The city had grown smaller in Aiden's mind. Once, the alleys and rooftops of the slums had been the edge of his world. Now, every market, every tavern, every whispered conversation carried the possibility of leverage, of power.
The Veyras had heard his name. Not directly, not yet, but rumors moved faster than he could walk. Servants spoke of a boy whose trades were clever, whose men were loyal, whose wealth appeared from nowhere. Lady Selene's steward had filed the name in careful handwriting, intrigued but cautious.
Aiden did not yet seek her attention. That would be dangerous. Instead, he sought access to the periphery: the merchants and minor nobles who frequented the hill, the men and women who could report upward.
He began attending gatherings in disguise, always as a courier, a servant, or a quiet observer. At first, he simply listened. He memorized names, alliances, debts, and grudges. He noted the tone of Lady Selene's steward when discussing potential heirs, the subtle power plays among merchants, the slight flickers of ambition in the eyes of minor lords.
One evening, a chance arose. A merchant miscounted coins during a public exchange. Aiden, observing silently from a shadowed corner, spoke up.
"Excuse me," he said, stepping forward with calm authority. "You've miscalculated. That is thirty coins too many."
The merchant froze, then glanced around, realizing the boy had spoken not to flaunt, but to correct. Whispers spread immediately. Several nobles at the edge of the crowd leaned closer, intrigued by the audacity and precision.
The steward of House Veyra noticed too, leaning slightly toward a companion. "Who is this?" he murmured.
Aiden returned to the shadows as soon as the correction was made, leaving the crowd murmuring. He did not bow or seek praise. That would come later. For now, information, influence, and subtle presence were enough.
By the following week, his name had trickled through gossip like water through cracks: the clever boy of the slums who counts coins others cannot, who notices what others ignore.
Aiden smiled quietly beneath the broken arch that night. The pendant pulsed warmly.
He had not met Lady Selene. He had not been invited into her circle. Yet already, she had heard of him indirectly. Already, her world had begun to feel the ghost's touch.
"One day," Aiden whispered, "she will see me. Not as a boy from the alleys, not as a shadow, but as someone who belongs at the table."
The boys watched him silently, eyes wide with admiration and fear. They did not yet know how far he intended to go, but Aiden himself did not fully know either.
All he knew was this: the first steps onto the hill were taken, and the ghost was learning to walk in sunlight.