The world now had two layers. There was the real world—the stone of the castle, his mother's voice, the taste of food. And there was the ghost world—the transparent screen that flickered at the edge of his sight, a silent, persistent reminder that he was different, an error in the code of reality.
Leo learned to ignore it. He built a wall in his mind, a fortress of will. When the screen appeared with a new, pointless quest—[ 'Vocabulary Expansion': Learn 10 new words. Reward: +0.1 Intelligence ]—he would simply look through it, focusing on the tapestry on the wall or the pattern of the rug. He refused to play its game. His progress, his strength, would be his own.
But the System was a patient hunter. It did not force him. It merely observed and noted.
[ Strength: 0.7 -> 0.71 (Natural Growth) ]
[ Agility: 0.9 -> 0.92 (Natural Growth) ]
These messages, which he tried not to see, were a quiet torture. They were proof that even his own body's natural development was being cataloged by this invisible parasite. It made his skin crawl.
His real life, the one he was trying so hard to live, was a delicate dance. The incident in the Long Gallery had cast a long shadow. His parents treated him with a new, cautious tenderness. The servants' smiles were a little too bright, their eyes a little too watchful. He was their little lord, but he was also their little mystery.
He was two years old now. His body was stronger, more coordinated. He could walk, a steady, determined toddler's walk that had taken immense effort, all without accepting the System's quest. Each step had been a victory, a silent declaration of his own independence.
It was on a bright, clear morning that the weight of his other name finally descended.
He was in his father's study, a room he was rarely brought to. It was a place of business, smelling of old leather, ink, and cold ambition. Trophies of war and hunt adorned the walls. Duke Valerius was seated at his massive oak desk, its surface clean and severe. He was not alone.
An old man stood before the desk, dressed in the simple, elegant robes of the Imperial Court. This was Lord Commander Orin, a legend, a hero of the northern wars, and a close friend of the Duke. His face was a roadmap of scars and time, but his eyes were sharp, missing nothing.
"This is the boy?" Orin's voice was a gravelly rumble, the sound of stones grinding together.
"My son and heir, Leo," Valerius said, his voice layered with a complex mix of pride and something else… caution.
Orin approached. He didn't kneel or coo. He stood over Leo, a mountain of a man, his shadow engulfing him. He studied Leo with the same detached analysis he would give a new recruit or a piece of artillery.
"He has your eyes, Valerius," Orin stated. "But the rest… he has Kaelia's look. A gentle face."
"Appearances can be deceptive," the Duke replied, his tone neutral.
Orin grunted. "So the rumors are true? The child speaks… oddly?"
The air in the study grew thick. Leo felt his small hands curl into fists. He focused on standing perfectly still, on keeping his face a blank, innocent slate.
Valerius chose his words with the care of a man laying a trap. "He is perceptive. He has a deep… connection to history. To the lost times."
Orin's bushy eyebrows rose. "History? He's a babe. What does he know of history?"
The Duke leaned forward slightly. "Master Theron, the court historian, believes the boy may be a 'Soul of Echo.' A rare thing. A soul that remembers fragments of past lives, usually of scholars or mages from the Age of Myth."
Leo's blood ran cold. A Soul of Echo. They had a name for it. They were trying to put him in a box, to explain him away with their own world's folklore. It was both a relief and a new terror. They didn't know he was from another world, but they knew he was a relic.
Orin let out a low whistle, the sound dismissive. "A Soul of Echo? Superstition for old women and scholars, Valerius. You cannot build a dukedom on whispers from the grave."
"Perhaps not," the Duke conceded. "But if it is true, it is a tool. Knowledge of the lost age could be more valuable than an army. It could be the key to understanding the Blight that creeps at our borders, a phenomenon last seen in that era."
The words hit Leo like a physical blow. They were not just wary of him. They were thinking of how to use him. His knowledge, his curse, was being assessed for its strategic value.
Orin was not convinced. He looked down at Leo, his gaze piercing. "A tool is only useful if it is reliable. Can you control this… echo? Or will it control him?" He took a step closer, his voice dropping, meant only for the Duke, but Leo heard every word. "Valerius, listen to me. The other houses are already nervous. They hear whispers of a 'ghost-child' in Eldoria. If they see this not as a blessing but as a weakness, as instability… they will circle like vultures. Your line's strength has always been its certainty. Its resolve. Is that resolve in this child?"
The Duke did not answer immediately. His silence was an answer in itself.
Orin straightened up. "You need to be sure, my friend. For the sake of your house, your people, you must know what he is. Nurture this 'echo' if you must, but do not let it define him. The North needs a leader of steel, not a scholar haunted by ghosts."
The meeting ended soon after. Lord Commander Orin left with a final, weighing look at Leo, a look that said, 'Prove yourself. Or be cast aside.'
When they were alone, Valerius sat in his chair for a long time, staring into the cold fireplace. Then he turned his gaze to his son.
Leo stood in the center of the room, feeling smaller than ever. The words echoed in his mind. A tool. A ghost-child. Instability.
He had thought his greatest struggle was internal—the fight between Leo and Altherion, between the glitch and the man. But now he saw the external battle lines being drawn. His very existence was a political problem. His father's love was real, but it was now in conflict with his duty.
Valerius stood and walked over to him. He didn't pick him up. He simply placed a heavy hand on Leo's small head, a gesture of both possession and burden.
"You carry a great weight, my son," the Duke said, his voice low and grim. "The weight of a name. Eldoria. It is a name built on strength. You must be strong enough to carry it. No matter what… echoes you hear."
He left the study, leaving Leo alone in the vast, silent room.
The child did not move. He stood there, under the gaze of the dead animals on the walls and the ghostly, flickering system screen in his vision. The two worlds pressed in on him.
He was not just a boy. He was a symbol. He was a potential key. He was a political liability.
And he was, more than ever, terrifyingly alone. The weight of the name 'Eldoria' felt heavier than any mountain. And he, a two-year-old ghost from another world, was expected to shoulder it.
To be continued...