Grievous quietly extended his hand toward the child's surroundings and began to feel that mysterious sensation again. The air around them shimmered subtly, charged with something intangible yet potent.
Instead of withdrawing this time, he summoned the courage to try what he had discovered in the old witch's fragmented memory. It was a fragment of existence called The Will, a force that seemed to bind the threads of soul and consciousness.
He sent a tentative pulse of The Will toward the strange matter. Almost immediately, a sharp, unfamiliar pain shot through his being. It was as if something far beyond his grasp had reached back, probing his limits with an unrelenting finger. The sensation was both thrilling and terrifying, forcing him to recoil before it could overwhelm him.
Cold sweat seeped down his forehead, trailing slowly over his skin like icy rivulets.
'Then I am simply not strong enough yet to wield this power,' he thought with a mixture of frustration and fascination. 'How interesting.'
The child's wide eyes locked onto his face, concern flickering there. "Dad, you okay?" The voice was soft, hoarse, and laced with innocence.
Grievous almost laughed at the boy's question. 'Boy, you nearly killed me with that strange aura of yours, and here you are worrying about me? And that name... Dad. It reminds me of those filthy whelps I once called my own. Just an innocent child, yes, but one I intend to use well, son.'
He controlled his amusement and answered calmly, "I'm fine. Just finish eating, and then I'll take you to your new room."
The child nodded without hesitation, cheeks bulging with food. His small hands smeared remnants of the meal across his face as he ate with a reckless abandon that bordered on wildness.
It was almost comical, like watching a young monkey desperately trying to mimic human manners but failing charmingly.
Grievous studied the child carefully, a plan already forming in the depths of his mind. 'I must have the butler teach him proper table manners. He needs teachers, the same ones the original body had, to help him understand this world. Because when he grows strong enough, he will become my eyes beyond these walls.'
His lips curled into a faint, calculated smile. The boy before him was simple, mysterious, and potent in a way that defied explanation. That strange feeling surrounding the child was a foundation, a secret advantage that could tip any balance in Grievous's favor.
To put it plainly, this child would be his safe way to observe the outside world. He could travel through distant lands without exposing himself to danger. Like a true serpent, stealth and sudden strikes were his survival tactics. He knew the importance of anonymity when power was still raw and unrefined. This was the best course.
Of course, Grievous would not simply remain idle at home. He would seek out others like this child, gathering them under his control until he mastered his ability fully.
Edmund, the boy, finished his meal and let out a small burp. His eyes widened as he realized what he had done, and he quickly looked to Grievous with an embarrassed apology.
Grievous rose from the chair facing him. "Let's go. Follow me."
As they stepped away from the table, the soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. The scent of herbs and old wood filled the air, mingling with the faint trace of smoke from the hearth. Grievous's mind raced ahead, plotting every detail of the boy's future.
'He needs structure,' Grievous mused. 'Discipline will mold him. Strength will protect him. Knowledge will serve him.'
The child was more than a pawn. He was a seed, one that could grow into something formidable if nurtured correctly. And Grievous would be the gardener.
As they moved through the dim corridors, the silence between them was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. Edmund's small footsteps echoed softly, such a reminder of his youth and vulnerability. Yet beneath that fragile exterior lay an untapped potential that Grievous could sense like a faint heartbeat beneath the earth.
'One day,' he thought, 'you will be more than just my eyes. You will be my sword and shield.'
The boy glanced up at him, his eyes reflecting a mixture of trust and curiosity. It was rare to see such innocence in a world so ruthless.
Calmly, the child jumped from the high chair to the floor and quietly followed Grievous. The two of them moved first to the bathroom so that Edmund could wash his hands and face from the leftover food.
The bathroom was quite simple: a stone chair directly against the wall with a wide opening leading out, and a simple wooden basin with a bronze water tap, with which Edmund washed himself.
The cold water trickled from the tap, its steady flow echoing softly against the stone walls. Edmund cupped his hands together, splashing the cool liquid onto his cheeks and forehead. The sensation was refreshing, washing away the sticky remnants of his meal.
He glanced up at the small, fogged mirror hanging crookedly on the wall.