Standing in front of the child, Grievous extended his right hand toward the boy. His fingers did not seek to touch flesh but rather the strange, shimmering aura that clung to the child like a second skin. The air around them seemed to pulse with an unseen energy, bending subtly under the command of Grievous' outstretched palm.
Slowly, he moved his hand around the child, tracing invisible patterns in the air. The boy's wide eyes flickered between curiosity and terror, his breath catching in his throat as he struggled to understand what was happening. The world around them quieted, as if holding its breath. Then, suddenly, Grievous closed his hand sharply and raised it as if plucking a carrot from the earth.
The boy felt a sharp, piercing pain in his chest. His small body stiffened, and his lips parted to scream, but Grievous pressed a finger gently against the boy's mouth. A soft whisper escaped from beneath the mask.
"Interesting," he said with a hint of a smile. "You will come with me."
Without another word, Grievous lifted the child onto his broad shoulder. The boy's heart pounded wildly, his eyes darting around the darkened street. His slender fingers clawed at the fabric of Grievous' cloak, desperate to break free, but the strength gripping him was unyielding, enhanced by the magic that still thrummed in his veins.
The child's resistance weakened. He slowly released his grip, sinking into a numb acceptance. His gaze shifted upward, searching the dim sky through the tangle of shadows.
A scream clawed at his throat, but his mind refused to let it out. A cold wave of despair washed over him, burying his hope beneath a heavy blanket of fear. He was certain now that death had claimed him.
Grievous moved silently through the labyrinthine alleys, but instead of heading to the organization's headquarters, he went to his own house. Emerging quietly from the shadows, he sent a mental command sharp and clear to everyone within the palace walls: The child named Edmund was to be treated as a young master.
The invisible order rippled through the minds of the servants, compelling immediate obedience.
He handed the boy to the butler, whose eyes widened at the unexpected charge. The butler bowed respectfully as Grievous issued another silent instruction: clean the child, dress him in fine clothes, and provide a hearty meal.
The butler nodded, understanding the gravity behind the command.
Grievous melted back into the darkness without another word.
As he slipped through the shadows, his mind churned with questions. 'I think that boy will be the key to discovering my other ability,' he mused. 'What I caught must be his luck, or rather, his own probabilities. But how do I control it? That is the real question.'
He did not expect to master this second power quickly. Yet something told him the discovery was inevitable. There was a thread leading him forward, faint but unbreakable. He had faith that the path would reveal itself in time.
Hours later, under the faint glow of a clouded moon, Grievous appeared quietly before a simple tavern nestled at the edge of the city. The night air was cool and still.
Instead of knocking or speaking, he reached out with his mind, seizing control of the guard stationed inside. The man's movements became sluggish, and the door creaked open silently at Grievous' will. He slipped inside without a sound.
The tavern was nearly empty. Only the guard and the bartender remained. The bartender, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a thin scar running down his cheek, was polishing glasses behind the worn counter.
His gaze snapped to Grievous as the faint drops of blood on the feathers of the cloak caught his attention. His hand rested on a hidden dagger beneath the counter.
"Welcome, sir," the bartender said cautiously, setting down a cup with a slight clatter. "What do you request?"
Grievous' eyes glinted beneath his mask. There was a coldness there. He scanned the room, noting the empty tables, the flickering candlelight that cast long shadows on the wooden walls.
"I need information," Grievous replied quietly, his voice low and deliberate. "Something that only you can provide."
The bartender's expression hardened. "Information has a price."
"Name it," Grievous said without hesitation.
A tense silence stretched between them. The tavern, so ordinary in appearance, felt suddenly charged with dangerous potential. Outside, the wind whispered through the crooked rooftops.
Grievous' hand tightened around the edge of the counter. The night was far from over, and the path ahead was shrouded in darkness.