[House Steinfeld Fortress, Kingdom of Valenhall. Five Years Later.]
The forest was quiet in the early morning. Mist hung between the trees like ghostly fingers, and dewdrops caught the first rays of sunlight. Lore moved through the underbrush with careful steps, his silver hair already bright despite being only five years old. It was a family trait - all Steinfeld children got their silver hair early, marking them as true heirs to the bloodline.
He carried a small bow, made just for him, with an arrow already set. The doe ahead hadn't noticed him yet. She was grazing peacefully, about thirty steps away. Lore's mind - still carrying the memories of Viktor Thorne, Earth's deadliest assassin - calculated the distance and wind direction automatically.
'Easy shot,' he thought. 'Wind from the east, need to adjust slightly.'
His five-year-old body was small and weak compared to his adult memories, but his aim was steady. The Enhanced Perception gift from the goddess helped him see every detail clearly. The doe's ear twitched as he drew back the bowstring.
'Breathe. Steady. Now.'
The arrow flew true, striking the deer in the neck. She fell quickly, without suffering. Lore had learned to make clean kills - it was more merciful than the messy deaths most hunters caused.
He approached with his knife already drawn. The butchering took him seventeen minutes, much faster than any grown hunter could manage. Every cut was precise, wasting nothing. The meat went into his pack, wrapped in leaves. He buried the scraps so predators wouldn't come, and cleaned up all traces of his presence.
As he walked back to the manor, Lore thought about his progress. Five years in this new body, and things were developing well. His abilities from the goddess were slowly awakening. Enhanced Perception had come first, letting him see and hear things others missed. The other gifts - Toxin Mastery, Physical Augmentation, Pain Resistance, Lie Detection, and Basic Healing - were still dormant, waiting for his body to mature.
The Steinfeld manor came into view as he climbed the last hill. It was built of gray stone and dark wood, looking like a noble's country estate but hiding its true purpose. The family crest above the main door showed a silver wolf's head surrounded by thorns - fitting for a family that served as both protectors and killers.
Smoke rose from the kitchen chimney. The household was waking up.
Lore entered through the servants' door, nodding to the cook who nearly dropped her rolling pin when she saw him.
"Sweet mercy, Master Lore!" she gasped, clutching her chest. "You scared me half to death! And you're covered in blood - is that a deer you've brought back?"
"Young doe," Lore said, setting his pack on the table. "I'll prepare it myself."
"But young master, that's not proper-"
"Please tell my parents I'll join them for breakfast after I clean up." His tone was polite but firm - unusual authority from a child barely tall enough to reach the counter.
The cook nodded, used to the young heir's strange ways. "As you wish, Master Lore."
An hour later, Lore entered the dining hall wearing proper morning clothes. His silver hair was neatly combed, and he carried a platter of perfectly cooked venison steaks with wild mushrooms and herbs all arranged with a skill that seemed impossible for a five-year-old.
Lady Evangeline Steinfeld's amber eyes went wide when she saw the platter, then at her son's perfect appearance. Her face lit up with pure joy.
"Lore, my darling!" She rushed to him, sweeping him into a hug that smelled of lavender and expensive perfume. "Cook told me you caught a deer all by yourself! My brilliant little boy!"
Lore stood stiffly in her embrace. Physical affection still felt foreign to him, like a language he could understand but not speak naturally.
"It wasn't that difficult, Mother," he said, using words that often surprised people who expected baby talk. "Just patience and timing."
"Oh, you're too modest!" Lady Evangeline released him, practically glowing with pride. "Damien, did you hear what our son did before most children his age are even awake?"
Lord Damien Steinfeld looked up from his morning letters. His face was stern, marked by a battle scar across one cheek, but it softened when he saw his son. Silver streaked his temples - the Steinfeld hair always turned early, earning them the nickname "Silver Wolves" among the nobility.
"Indeed. The servants have talked of little else," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Join us, son."
Lore took his seat, noticing his father's approving nod at the platter. "Unusual preparation," Lord Steinfeld observed, examining the herb-crusted meat. "Not our typical style."
"Something I read about in the library," Lore replied carefully. He had to be careful not to reveal knowledge that came from his previous life. "Thyme and juniper berries are supposed to complement venison."
His father took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then nodded with genuine appreciation. "Excellent. You have a gift for innovation, Lore. That's rare in our family line."
