Slowly, Grievous heard steady steps approaching from the corridor outside the room. Each move sounded faintly, yet with a strange persistence, as if marking the passage of time itself.
Then, very slowly, he saw the door begin to open. The scene unfolded before him as if caught in a thick fog, moving at twenty percent of its original speed. It was a strange sensation, as if the world around him had been dipped in molasses.
"So the instinctive adjustments that I didn't understand increased my comprehension speed by a few times," he whispered to himself, eyes glued to the hand that pushed the door open with surprising gentleness.
The hand moved cautiously, almost reverently, as if it feared disturbing something within the room.
Grievous strained to catch a sound, but the intruder's movement was so quiet and so swift in his slowed perception that his mind struggled to grasp the reality of the moment. The silence was thick, almost suffocating.
Whoever was entering felt like a ghost gliding through the threshold. And then, as the moments stretched into what seemed like minutes, Grievous recognized the figure. It was his older brother.
The brother's silhouette grew clearer, framed by the dim light of the corridor behind him. He moved closer with a mix of urgency and tenderness, the weight of worries pressing down on him. When he noticed that Grievous had awakened, a flicker of relief crossed his face. He hurried to his side and asked, "Are you good?"
The question hung in the air, simple although loaded with real pure concern.
For Grievous, the moment dragged, heavy with discomfort and dull frustration. With a single focused thought, he repeated what he had done the previous time instinctively. But this time, he did it with intention. He lowered his comprehension to match the natural speed with which his brother moved.
He forced a trembling expression onto his face, his features contorting into a mask of fear. His brow furrowed deeply, and his lips quivered with the pretense of panic. "I can't feel my left leg," he said, voice cracking. "Save me, brother!"
His older brother's eyes widened, filled with a raw concern. The look seemed genuine, so genuine that it tugged at something buried deep within him.
Slowly, he reached out, placing a steady hand on Grievous's shoulder. "There is no need to worry," he said softly. "I will find a solution."
Inwardly, Grievous allowed a slow, sly smile to form. 'Decades of acting and hypocrisy in political arenas were certainly not in vain,' he thought, pleased with his own deceit.
Without hesitation, the older brother turned and left the room, his footsteps quickening as he moved toward the main hall. His mission was clear: to inform their father and mother.
The urgency within his steps was fueled by more than just concern. He wanted them to leave this cursed place, this shadowed estate that seemed to hang heavy with real misfortune.
The father listened intently as his son relayed the bad news. Without delay, he commanded the servants to prepare the carriages for departure. The household moved swiftly, the air thick with some kind of dread.
Within a few hours, the family was on the road, heading back to their main palace.
Traveling through the Kingdom of Braza was relatively easy. The roads were well maintained, swept clean by the hands of countless laborers and protected by powerful enchantments.
These wards shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight, a subtle but constant reminder of the kingdom's strength.
The Baron's own forces rode alongside the carriages, their armor gleaming faintly and their eyes sharp for any sign of danger.
In one of the servants' carts, nestled beneath the cover of night, a small group exchanged hushed whispers. The sky above was a canvas of stars, dazzling and near infinite, with the luminous moon casting a silvery glow over the world. The servants spoke in low voices, their words dripping with rumor and speculation.
"I heard he was cursed!" one whispered, eyes wide. "They say the monster that attacked him was an undead. That it cursed him with its attack, causing this to happen to his leg!"
Another scoffed softly. "No, no," she said. "I heard he lost his mind and attacked himself. That's how it happened."
A third voice, colder and more cynical, cut in. "Both of you are fools. This is clearly a scheme by the first young master to gain the privilege of inheriting the family title."
A young woman named Lucia shook her head, her voice soft but firm. "No, that's not possible. The first young master is the kindest person in the family, especially to his younger brother."
"No one knows what hearts hide, Lucia," murmured another servant, his tone bitter.
And so the whispers wound around the cramped space, weaving a sheet of suspicion and fear. Each servant added their own thread, their own interpretation of the events that had shaken their household.
Meanwhile, within the quiet sanctuary of his carriage, the old fox, Grievous, had already adjusted his comprehension once more. His mind, sharp and ever calculating, churned with possibilities. He weighed his options carefully, considering each move like a seasoned player in a dangerous game of chess.
The faint creak of the carriage wheels on the cobblestone road was a distant murmur against the steady sounds of his thoughts. The night outside was calm, but inside his mind, a storm was gathering.
What would be his next step?
He closed his eyes briefly, allowing the practiced mask of pain and helplessness to settle back into place. It was a role he would play well, for now.
'Patience,' he reminded himself.
'The game is far from over.'
