top of each other, then knocked them over. Baby things. Normal, innocent, utterly unremarkable baby things.
"We should probably head back," Seraphina said. "Ashen needs his afternoon meal, and I have that meeting with the healers' guild representatives."
Aldric scooped up his youngest son with easy strength. "I'll carry him. Need to stop by the administrative wing anyway to review those supply requisitions."
They walked through the castle corridors together, family moving through their home. Servants bowed as they passed, guards saluted. The Duke and Duchess of the northern territories, one of the five pillars of the Empire, going about their daily routines.
And their youngest son, observing everything with eyes that saw far more than they should.
In the administrative wing, they encountered Elara emerging from a records room with an armful of ledgers.
"Father, Mother," she greeted, then noticed Ashen. "Hello, little brother. Learning about swords today?"
"He watched your father train," Seraphina confirmed. "Seemed quite interested in the whole process."
"Children his age are drawn to movement and sound. The sword forms probably looked like an interesting dance to him." Elara shifted her ledgers to one arm and reached out to ruffle Ashen's hair. "When you're older, I'll teach you something more useful than sword fighting. Mathematics, logistics, resource management—the real tools of power."
"He'll learn both," Aldric said firmly. "A well-rounded education includes combat training and intellectual development."
"I wasn't suggesting otherwise. Just noting that history shows administrators outlast warriors more often than not."
"Only because warriors keep them safe enough to administrate."
Elara smiled slightly. "And who feeds and equips those warriors? Circular dependency, Father. We've had this argument before."
"And we'll have it again, I'm sure." But there was affection in Aldric's tone. "How are the ledgers looking?"
"Better than expected. The essence stone mining is producing forty percent above initial projections. If we can maintain this output for another two years, we'll have enough capital to fund the northern road expansion project you wanted."
They continued discussing territorial economics while Ashen listened and observed. The family dynamics were becoming clearer with each passing day. Reikan was competent but distant, focused on his future role. Elara was brilliant at administration but sometimes forgot to be warm. Kael was straightforward to the point of simplicity. Lyra was the wild card who somehow always landed on her feet.
And his parents, Aldric and Seraphina, were the glue holding everything together—strong enough to command respect, wise enough to allow independence, loving enough to create genuine family bonds despite the political complications of noble life.
Later that afternoon, while Seraphina attended her meeting, Ashen was left in the care of Mira in the nursery. The servant settled him in a play area with various toys, then began her usual routine of tidying while talking.
"Nine months old already," Mira said to herself, folding blankets. "Time flies, doesn't it, young master? Soon you'll be walking, then talking in full sentences, then running around causing mischief like your brother Kael did at age three."
Ashen picked up a soft ball and rolled it across the floor, watching it bounce off the wall. Standard baby behavior. Meanwhile, his mind was occupied with more complex matters.
The timeline was proceeding roughly as he remembered from the novel. The eastern monster surges were the prelude to wider instability. In about two years, around the time of his second birthday, the first truly dangerous spatial anomaly would appear—a small rift that let through creatures that shouldn't exist in this reality.
The protagonist of the novel wouldn't be born for another six months, in the western territories of the Empire. By the time they reached the same age, Ashen would be nearly a year ahead in development. Not that it mattered much in childhood, but it gave him additional time to establish his cover and build his foundation.
"Let's see," Mira said, pulling out a picture book. "How about a story? Your mother says you like the ones with illustrations."
She sat down next to Ashen and opened the book. It was a simplified history of the Asterian Empire, with large pictures and minimal text designed for young children.
"This is Emperor Valorian the Third," Mira explained, pointing to an illustrated figure wearing elaborate robes. "He's ruled the Empire for forty-seven years. Very wise, very powerful. They say he's reached SS-Rank cultivation, though nobody knows for sure because the imperial family keeps such things private."
SS-Rank. That matched what Ashen remembered from the novel. Emperor Valorian was a significant figure in the early chapters, though he'd die during the first major crisis, leaving a power vacuum that the protagonist would eventually help fill.
"And these are the five Great Houses," Mira continued, turning the page to show five distinct heraldic symbols. "House Silverion in the north—that's your family. House Crimson in the east, House Azure in the south, House Verdant in the west, and House Obsidian near the capital."
