'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.