Chapter 4: Shadows at the Gate
Allen's senses buzzed as he looked out from the carriage window. He was once again in Prince Leonard Greyborne's body, riding at the head of the convoy. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the low chatter of his knights filled the air.
"Your Highness, the town lies just ahead," Sir Garreth said, his scarred face serious. "It may be small, but it still stands."
Leonard—Allen's body—leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Small things grow when nurtured, Garreth. We bring life. Roots for a future."
Elias, the younger knight, smirked. "Roots, my prince? What if they rot?"
Leonard gave him a hard look. "Then you dig them up and plant stronger ones. Consider it your duty."
Allen's chest tightened, a mix of fear and excitement rising. He felt the thrill of living again, the same sensation he had in his apartment—but sharper, more immediate.
When the town came fully into view, he paused. Timber walls, smoke curling from chimneys, villagers peeking from windows. And yet, something tugged at him—the urge to observe and plan. He focused, drew a deep breath, and allowed the world to fold.
Allen opened his eyes in his own body, back at his apartment. The night was deep, but he felt purpose. He ordered food, took a hot bath, then returned to his desk.
This time, he finished the calendar. Every month, every day, all fifteen months, 36 days each, 28-hour days aligned with the moons' phases. Seasons were noted: six months of bitter winter, three of spring, three of summer. Every detail he could track—he would not leave this incomplete. Aurethis is the first pope of chruch.
📜 The Aurethis Calendar
Season | Months
Winter (6 months, 216 days): Cryoventis, Glaciem, Noctivis, Icenholt, Duskmere, Frostwane
Spring (3 months, 108 days): Thaloris, Florentis, Verdantus
Summer (3 months, 108 days): Solara, Ignara, Celestra
Autumn (3 months, 108 days): Aurialis, Umbralis, Tenebris
Moon Cycle (36-day month = 1 lunar cycle):
Day 1 → New Moon
Day 6 → Waxing Crescent
Day 12 → First Quarter
Day 18 → Waxing Gibbous
Day 24 → Full Moon (major festival day)
Day 30 → Waning Gibbous
Day 33 → Last Quarter
Day 36 → Waning Crescent
Time of Day (28 hours):
Dawnwatch (0–4h): sunrise, prayers, guard changes
Morningwatch (4–8h): farming, trade begins
Daywatch (8–12h): work, training, courts
Sunwatch (12–16h): hottest hours, warfare, travel
Evenwatch (16–20h): family meals, seafaring
Nightwatch (20–24h): taverns, city patrols, rituals
Deepwatch (24–28h): silence, sleep, thieves, mystics
When ink dried, he sat back, exhausted. Sleep came heavy and deep.
Morning, then, returned as usual—work, routine, but his mind remained half in Greyborne's world. What if it's a dream? What if Leonard Greyborne vanishes one day, and I wake to nothing?
The sensation returned—the pull of the other world. Allen drew a long breath, and the world shifted.
He was Leonard again, the convoy nearing the town gates.
"Garreth," Leonard said softly, "look at them. These people… they will shape this land with us."
Sir Garreth glanced at the wagons. "A strong company, my lord. Not just soldiers, but builders of life."
Leonard smiled faintly. "Let me remind you, Garreth. Here rides our physician, keeper of health. The alchemist, master of herbs, potions, and strange arts. Four blacksmiths, hammers shaping our steel. Three potters, two tanners, a glassmaker, two clerks, four masons, two weavers, a saddler, and four skilled carpenters. Each with families—three to six souls each. Not a convoy. A town on the move."
Elias whistled softly. "By the gods, my prince… this is more than I imagined."
Marta leaned from the cart, voice calm but firm. "Your Highness, they are nervous. Children ask where they'll sleep; mothers whisper of food and warmth."
Leonard's gaze softened. "Tell them they are not guests. They are the first roots of Greyborne. Their children will inherit what they build."
Garreth chuckled. "Then truly, my lord, you've not brought a convoy—you've brought the seed of a town."
At the town square, a middle-aged man stepped forward. His hair streaked with silver, eyes sharp and tired, bowing low.
"Your Highness Leonard Greyborne. I am Oswin, steward of this town. By your family's grace, I have tended this land. Today, we welcome our rightful lord."
Leonard stepped down. "Rise, Oswin. You have carried a heavy burden. From now on, you will not bear it alone."
Oswin's shoulders eased. "Your keep awaits—a modest castle, old but maintained. Fifty to sixty souls can live there. The townsfolk labored through nights to prepare it for you."
Leonard's eyes swept the square, taking in the villagers' wary gazes. "Lead me to it."
As they advanced, Leonard noticed a gathering crowd, voices sharp, angry, ignoring the grand procession.
He stepped onto the carriage footboard. "Oswin… what is happening?"
The steward hesitated. "Forgive us, my lord. It is… local justice."
Leonard's gaze fell on the woman at the center—a tied figure, clothes ripped and bloodied, bruises marking her skin. Her hair hung in tangles, eyes defiant.
Villagers spat curses:
"Witch!"
"Devil's whore!"
"Burn her alive!"
"Murderer! Tear her apart!"
Leonard's gut churned. "Oswin… what is this horror?"
Oswin bowed low. "Forgive the sight, Your Highness. She is condemned. A witch under the devil's influence. She murdered a man—heart torn from his chest, blood blackened like tar. The townsfolk demand her cleansing."
Leonard's hands clenched the carriage frame. The crowd's chant rose:
"Roast the witch! Rip the devil from her body! Death to the murderer! Burn her alive!"
Allen felt a shiver of horror. Every instinct screamed: This is barbarity. Cruelty beyond comprehension.
But the woman's eyes held him—defiant, alive. The smell of smoke, blood, and fear clung to the square. The decision loomed: intervene, risk rebellion, or stand aside, let cruelty reign.
And there, amidst the screaming, Leonard Greyborne felt the weight of power, the shadow of morality, and the first true test of the prince he had become.