Aiden stood at the edge of the city's main thoroughfare, the dust of the slums clinging to his boots, the pendant warm against his chest. Beyond the low rooftops, the cobbled streets stretched toward the grand estates on the hill, where merchants bowed and nobles whispered behind velvet curtains.
He had been careful until now, staying hidden in shadow and rumor, letting the gold and grain build his influence quietly. But the whispers of the hill, carried by servants and traders, had reached his ears through clever scouts and loyal boys. The nobles were watching. And that meant opportunity.
He selected his target: a minor banquet to be held at a merchant's villa, attended by men of influence from both the city and the outskirts of the noble district. Invitations were scarce, but the guest list revealed the one thing Aiden needed most—eyes higher than his own, eyes that could spread word of him further than the slums.
No invitation, no status, no name. Nothing but a plan.
He traded with precision: sacks of grain to a wealthy baker who owed him favors, a small loan to a spice trader, a carefully orchestrated delivery of rare oil to a merchant whose household required it for the banquet. By sundown, he held the proof of his influence in his hands—receipts, letters of thanks, and a small network of indebted men who could vouch for him.
That evening, under the guise of a simple delivery boy, he approached the villa. Guards scrutinized him, but a silver coin and the right word from the baker opened the gates. Inside, the hall glittered with candles and laughter, men in fine clothes drinking wine thicker than anything he had ever tasted.
Aiden moved carefully, unnoticed, letting his sharp eyes study the room. Every conversation held a kernel of opportunity. Every glance revealed alliances, rivalries, and weaknesses. He would not speak yet. Not until he had assessed every angle.
A waiter tripped near him, spilling wine onto a guest's coat. Aiden acted quickly, grabbing a cloth and helping to clean the mess, muttering apologies. The guest, a portly merchant with keen eyes, regarded him curiously.
"You're clever," the man said softly. "Not many notice the small hands until they fix the big mistakes."
Aiden nodded, hiding his smile. "It is all a matter of observation," he replied, keeping his tone humble.
By the night's end, the minor merchant whispered Aiden's name to others. Quietly, subtly, the ghost of the slums was no longer confined to shadows.
And somewhere on the hill, Lady Selene's steward noted the same name again, filing it away among the many whispers of the city: a clever boy from the slums who moved unseen, yet left his mark wherever he went.
Aiden returned to the shadows afterward, his boys waiting silently. He counted coins again, not the gold this time, but the wealth of information, influence, and opportunity he had harvested.
The first step beyond the slums was taken.
And the pendant pulsed warmly against his chest, as if proud.
The ghost was no longer just surviving. He was learning to walk among the giants.