Lady Evangeline nearly choked in her eagerness to agree. "Isn't he amazing? Our son hunts like a master woodsman, cooks like a royal chef, reads like a scholar - what can't he do?" She reached over to stroke his silver hair, her fingers lingering on the bright strands. "And he has his father's strong features and noble bearing. That beautiful silver hair - the true mark of Steinfeld blood. You look just like your father did at your age, darling."
'Genetics working as expected,' Lore thought clinically. 'This body's traits came from House Steinfeld lineage, not my original DNA.' But he simply nodded, accepting the praise as part of his cover.
"He has your eyes, my dear," Lord Steinfeld noted to his wife. "That amber fire. Good. A Steinfeld needs both shadow and flame." He set down his fork. "Which reminds me-"
A sharp knock interrupted him. The steward appeared, his usually calm face strained. "My lord, the Willowbrook family has arrived. They're... very upset."
Lord Steinfeld's expression hardened immediately. "Show them to my study. I'll be there shortly." He stood, placing his napkin beside his half-finished meal. "Lore, meet me in the training courtyard after breakfast. Today's lesson is important."
"Yes, Father." Lore continued eating steadily, though his sharp hearing caught the sound of crying from the entrance hall.
Lady Evangeline's cheerful mood dimmed as her husband left. "Poor people," she murmured sadly. "Their daughter was found in the river this morning. Terrible accident."
Lore said nothing, but glanced toward the window overlooking the front of the manor. A simple cart sat outside, its contents covered with a white cloth. A small, pale foot was visible beneath the edge - too small to belong to an adult.
'About seven years old, judging by the foot size,' his mind noted automatically. 'Female. Been in water for a while.' He took another bite of venison, his expression unchanged.
After breakfast, Lady Evangeline insisted on clearing the table herself - unusual for a noblewoman, but something she always did.
"A Steinfeld serves everyone," she often said. "We protect people and make sure justice is done. We're the Crown's sword and shield, but we must never forget we serve the common folk too."
As she gathered plates, one slipped from her fingers and shattered on the stone floor. "Oh!" she exclaimed, dropping to her knees to collect the pieces.
Lore immediately moved to help, his small fingers carefully picking up shards his mother might miss.
"Careful, sweetheart, you'll cut yourself!" Lady Evangeline warned, but Lore had already gathered most of the broken pieces with methodical precision.
"The break pattern looks repairable," he observed, arranging the fragments on the table. "There's adhesive in the household supplies that would work."
Lady Evangeline stared at him, her expression shifting from worry to something more complex - wonder mixed with sadness. She suddenly pulled him into another hug, tighter than before.
"You're growing up so fast," she whispered, her voice catching. "Too fast. Where did my baby go?"
Lore didn't struggle, having learned that staying still was the easiest way through these emotional moments. "I'm right here, Mother."
She pulled back to look at him, her eyes bright with tears. "But for how long? Soon you'll be a young man, then grown, with no time for your mother's hugs."
When he tried to gently extract himself, Lady Evangeline's face crumpled. She turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth as tears spilled over. "See? You can't even stand my touch anymore. My son doesn't love me!"
Lore recognized the pattern - his mother's tendency toward drama was well-known throughout the county. In his previous life, he would have dismissed such emotional manipulation coldly. Now, he understood it was part of maintaining his cover.
"That's not true," he said, stepping forward to touch her arm. "I always will."
The words were calculated - a tactical move rather than real emotion - but they worked. Lady Evangeline beamed through her tears, pulling him close again.
"My sweet, sweet boy," she murmured. "Go on now. Your father is waiting, and you know how he feels about being late."
---
The training courtyard sat in the center of the manor's east wing, surrounded by stone walls and open to the sky. Weapons of all kinds lined the walls in neat arrangements. The Steinfeld family banner hung from the center pole, its silver wolf's head gleaming against dark fabric.
Lord Damien Steinfeld stood in the middle, hands behind his back, morning sunlight catching the silver in his hair and highlighting his battle scar. He had changed into training leathers, standing like a man who had spent decades perfecting violence.
"You're on time," he observed as Lore entered. "Good. Time is a weapon like any other. Waste it, and you lose your advantage."
Lore bowed slightly, the gesture automatic after five years of learning this world's manners. "Yes, Father."
