Six years. It had been six years since I opened my eyes in this world.
At first, I thought it was a dream—a vivid hallucination conjured by grief. But dreams don't last six years. And they don't feel this real.
The world of Veyradis had become my reality. A world of candlelight and carriages, of steel and silk, of subtle magic and complex hierarchy. I had been reborn as Theodore Aldercrest, only child of Duke Edric and Lady Seraphina, nobles of the Kingdom of Eirenwald.
And despite the grandeur of the name… something about House Aldercrest wasn't right.
From the age of three, I began noticing things. The peeling paint in the east wing. The mismatched cutlery during formal dinners. The unused guest halls—once meant to house visiting nobles—now locked away under layers of dust. The steward avoided questions about coin shortages. The guards muttered about delayed wages.
For a ducal family, this place was strangely… frayed at the edges.
But I kept my mouth shut.
I watched. I listened. I learned.
I wasn't supposed to be in the study. It was "too serious a place for little lords," according to the steward. But they often left the door ajar when the men met to review the estate accounts. So I hid behind the curtain, quiet as a mouse, notebook in hand.
What they called a ledger was a disaster—columns out of alignment, entries missing dates, expenses rounded to the nearest ten with no justification.
Is this how a duchy manages its finances? I thought. It's no wonder they're bleeding coin.
I began writing my own notes in a child's leather-bound diary my mother gifted me.It wasn't just for drawings anymore. It had become a ledger of its own.
*- Ten guards on payroll. Only six on duty today. Others missing?
Kitchen purchases twice a week. Meal count doesn't match number of residents. Excess? Stolen?
Taxes from the southern village delayed. Merchant trouble?*
One afternoon, I sat by my father's side as he reviewed parchment after parchment of reports.
"Papa," I asked innocently, "why do the grain sellers charge different prices each week?"
Duke Edric looked down from his papers. "That's just how trade works, my son. Prices change."
"But if we wrote down the prices every week, wouldn't it be easier to tell when someone's cheating?"
He blinked. "...That's not a bad thought."
The steward behind him coughed, clearly uncomfortable.
"But it is not your concern, young master," the man added, trying to smile.
I smiled back with all the charm of a noble child and said nothing more.
But the next week, I saw my father scribbling grain prices into the margins of his report.
Later, during a walk in the manor garden with my mother, I heard the cook arguing with a scullery maid about wine stocks.
"Mama," I said, tugging at her sleeve, "shouldn't the cook have to say how many bottles he uses every week?"
Lady Seraphina tilted her head, amused. "Why, Theo?"
"So we know if any go missing." I shrugged. "Isn't that what stewards are for?"
She chuckled and ruffled my hair. "You think too much for a child, my love."
But that evening, I noticed two new locks installed on the wine cellar door.
I wasn't changing the world—not yet. But small things began to shift.
The steward now flinched slightly when I entered a room. The tutors stopped giving me arithmetic problems and started asking me for their answers. My parents—kind, patient, and deeply loving—began to realize their son might be something... more.
They thought I was gifted.They weren't wrong.
But I was also driven. Desperately so.
Because I saw what others didn't—the rot creeping beneath noble silk. The slow decay of a household that once stood tall. I didn't know the full extent of our financial situation, not yet. But I knew enough.
House Aldercrest was crumbling.
And I wouldn't let it fall.
That night, as I lay in bed between soft sheets, my mother kissed my forehead and whispered, "You're going to be great one day, Theo. I just know it."
My father stood at the door, watching us with quiet eyes.
They didn't see me clench my fists beneath the covers.
They didn't hear the vow I made to myself in the silence of my room.
You gave me a second life.You gave me love.And in return… I'll give you a legacy.
I will save this house. I swear it.
No matter how long it takes.
It had been a month since I began watching the manor like a hawk. Small changes had started to take root—better inventory, fewer missing coins, slightly more order. But it wasn't enough.
And then he came.
A merchant.
No—a pig in silk, waddling into the main hall as though he owned the very stone beneath his feet. His coat was embroidered with gaudy thread, stretched tight over his bloated gut. Rings weighed down every finger, and he smelled of cheap perfume mixed with sweat.
He didn't bow. Didn't even greet my father.
Instead, he flopped into a chair opposite the Duke and crossed one fat leg over the other, like a lord addressing his servant.
"I trust," he said, voice slick as grease, "that House Aldercrest remembers its obligations."
My father, calm but visibly weary, nodded. "We remember, Master Halvek. The amount, if I recall correctly, was—?"
"Four hundred and seventy-five gold sovereigns. With interest, of course."Halvek smiled like a snake. "It's been, what… seven months since you borrowed? I believe the rate was fifteen percent per moon. Compounded, naturally."
Fifteen percent. Compounded monthly?
Even my six-year-old body tensed at that.That's extortion.
If that rate held true, then the original debt—likely around 250 gold sovereigns—had more than doubled in less than a year.
My father's brow furrowed slightly. He wasn't a fool, but he didn't fully grasp the magnitude of what was happening. Or worse—he did, and was too cornered to argue.
"I intend to repay you, Halvek," he said. "But the harvest was poor this year. We'll need more time."
Halvek scoffed. "Time? Time is for men who pay on time."
He leaned back, fanning himself with a handkerchief. "Your house has fallen far, my lord. In truth, I'd have more confidence collecting from a tavern drunk. Still… if you cannot pay, I'd be willing to take a title deed or two as collateral."
My fists clenched under the long sleeves of my coat.
This wasn't business.This was a vulture circling a wounded beast.
And worse—it felt planned.
This man wasn't afraid of my father. He wasn't surprised by our financial troubles. He expected this. As if he already knew we wouldn't be able to pay.
My mind raced.
How did he know our harvest failed? How did he know the exact month the loan matured? Why was he so bold in a Duke's presence unless… someone tipped him off?
A servant, perhaps? A crooked steward? Or maybe Halvek had been slowly buying influence in the estate for months, preparing to swoop in like this the moment we stumbled.
Whatever it was—it stank