Grievous quietly closed his eyes and slowly began to sleep, slipping gently into the elusive world of dreams. The quiet hum of the night wrapped around him like a soft shroud, lulling his mind deeper with every breath. His body relaxed, the tension of countless days slowly unwinding as he surrendered to the unknown.
When he opened his eyes, the air around him was different, much colder, sharper. He found himself floating in vast, empty space, weightless and silent. There were no stars nearby, only a distant glow far beyond his reach. The cold did not bite at him as it might have in the waking world. Instead, it was a calm, serene chill that embraced rather than repelled.
Grievous flexed his fingers, then his arms, checking that his body was intact. There was no freezing numbness, no strange swelling or discomfort. Everything felt as real as it could in this intangible place.
"It's been years since I've been in a vivid dream," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, his gaze wandering across the endless void. "I've almost forgotten that feeling."
Before him, a simple star pulsed steadily, its light pure and unwavering. The star seemed to anchor the emptiness, a light in the silent dark.
Grievous felt a strange calm settle over him, deeper than any he had known in the waking world. This was no restless dream, no chaotic vision. It was peaceful, weirdly enough, comforting.
Slowly, he let his thoughts drift, willing the dream to shift into something he truly desired. The endless space dissolved, replaced by a quiet lakeside scene. He stood upon a modest wooden platform built in the middle of the lake, the water gently rippling beneath his feet.
The lake was a perfect mirror, disturbed only by the soft caress of a breeze that stirred the surface into gentle waves.
Around the water's edge, old trees stretched their gnarled arms, their leaves tinged with the warm hues of autumn, trembling slightly as if reluctant to let go. Their branches dipped into the water, as if the trees were elderly women gathering water for some forgotten purpose long ago.
The scent of bright, blooming flowers drifted softly on the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil and fallen leaves.
Somewhere in the distance, birds chirped, their notes clear and sweet, echoing through the branches. The world was alive with quiet sounds that seemed to weave a delicate symphony of peace.
Grievous inhaled deeply, savoring the moment before letting out a low sigh. "It's empty," he said quietly, the words lingering between the rustling leaves.
From behind him, a shaky voice responded, old and worn like the trees themselves. "Of course it is."
Grievous turned slowly, and there before him stood a man. Not just any man, but his original body, or at least the same appearance he bore before death. The figure was aged, his face lined with time and wisdom, his eyes heavy with years of knowing.
Surprise flickered through Grievous. "It seems this dream is deeper than I imagined. Is it possible you are the embodiment of a memory, or something else entirely?"
The old man shook his head slowly, his voice steady despite its frailty. "You can think of me as an old man giving you advice. Beware of Rahul's Swords."
The words sent a ripple through Grievous's mind, sharp and sudden. Before he could ask more, the old man raised a hand, and with a simple motion, Grievous felt himself being expelled from the dreamscape.
His eyes snapped open. His chest heaved with rapid breaths, sweat drenched his face. The world felt too loud, too bright.
"Rahul's Swords," he whispered, voice trembling as he wiped his face. "So they are real."
The weight of the warning pressed heavily on him. Slowly, he extended his right hand to his mouth, whispering low. "It seems it is not an empty warning. I need to know everything about them. They must be the enemy."
He lowered his hand and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room was dimly lit by the early morning light filtering through the curtains. Still breathing heavily, Grievous rose and moved toward the balcony. His wide pyjamas fluttered in the gentle breeze as he rested his hands on the railing.
Outside, the world was waking up. The sky painted itself in strokes of orange and violet, colors that shifted and faded as dawn approached. The wind stirred the leaves of the trees below, carrying with it the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers.
Grievous stared blankly at the changing hues. The calm of the dream still lingered in his mind, but the urgency of the old man's warning gnawed at his thoughts.
"I must go to the capital," he said softly. "To Syriza's library. There I will undoubtedly find all the records about that ancient legend."
His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, watching the colors dance and disappear. "But the time is not right now. I will at least wait until I reach the late third rank."
He swallowed hard, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "And I must not go with my identity as a noble. That will simply attract the attention of the royal family."
He considered the risks. The royal family's eyes were everywhere, and his every move was watched. If he sought knowledge openly, it could invite danger rather than answers.
"Or perhaps," he mused quietly, "I should have the old mage bring me books from the library and additional information."
The thought offered a flicker of hope. "This will make things easier, give the most benefit for the least effort."
Grievous's mind raced, a thousand possibilities unfolding at once. He was no stranger to subtlety, to schemes woven in shadows. Yet the threat of Rahul's Swords was unlike anything he had faced before. They had been whispered about in tales, dismissed as legend, until now.
His fingers clenched around the railing, knuckles white. The calm he had felt in the dream was gone, replaced by a growing storm inside him. He would need patience, cunning, and strength.
The wind picked up, tugging at his clothes as if urging him forward.
He closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. 'I will uncover this,' he promised silently. 'No matter what it takes.'
The first light of dawn crept fully over the horizon, casting long shadows across the land. Grievous remained on the balcony.