Lord Steinfeld gestured for him to come closer. "The Willowbrook girl's death was no accident," he said directly. "Signs of strangulation before she went in the water. Bruising matches adult male hands."
Lore nodded, unsurprised by either the information or his father's bluntness in sharing it. House Steinfeld served as the Crown's executioners, officially when the law demanded it, unofficially when justice required it.
"You noticed the foot," Lord Steinfeld said. "What else did you see?"
"Skin color suggested at least twelve hours in the water," Lore replied. "Slight ankle deformity indicating possible struggle or restraint. Nail beds showed oxygen loss."
A flicker of approval crossed his father's face. "Your observation skills continue to impress. This is the foundation of our family's true purpose, Lore." He began to pace, footsteps silent despite the stone floor - a habit Lore had noted and copied.
"To the kingdom, we are nobles who serve the Crown's justice. We investigate deaths, pursue criminals, make sure the law reaches every corner of Valenhall." He stopped, fixing his son with an intense gaze. "But when the law fails, when justice cannot be served through normal means..."
'Steinfeld becomes the executioner,' Lore thought. 'Operating outside legal limits to eliminate threats the system can't touch. Exactly as the goddess said.' But he maintained a carefully crafted expression of youthful interest and growing understanding.
"The Steinfelds have served as the Crown's shadows for seventeen generations," Lord Damien continued. "We eliminate threats that cannot be addressed through normal justice. We make sure those who would escape consequences through wealth, influence, or political protection face judgment anyway. Our family motto, 'Veritas per Umbram' - Truth Through Shadow - speaks to this sacred duty."
He approached a weapon rack, removing a slender dagger with a blade that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. "We dirty our hands so the realm can stay clean. We commit necessary darkness to preserve the light. The silver in our hair is said to be blessed by the moon goddess herself, marking us as her chosen instruments of justice."
The dagger spun in his grip with practiced ease before he returned it to its place. "The man who killed the Willowbrook girl is the son of Duke Harmond. The law cannot touch him due to his father's influence and political connections. But justice..." His eyes hardened, the scar across his cheek seeming to deepen. "Justice will find him anyway."
Lore watched, recognizing the speech for what it was - preparation for the formal start of his training as a Steinfeld assassin. In his previous life, he had learned his craft through harsh experience and trial by fire. Here, it would be a birthright, passed from father to son like the silver in their hair and the scars on their faces.
"Tomorrow morning, your real education begins," Lord Steinfeld declared, placing a hand on Lore's shoulder. "You will learn the ways of shadows and nobility - how to move among the highest circles and the lowest gutters with equal ease. How to serve justice when the law fails. How to be both the Crown's sword and its shield."
His grip tightened slightly. "One day, you will take my place. You will serve Valenhall as I have, as your grandfather did, as all Steinfelds have since the kingdom's founding. The bloodline has never failed in its duty - we have been the realm's silent guardians for over four centuries. It is both our burden and our honor."
Lore bowed his head in acceptance. "I understand, Father."
Lord Steinfeld ruffled his son's silver hair - a rare show of affection, his weathered fingers catching the light reflecting off the metallic strands. "I believe you do, more than most children your age could. You were born for this, Lore. I've known it since you first opened your eyes and looked at me with such... intensity. And that silver hair - it appeared so early, marking you as a true Steinfeld from birth. The old wives say when a Steinfeld child's hair turns silver before their first birthday, they're destined for great things."
'You have no idea how right you are,' Lore thought, maintaining his facade of respect. 'I was literally reborn for an assassination - just not the ones you have in mind.'
As his father began outlining the training that would start the following day, Lore's thoughts drifted momentarily to his true target. Seraphina Dragonheart would be five now as well, beginning her own journey toward the destiny the goddess sought to prevent.
Fifteen years remained before her twentieth birthday and the Celestial Convergence. Fifteen years to prepare, infiltrate, and eliminate. His second life's purpose was clear, its parameters defined with the same precision that had made his first life so efficiently lethal.
But first, he would learn what this world had to teach him about killing.
The irony was not lost on him - House Steinfeld would train him to become the perfect assassin, never knowing they were honing the blade that would one day strike at the very heart of heroism itself.
Somewhere in the distance, in House Dragonheart's territories, a red-haired child played in gardens she would never see again. The shadow had been cast; now it only remained to see how far it would reach.