Outside, the world spun on, ever so changing and moving as ever. As the journey back to the main palace continued through the night.
'I can be a fool and go out and reveal my power to the world, but this will bring more harm than good, as I have learned over decades that whoever attracts light on stage will anger those who bathe in it.'
Grievous thought as he stared out the simple window of the spacious carriage. The countryside blurred past in muted greens and browns, the trees swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.
He sat next to his brother, a quiet presence with eyes fixed on the passing landscape. On the other side sat his father and mother, their faces composed but tired from the long journey.
'Without a doubt, I do not want to die,' he thought. 'No, I want eternal life! I want to live without feeling that cold feeling again. I want to remain as I am forever without turning into a mass of weak bones inside a bag of worn-out flesh.'
The sky above was pale and overcast, casting a dull light over the carriage's polished wood. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, catching what little sunlight penetrated the clouds. The rhythmic clatter of the horses' hooves was a steady heartbeat beneath his thoughts.
As someone who had experienced old age and death, Grievous hated them with his entire being. He hated that overwhelming cold that slowly filled the body and then the soul. He hated that feeling of inability in an old, weak, pathetic body.
His mind drifted back to the darkest nights, when the shiver of death had crept close enough to touch him. He remembered the tremble in his hands, the hollow ache in his chest, the helplessness that seeped into every bone. He had stared into the abyss and refused to blink.
He experienced the taste of life in both its rich and poor parts, and he knew very well that no matter what life was, he would always prefer it to death.
The smell of leather from the carriage seats mixed with the faint scent of wildflowers from the fields outside. His mother's soft breathing in front of him was a reminder of fragile, fleeting life.
'Fortunately, this family is a noble family but of low rank, so it will not get involved in the nonsense of the kingdom and the conflicts of the capital,' he reasoned. 'So the choice I should take is to hide. I hide in the shadows, develop this ability, and try to discover that second ability that he told me about.'
He glanced sideways at his brother, who returned a brief, uncertain smile. That smile was a fragile thread of normalcy in a world that was unraveling beneath Grievous's feet.
'And perhaps in the process, I manipulate some people to bring in enough money so that I can live a luxurious life and make my outward appearance look like complete trash,' he thought with a grim humor.
He quietly moved his head and looked around the carriage. The polished wood panels gleamed faintly, and the faint jingle of the reins punctuated the silence. The countryside stretched endlessly beyond the window, a sum of fields and forests woven in different colors.
'Or maybe it's better for me to act crazy? Or maybe dementia? Maybe I'll be an introverted idiot. That way no one will suspect what I'm doing in secret.'
He imagined how easy it would be to slip into the role. To become the harmless fool, the absent-minded son who muttered nonsense and wandered the halls with vacant eyes.
'Looks like I'll make the best of my injury!'
He allowed himself a small, bitter smile. The injury that had once been a curse could now serve as a shield.
'Indeed, there is also manipulation of minds, and with the support of this ability and acting, the process will be much smoother,' he mused.
The carriage jolted slightly as it hit a rut in the road. Outside, a lone bird took flight, wings beating the air in slow, deliberate strokes. Grievous's thoughts settled on the delicate balance it had to maintain.
He could not afford to draw attention. The kingdom was full of eyes that watched for weakness and ears that listened for secrets. To reveal his power now would be to paint a target on his back.
Grievous decided that the last option would be the one that would produce the most favourable results. So he simply started doing it from that moment on.
He pointed above his father's head and said, "Shark!"
The other three looked at the indicated place and found nothing. Their eyes flicked back to Grievous, a mixture of confusion and concern darkening their faces.
They all had the same thought at that moment: He has been struck by stupidity!
There were combined looks of concern from the three people, but none of them said anything.
The silence that followed was thick and uneasy. Grievous felt the weight of their gazes, searching for signs of madness or weakness. He held their eyes steadily, the mask of confusion perfectly worn.
Inside, a cold thrill ran down his spine. This was the beginning.
His father cleared his throat softly and said, "Are you feeling well, Grievous?"
Grievous shrugged, letting his shoulders slump with a convincing air of exhaustion.
"I'm fine," he said quietly. "Just a bit tired."
His mother reached out a tentative hand but withdrew it before touching him, uncertain. Her eyes glistened with worry she dared not voice.
The road stretched ahead, long and winding, much like the path he had chosen.
As the carriage rolled onward, Grievous felt the first real taste of freedom in years. Freedom to hide, to grow, and to become something more than the frail man they thought he was.
He wondered, 'How long can I keep this up? How long before the mask slips? Before the light catches me?'
For now, the shadows were his allies. And in the shadows, he would build his strength.
The world would see only the fool. For now.