Aureus's strategic maneuvers began in the gilded simplicity of the Royal Dining Hall.
After Celestine was whisked away, he did not tarry after her. The brief, intense moment of familial affection, calculated, profound, and deeply possessive, was a strategic investment designed to create the emotional framework for his future dominion.
Now, the four-year-old Prince needed capital. The existential goal demanded more than just his will; it demanded resources, cutting-edge Magitech, and absolute secrecy that only the Crown's treasury could afford.
He spent the afternoon in his chamber, feigning a nap while executing the most complex strategic preparation yet, composing the lie of the heart. He couldn't lecture the King, his current father, on how to run things and future vulnerabilities, that was too much too soon. He needed an emotional, relatable justification for his sudden intensity and his future ambition for power.
The core of "The Saint-Veridian Scion" was a lie. Valerian Aetherus, the protagonist, was not a hero; he was a catastrophe.
Aureus knew the protagonist's ultimate destiny was to claim the highest ranks, the greatest political capital, and every heroine, but only through chaos and exploitation. Valerian's Space/VoidElement and his [Nexus Anchor] trait allowed him to act recklessly, creating problems that would hurt allies, and then he would be stepping in to 'save the day', basking in the earned gratitude.
He was the perfect "righteous hypocrite", a dangerous nuisance who would climb the social ladder on the backs of others' misfortune. Aureus's current political move was necessary to ensure Valerian found no support, no easy path to ascend, and no sympathy from the prince he intended to replace.
…
The opportunity came at dinner. King Valerius Solaris, normally preoccupied with Council matters and distant frontier reports, was present. The reports from the Nanny regarding Aureus's unprecedented maturity and devotion to Celestine had clearly piqued his interest. The King wanted answers.
The dining hall was an exercise in solemn tradition. Aureus sat opposite his father, while the Queen, a picture of worried elegance, sat to the King's left. The meal, a light broth infused with Elven-cultivated herbs, began in silence.
"Aureus." King Valerius Solaris finally began, setting down his silver spoon. His tone was professional but tinged with a father's curiosity.
"Your behaviour toward your sister this afternoon, it was deeply moving. Yet, the staff reported a stark change. Tell me, son, what made you show such sudden intensity? You have never shown such focus on these things before."
Aureus knew this was the opening. He placed his small hands neatly on the table, forcing his features into a mask of deep, thoughtful sadness, the perfect contrast to the radiant warmth his body naturally projected.
Aureus saw the King not just as his father in this life, but as a tragic and complex figure.
"Father, forgive my lack of grace." Aureus began, ensuring his voice was clear, low, and sad. "I have recently been allowed access to certain journals and historical tales in the Royal Library, summaries, of course, read to me by the scholarly Mages."
He let the lie settle. The King, a scholar himself, would accept the precocity of the statement.
"In those tales," Aureus continued, directing his amber eyes toward the King with genuine pathos, "I read of two kinds of tragedy, both equally devastating."
He paused, ensuring his timing was impeccable. "The first kind: Men who pursued power and glory, forgetting the simple love of family. They achieved everything, wealth, rank, dominion, only to return to find their kin estranged, or their hearts empty. They rejected the simple light of love for the harsh light of the power, and lost both."
The Queen looked distressed, while the King nodded slowly, recognizing the ancient moral dilemma.
"And the second tragedy," Aureus whispered, his voice catching slightly, a calculated manipulation of his small voice box. "Men who rejected power for the sake of quiet love and familial duty. They believed simple affection was enough. But when the great storms came, when the demons truly reached our walls, or when someone schemed, they found their love was fragile, and they lost their family for the lack of power to protect them."
Aureus finished, looking straight at his father. "Father, when I thought of losing Celestine, I was terrified. I cannot risk either of the two failures. I cannot lose my sister because I was too blind to love her, nor because I was too weak to shield her from the coming dangers."
King Valerius sat back, absorbing the weight of the lie. This wasn't merely a child speaking; it was a pure distillation of the tragic flaw of kingship.
The King recognized his own stagnation at the lower bounds of Sovereign Rank, a consequence of prioritizing stability of family over relentless progression of power.
"You seek to avoid both extremes." the King summarized, his voice heavy with understanding. "You seek power for love, not instead of it."
"Exactly." Aureus confirmed, seizing the moment. "I need to ensure the light I embody is not merely a blade, but also the absolute shield our family requires. My development cannot be slow-paced."
Aureus's gaze became piercing as he delivered the ultimate demand, relying purely on the purity of his element to convey the terrifying truth:
"The Royal Scanners are too big, father. They only see the large power. They cannot see the sickness."
Aureus paused, the radiant warmth in the chamber subtly intensifying, making the King feel a prickling coldness beneath the warmth.
"My Light is sensing the illness, the corruption in the court's mana. It is growing among the highest-ranking nobles. I need a small room that can watch my Light. It must be perfect."
Aureus then finished with the simplest, most undeniable political mandate: "I must know if this chaos touches the Solaris line. My power must grow fast, father. I seek the ultimate power to secure the future of our family and throne."
King Valerius sat frozen, his mind reeling.
His son's words, "sickness", "corruption", were childish, yet they perfectly mirrored the confidential, high-level reports of instability and paranoia surrounding the high-ranking nobles involved in the Aetherus Duchy's new Spacial Gate project. His own Royal Mages and the Dwarven engineers had dismissed those reports as 'acceptable interference' or 'political stress', the exact "too big" optimization Aureus mentioned.