---
Grievous was simply seeing what possibilities were in front of him and which were best for his overall benefit. Both things were very possible, but simply in his current weak state, going to the capital would be harmful, and if he waited, he might regret it, when the time for regret had already gone.
The old man let out a long sigh and thought, 'The fear of the dream and the warning have affected my thought process. It is simply the prey's instinctive fear of its approaching predator. And without a doubt, as I am currently, I am not even a satiated prey.'
He calmly extended his hand in front of him and quietly opened it as he quickly created a simple spell in his Mind Palace, and quietly on his palm a simple statue appeared. This statue was made of pure Shen, in a dark black colour, and had a simple shape depicting Edmund. He thought, 'It's easy with my current rank in magical mathematics.'
The tiny figure was rough, almost crude in its design, but to Grievous, it was perfect. It pulsed softly in his palm like a heartbeat, a faint shimmer.
Edmund's likeness was etched with minimal lines, but each detail was deliberate, at least enough to hold a fragment of the person's essence.
Grievous moved the statue in his hand slightly as he hummed slowly. Then he placed it on the edge of the balcony and said, "I need to collect enough pieces. Edmund alone is not enough to do everything I need outside. I think I must wander the world by myself. But now this is simply dangerous, at least outside of a few of the weaker noble estates where there are only people far below the third rank, and even those of that rank are very few."
He gazed out over the sprawling estate below, bathed in the fading gold of the rising sun. The distant hum of life rose up to meet him, the clatter of carts, the murmur of voices. It was a living, breathing organism, indifferent to his presence.
"I'm going to leave this up until I at least get to the early second rank to see if this ability will develop or if it depends on something else."
He paused for a few moments and then continued calmly to himself, "If its development does not depend on rank as a magician, then I must seriously look for ways to develop it. After all, it is the strongest thing I have up my sleeve."
The notion settled heavily in his mind. This ability, was unlike any he had encountered before. It might be the key to bridging the gap between his current vulnerability and the towering threats he would soon face.
Grievous calmly picked up the simple statue, and on the palm of his hand, it slowly melted and turned back into spiritual energy in the air. The dark shimmer dissolved like smoke caught in a gentle breeze, disappearing silently.
He turned and entered the room, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath his steps. The chamber was sparse but orderly, an old desk with scattered papers, a single window casting long shadows, and shelves lined with faded tomes.
Sitting in his chair in front of the table, he pulled out one of the simple papers and a pen. The pen felt heavy between his fingers, its nib catching slightly on the coarse surface of the parchment.
* Slowly and in the language of his world he wrote:
* Evolve your rank and Edmund's.
* Learn all possible spells.
* Find everything about Rahul's Swords.
* Make sure you develop your basic ability.
* Collect useful pieces.
Each phrase carried weight, a silent command to himself.
Grievous simply wrote in front of him what he should do now and slowly stared at the paper and the liquid ink that was slowly beginning to dry and hummed. He saw that the order in which he wrote things was the most appropriate for him to do things now.
He let out a slight sigh as he began to cut the paper, then quietly collected the scraps and then threw them into the trash can next to him.
He said mockingly, "It's simply trivial. I don't know why I still do those things that I used to do even though I don't need them. Maybe it's a hidden longing for my world."
His voice was soft but carried a sliver of irony, as if mocking the very habits that clung to him like old skin. The world he left behind was simpler, predictable—a place where rules were clear and dangers fewer.
"No, I don't think so. Why would I prefer a simple world like that over something exciting like this?"
He leaned back in his chair, arms resting on the armrests, eyes drifting to the ceiling where the beams caught the fading light. The contrast between his past life and the present was stark.
Of course, as someone who has experienced life in both worlds, he undoubtedly loved the world where he will be able to live for a longer time more. Grievous' love of life was simply wondrous in a way that was both interesting and compassionate at the same time.
There was a quiet reverence in him, an appreciation for the fragile thread that tethered him to existence. Despite the hardships, despite the unknown dangers, he had a fierce determination to cling to life's moments.
He let out a long sigh and rested his body on the chair and relaxed completely as he thought, 'I don't think I'll be able to sleep. Let us study the memories of that old mage in-depth.'
His mind drifted to the memories locked within the ancient magi he had found days ago, the mage whose knowledge might hold the key to his survival.
Grievous closed his eyes briefly, letting the silence fill the room. The night outside deepened, stars flickering like distant beacons.
'I must steel myself,' he thought. 'The path ahead is uncertain, but I will not easily go down.'
The old mage's memories were a labyrinth, complex and layered. Each fragment revealed new insights, but also new questions.
As he delved deeper, the room seemed to fade away, replaced by visions of rituals, battles fought long ago, and the quiet desperation of a woman seeking power to protect what she held dear.
Grievous felt a stirring inside him, a mixture of awe and urgency. The knowledge was vast, but incomplete. He would have to piece it together.
Time slipped past unnoticed. The world outside ceased to matter.
In these moments, Grievous was not an old man weakened by circumstance. He was a seeker, a learner, a force gathering strength in the shadows.
He wondered, 'How many more pieces must I collect before I am powerful enough?'
The thought was both daunting and motivating.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of rain and distant fireplaces.
Inside, the flicker of candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls.