Grievous glanced down at his left foot, the tip turned slightly outward, a subtle but deliberate detail in his careful charade. Beside it stood the edge of his crutch, its wood polished smooth by constant use and silent patience. He studied the scene with a measured gaze and thought, 'A little acting is definitely helpful.'
The limp was a necessary part of his disguise, a small but effective mask to shield him from prying eyes. Grievous needed to present a simple and calm exterior, one that would not invite suspicion or curiosity. An injured leg, after all, made him the disabled second young master of a low rank noble family, an identity both unremarkable and conveniently overlooked.
This was no small matter. The ancient monsters lurking within the royal family possessed power far beyond ordinary men. Sixth rank magicians, their eyes sharp and their senses honed to detect even the faintest flicker of magic or unusual talent. Grievous could not afford to draw their attention.
To do so would unravel everything. All his careful planning, all his hidden abilities that defied magical explanation, would be laid bare.
He was extremely cautious, more so than most. Every movement was calculated, every word weighed before it left his lips.
'One foolish act could expose me,' he reminded himself often. So he kept his actions to a minimum, watching, listening, blending into the background like a shadow that slipped unnoticed through a crowded room.
And yet, despite his caution, he had decided to venture into the city with Edmund. The boy had grown restless, weary of solitude within the palace walls.
His father was engrossed in arcane studies, his uncle buried in endless family affairs. Even the grandfather, with all his wisdom and age, was preoccupied beyond measure. Edmund needed an escape, and Grievous felt a quiet duty to provide that.
His luck, he reflected, was remarkable. Being the second son freed him from burdens others bore. He was far from the head of the family, distant from the weight of leadership and responsibility that came with the title. He understood these burdens well, having observed Lord Hyde's struggles as a subordinate ruler. It was a relief not to be entangled in such complications.
The carriage rolled steadily along the uneven road, its wheels stirring dust beneath the fading light of afternoon. Grievous settled into his seat, the Caneresting against his leg, a silent reminder of his role. The air was cool, carrying the scent of distant market stalls and faint whispers of city life beyond the palace gates.
Suddenly, Edmund's voice broke the quiet. Calm yet tinged with a subtle sadness, the boy spoke.
"I have finished that book we talked about several days ago."
Grievous turned his gaze toward him, noting the earnest expression on the child's face.
"In the end, the prince was killed in a coup supported by an outside kingdom."
The words hung heavy between them. Grievous sighed softly, the weight of history and human folly pressing down.
"The world is full of different conflicts," he said slowly. "The winds of change do not leave anything as it is for a long time. An end like this is reasonable."
He paused, searching for the right thought to ease the boy's sorrow.
"But there is no need to be sad. The prince lived in his own way and trusted himself. This is the most important lesson that must be learned."
Edmund smiled faintly, comforted by his father's philosophical tone.
"Father is right," the boy said with quiet confidence. "It is more important for a person to follow his own path and have confidence in himself."
Though only five years old, Edmund's mind reached far beyond his years. Since learning the language this month, he had devoured several dozen books. His understanding was deep, and Grievous was never surprised by the child's thoughtful words.
"You are a smart child, Edmund," Grievous said with a smile. "You are even a genius. You understood the matter quickly."
Edmund's cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment at the praise. He returned the smile, shy but proud.
The conversation shifted then, flowing naturally to Edmund's linguistic progress. They spoke of the books he was reading, the new words he had learned, and the stories that had captivated him. The boy's enthusiasm was infectious, filling the carriage with a lightness that contrasted sharply with the somber earlier topic.
Outside, the city's sounds grew louder as they neared the government building. The carriage rattled over cobblestones, coming to a stop beside the stable. Ground Lizards stamped their hooves, steam rising from their flanks in the cool air.
Grievous adjusted his Cane and looked ahead. The busy streets beckoned, a world of opportunity and danger intertwined. But for now, he would walk carefully, step by measured step, playing the part he had chosen with quiet strength.
---
As Grievous stepped down from the carriage, the cool air of the city brushed against his face.
Waiting just ahead stood a stout man, unmistakable despite the years. His thick frame was softened by a round face crowned with short black hair, neatly combed but slightly tousled from the breeze. Perched just above his nose were the unmistakable fisheye glasses, magnifying his sharp, discerning red eyes that seemed to pierce through the distance.
The man's gaze locked onto Grievous instantly, and a warm, genuine smile spread across his face.
"Nephew, how are you!" he called out, his voice carrying a familiar warmth that instantly melted away some of the awkwardness in the moment.
Grievous returned the smile, a one that reached his eyes. He closed the distance quickly and embraced the man with a brief, affectionate hug.
"Uncle Mavis, it has been a while," he said, his voice steady but carrying a subtle undertone of relief.
Mavis chuckled softly, stepping back to study Grievous more closely. His sharp eyes flickered down to the left foot, noticing the absence of movement and the cane Grievous leaned on.
"So the rumors were true, huh," Mavis said, his tone a mixture of surprise and concern. "You lost your leg while you were away on vacation."
Grievous nodded slowly, his smile faltering just a moment. A quiet sadness flickered in his eyes as he spoke softly, "Unfortunately, that happened."
Uncle Mavis' eyes softened immediately. He knew better than to press further. The pain in Grievous' voice was plain, and Mavis had learned over the years that some wounds were best left undisturbed. Without hesitation, he shifted the conversation.
"I was surprised when I received your message saying you were coming to the city today," Mavis said, his voice lighter now. "I did not expect you to leave the house in your current state."
Grievous exhaled a small breath, a faint tension easing from his shoulders. With practiced subtlety, he reached into the depths of his mind and gently altered his uncle's memories. Now, instead of seeing only Grievous, Mavis recalled Edmund as Grievous' illegitimate son, a boy born when Grievous was sixteen.
With this new memory in place, Grievous smiled again and said, "I've come to let Edmund wander around the city for a bit. You know how annoying it is to stay at home all the time."
Mavis laughed, the sound rich and hearty. "I don't need you to tell me that. It's boring to death."
He gestured toward a tall, broadshouldered man standing silently nearby. "Anyway, you already know the city well. Take this guard with you and go have a little fun with this little one."
Grievous nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Uncle. I appreciate it."
After a quick farewell, the guard fell into step beside Grievous and Edmund. Together, the trio moved quietly toward the city's private market.
The city was unassuming at first glance. Its style was simple, almost humble. Rows of twostory houses lined the streets, their walls a mix of weathered wood and sturdy brick.
Most buildings looked alike, but here and there, an unusual structure broke the monotonyornate balconies, colorful shutters, or carved stone facades hinted at stories untold.
Edmund's eyes sparkled with wonder. He took in every detail with a hunger that only a child experiencing something new could have.
'It's great!' he thought, a soft smile tugging at his lips. 'Spacious place and different buildings. It is really very wonderful like those buildings described in the books.'
His gaze lingered on the cobblestone streets, the flutter of vibrant market stalls, and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby.
Everything was so different from the palace's cold marble halls and the quiet village where he had lived before.
With his memories altered, Edmund had never left the palace after Grievous had brought him from his mother's village. Every stone, every shadow here was unfamiliar, yet thrilling.
He glanced up at Grievous, who steadied himself on the cane but walked with a quiet determination. Edmund admired his father's strength, even in his current state. 'If he can face this city like this, I can explore it too,' the boy thought, feeling a sudden surge of courage.
The guard, meanwhile, kept a watchful eye on the pair ahead, his posture alert but relaxed. He knew the city well and would ensure their safety without making his presence overbearing.
As they neared the bustling heart of the market, the aroma of fresh bread mingled with the scent of herbs and spices. The lively chatter of merchants calling out their wares created a vibrant symphony that filled the air.
Edmund's steps quickened, drawn toward a stall adorned with colorful fabrics and trinkets. His fingers brushed over the silks as he examined them with fascination.
Grievous watched the boy's joy quietly, a faint smile touching his lips despite the lingering weight in his chest.
The day stretched ahead.