He looked at his son, truly seeing the prodigy.
This was not just a child's fear; it was the purest Light affinity in the kingdom acting as a divine sensor, detecting a spiritual sickness, that his own stagnating Sovereign-rank power had missed. The emotional plea now seemed less like a story and more like a prophecy.
If he ignored this warning, he might repeat the very mistake he made in allowing the Aetherus project to proceed unchecked, risking both his family and his kingdom.
The Queen, pale and frightened, finally intervened, her voice tight with maternal terror, her hands pressing against the King's arm. "Valerius, please," she whispered, her fear overriding her royal decorum.
"He is feeling something. Our son came to us because he feels that we are in danger. Grant him the defense he needs."
The King, moved by his Queen's terror and the sudden, vivid validation of his deepest political fears about the Aetherus project's instability, looked at his four-year-old son with a newfound understanding of his genius. He gave a single, heavy, decisive nod. The authority was granted.
…
King Valerius and the Queen retired, when leaving, the Queen still looking pale and shaken by her son's unnatural insight and fear of something happening to their children.
This left Aureus, the four-year-old Prince, alone in the vast dining hall with the unnerved Count Lysander.
As the Head Royal Steward, Lysander was a man whose entire career was built on meticulous adherence to protocol and the careful management of political optics. He now clutched the rolled schematic, his face a mask of professional terror.
Aureus understood the man's fear. Lysander wasn't afraid of the cost; he was terrified of the political liability. If this secret project, which bypassed the Royal Mages and the entire High Council, failed, Lysander would be the designated scapegoat.
Aureus moved with slow, deliberate steps toward the Count, his small form now imbued with the full weight of his latent power. The radiant warmth he had projected for his father now receded, replaced by a cool, piercing focus.
"Lord Lysander." Aureus said, his voice dropping to a low, firm whisper, gaining an unnatural resonance that compelled attention.
"Your silence is the foundation of this endeavor. The sickness I sense is an exposure of failure. Should this information, that the Human command structure is blind due to relying on just obsolete scanner data, be leaked prematurely, the Veridian Concord itself could fracture."
He leaned in, using his gaze to compel attention. He needed Lysander to understand the catastrophic, geopolitical risk. "The Elves would withdraw their resource cultivation, fearing Solgrad's spiritual stability is compromised. The Dwarves would withhold their advanced Magitech components, deeming our defense protocols too unreliable to risk their valuable equipment. Even the Beastkin would likely pull back their forces from the Chasm, fearing their supply lines are compromised. We would stand alone."
Lysander swallowed hard, adjusting his spectacles. He recognized the profound systemic risk immediately. The prince wasn't asking him just to manage a budget; it was as if, he was asking him to manage the total stability of the Continent.
"I require more than loyalty; I require your absolute discretion and your meticulous foresight." Aureus continued, delivering the technical demands of the schematic. "The construction requires the highest grade of materials, specifically Grade-Seven Tantalum Alloys, for structural stability. The sensors must achieve A-Rank sensitivity to measure Spiritual Purity Metrics — the qualitative stability, not just volume. You must commission a specialized team."
Lysander, trembling, finally found his voice, the realization of the prince's warning dawning.
"Your Highness, such specifications demand bypassing the central Guilds entirely. I can route the commission through the private, independent forges. But why the private sector?"
"The central Guilds are bound by the Optimization Paradox." Aureus stated, revealing another layer of his meta-knowledge. "They filter out the chaotic signals, the early warnings, for the sake of clean, quantifiable data. They have been trained to ignore the very signs of impending spiritual collapse. We need a forge that seeks novelty over mandated efficiency."
Aureus commanded the final, crucial detail: "The order must be routed through the Ironhand Forge, a team known for its obscure technical brilliance. Tell them the components are for an experimental, high-efficiency Royal Spacial Gate prototype that requires a unique, high-capacity stabilization matrix."
This was the First Lie, a masterful piece of Magitech misdirection. Linking the request to a Spacial Gate prototype was brilliant: it justified the exotic material need (Grade-Seven Tantalum, A-Rank Purity sensitivity), and it provided a high-security cover story, ensuring the Dwarven Artisan, Bronwyn's (one of the heroines) father, would remain unaware of the project's true nature, for now.
"Route the payment immediately and in full." Aureus commanded, his small hand signing a document with a surprisingly steady, elegant signature. "The Dwarves value merit and gold. They will not ask questions if the payment is instantaneous and the challenge is technical."
Lord Lysander, now the chief accomplice in the greatest secret political maneuver of the decade, straightened. He had been given a terrorizing secret and a staggering amount of power. "It shall be done, Your Highness. Your secrecy is Solgrad's shield."
From the beginning to the end, he did not even show a hint of curiosity about the source of Aureus' knowledge. For a person in his position, he knew better than questioning the royal family outside the necessity. Moreover, the one in front of him was the Light of their kingdom, even if he was only four years old, every word and action of him held the highest regard in their kingdom.
Hearing the reply, Aureus simply nodded, his radiant warmth intensifying slightly, a subtle reward for the retainer's compliance. His gaze fell to the floor, where the schematic had rested. The immediate political pressure was off. The logistical framework was set. The construction of the hidden chamber, and so, the next decade of his training, was thus beginning.