The next morning came as a blur.
Aldric woke to unfamiliar quiet—too refined, too deliberate. Servants dressed him with practiced efficiency, hands adjusting fabric and buttons as if he were an object to be prepared rather than a person. He endured it in silence, though the discomfort never quite faded. Being touched by strangers still felt wrong, no matter how polite they were.
Breakfast was held in the great hall.
The table stretched farther than his old apartment ever had, polished wood gleaming beneath chandeliers that caught the morning light. Nobles spoke softly among themselves, their words distant, their laughter hollow to his ears. Though he sat among them, Aldric felt removed—like a guest watching a play he didn't understand.
Afterward, he found himself with nothing to do.
No phone. No internet. No distractions.
How did humans survive this long without a phone?
The thought came unbidden, followed by a tired sigh.
He wandered into the library—the library.
Shelves towered overhead, packed tightly with ancient tomes, ledgers, and histories bound in leather and gold. It was the largest collection he had ever seen. At first, curiosity pushed him forward, fingers trailing across spines as he searched for answers.
Hours later, boredom outweighed interest.
He closed the book in his hands and let it fall onto the table with a dull thud.
"This is the biggest library I've ever seen," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "and yet I can't find a single book that explains what's happening to me."
His gaze drifted as frustration settled in. That was when he noticed it.
A crest mounted high upon the wall.
A shield of royal purple, emblazoned with a white swan—wings raised, posture proud. Elegant. Defiant. Eternal.
Something tightened in his chest.
What I know so far, he thought, is that the Ashcombes are a really big deal.
There were many noble families—he'd learned that much already—but none were spoken of with the same reverence. Servants bowed lower. Guards straightened faster. Even the royals treated the name with care.
Why?
"Osmond," Aldric said quietly.
The old man appeared behind him as if summoned by the word alone.
"Yes, Master Aldric," Osmond replied, hands folded behind his back. "How may I be of service?"
Aldric turned to face him. "You mentioned something yesterday. About the Ashcombe Pride."
He hesitated. "What did you mean by that?"
Osmond's expression softened, something like reverence passing through his eyes.
"Ah," he said, nodding slowly. "Yes. The Pride."
He stepped closer to the crest, gaze lifting toward the swan.
"The Ashcombe bloodline is favored not merely because of wealth or title," Osmond continued. "But because of sacrifice."
Aldric listened, unmoving.
"Three hundred years ago, during the Great War, your ancestor—Luther Ashcombe—stood when others fled. He did not command armies or rule kingdoms at the time. He was simply a man who chose to fight."
Osmond's voice grew quieter.
"He fought until the very end. Not for glory. Not for reward. But because someone had to stand between humanity and extinction."
A pause.
"For that devotion, for that unyielding will, the power within him awakened. It became known as the Ashcombe Pride."
Osmond turned back to Aldric.
"For his service, Luther Ashcombe was granted nobility by the crown itself. And with it, the Swan Crest of Honor—symbol of loyalty, strength, and self-sacrifice."
Aldric looked back at the crest.
The swan no longer felt like a symbol.
It felt like a weight.
And somewhere deep within him—far beneath thought or reason—something stirred.
After Osmond's brief lecture, Aldric drifted through the halls, his mind heavy with thought. The stone corridors felt endless, their grandeur impressive yet strangely hollow. Every step echoed, as though the castle itself were listening.
Then—
Clang.
Steel met steel somewhere in the distance.
Aldric paused.
Another clash followed, sharper this time, accompanied by shouts and cheers. Curiosity tugged at him, and he found himself moving toward the sound without thinking. He slipped between towering pillars and peeked around a corner.
A training yard opened before him.
Knights stood in a loose circle, their voices loud with excitement as two figures sparred at the center. Blades flashed beneath the sun, each strike precise and practiced. Aldric leaned slightly to see better—and then he recognized one of them.
Edmund.
His movements were controlled, confident, each swing measured. The crowd roared as steel locked again.
Aldric watched for a moment longer… then felt the interest drain from him.
He stepped away quietly, leaving the cheers behind.
He wandered until the noise faded, eventually finding himself in an open courtyard bathed in sunlight. The warmth settled over him, easing the tension in his shoulders. He stood there, alone, eyes half-lidded, letting the moment breathe.
"Aldric!"
The voice was small. Bright.
He turned.
Lydia stood a few steps away, her face lighting up the instant she saw him. She hurried over and took his hand without hesitation, her fingers warm and trusting.
"Are you busy?" she asked, looking up at him. "Can you join me in the gazebo?"
Aldric blinked—then smiled.
"I'm not busy," he said. "Let's go."
They sat across from each other beneath the shaded gazebo as a servant quietly poured tea. Lydia spoke eagerly, her words tumbling over one another as she talked about her day. Aldric listened, nodding where appropriate, smiling when she did.
I never had siblings in my last life, he thought.
The one I did have… hated me.
His gaze softened as he looked at her.
Maybe things can be different this time.
A brief silence settled between them.
What am I supposed to talk about with a ten-year-old? he wondered.
"How were your classes today?" he asked.
Lydia brightened immediately. "They were fine! Well… mostly boring. I really hate studying."
Aldric almost laughed.
"I agree with you on that one," he said, though only in his head.
"But it wasn't all bad," she continued. "I learned a lot about our country's history. And Father said if I try my best, I might be admitted into the university someday—just like you!"
She leaned forward excitedly.
"And he might even let me into the family archives."
Aldric froze.
"The family archives?" he repeated.
She tilted her head. "Did you forget? That's where Father keeps all the family's treasures and old books."
Something clicked.
Of course.
Why would they keep anything important in a public library?
"So… where can I find the archives?" he asked casually.
Lydia frowned, thinking. "The location's secret. Only Father knows. Maybe Beatrice… or Edmund? I'm not sure anymore."
Aldric nodded.
"That's more than enough," he said gently. "Thank you."
He stood, offering her a small smile before turning away—his thoughts already racing.