Ashen pointed at the Silverion symbol—a silver sword piercing a mountain, surrounded by lightning bolts.
"Yes! That's your family's crest. Very good, young master."
He'd seen that crest everywhere throughout the estate, of course. It was carved into stone walls, woven into tapestries, etched into armor and weapons. The Silverion family had ruled the northern territories for over three hundred years, ever since the Empire's founding.
Three hundred years of history, tradition, and accumulated power. And now he was part of it, the youngest member of this ancient lineage.
The responsibility of that should have felt heavy. Instead, it felt like opportunity. Resources, connections, protection during his vulnerable early years—everything he needed to grow strong without interference.
The door opened and Lyra breezed in, carrying what looked like a dead rabbit.
"Mira! Look what I caught!"
The servant jumped, clutching the book. "Young Miss! Please don't bring dead animals into the nursery!"
"Why not? Ashen should learn about hunting. It's an important skill."
"He's nine months old!"
"Perfect age to start learning." Lyra plopped down next to Ashen, holding up the rabbit. "See this, little brother? I tracked it for three hours through the northern forest, predicted its movement pattern, and took it down with one arrow. Clean kill, no suffering."
Ashen looked at the rabbit, then at his sister. He reached out and touched its soft fur. "Soft."
"Yes, very soft! Rabbits make excellent eating. Well, this one does. I'll have the kitchens prepare it for dinner." Lyra seemed delighted by his interest. "When you're older, I'll take you hunting. Show you how to read tracks, identify edible plants, survive in the wilderness."
"Young Miss, the young master needs to learn proper etiquette and court manners first."
"Boring. Survival skills are way more useful than knowing which fork to use at fancy dinners."
"Both are important for a duke's son."
"He's the fifth child. He can afford to be interesting instead of proper." Lyra grinned and ruffled Ashen's hair. "Right, tiny human?"
Ashen just looked at her, keeping his expression neutral. Lyra had an interesting point, actually. As the youngest son with no expectation of inheriting, he had more freedom to deviate from traditional noble paths than his older siblings did.
That could be useful for his long-term plans.
Lyra stayed for another half hour, regaling Ashen with tales of her hunting adventures while Mira alternated between looking scandalized and amused. It was clear the servant had given up trying to enforce proper behavior on the family's free-spirited second daughter years ago.
When Seraphina finally returned, she found her youngest son apparently asleep in Lyra's arms while his sister continued talking about proper arrow fletching techniques.
"Having fun?" Seraphina asked with gentle amusement.
"Teaching him important life skills."
"He's nine months old."
"Never too early to start!"
Seraphina carefully extracted Ashen from Lyra's grasp. "Thank you for watching him, dear. But he really does need proper rest now."
After Lyra left—taking her rabbit with her—Seraphina placed Ashen in his crib and sat in the rocking chair nearby.
"You have interesting siblings," she said softly. "Each one so different, so uniquely themselves. I wonder what you'll be like when you're older. Studious like Elara? Brave like Kael? Adventurous like Lyra? Responsible like Reikan?"
Or none of the above. I'll be something this world hasn't seen before—someone who knows what's coming and spent their entire life preparing for it in secret.
"Whatever you become," Seraphina continued, "I hope you'll be happy. That's what I want most for all my children. Not power or prestige or achievement. Just... happiness. Contentment. A life lived fully, whatever that means for each of you."
She started humming that familiar melody again, the one Ashen still couldn't identify but found soothing regardless.
The afternoon sun painted the nursery in warm gold. Dust motes drifted in the light. Outside, he could hear guards on patrol, servants going about their duties, the distant sounds of Kael training in the yard.
Normal sounds. Peaceful sounds.
Sounds of a world that didn't know cosmic threats were forming beyond the boundaries of reality, preparing to tear through the fabric of existence itself in a few decades.
A world Ashen would do everything in his power to protect, starting with these quiet moments in a nursery, building his foundation one careful day at a time.
The system pulsed once in his consciousness.
[PRIMORDIAL AMPLIFICATION SYSTEM]
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No techniques detected.
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Still dormant. Still waiting.
Like him.
Nine months down. Fifty-one more until awakening.
The journey continued.