Stepping out of his room, Theodore was struck—again—by the sheer scale of the manor.
The corridor stretched far beyond what logic suggested it should, vanishing into distance like a horizon folded indoors. Even the staircase defied reason, its ascent and descent swallowed by shadow. For a brief moment, he simply stood there, crimson eyes widening before instinct smoothed his expression back into something neutral, composed.
'This is definitely not a dream,' he thought. 'My mind isn't capable of inventing this level of architectural consistency.'
He followed Maria as she moved ahead with familiar ease, her steps light, confident—unquestionably at home. She stopped before what he would have missed entirely if not for her: an elevator seamlessly embedded into the wall, its outline nearly invisible against the ornate paneling.
Inside, the space was plush and silent, padded in dark fabric and soft gold trim. Rows of buttons lined one side, far more than any normal building should require. Maria pressed a sequence without hesitation.
As the doors closed, Theodore frowned slightly.
"…How many floors does this place have?" he mutters.
Maria glanced at him, amused. "Depends how you define floors."
That earned his full attention. "That wasn't an answer."
She smiled, sapphire eyes sharp despite her cheerful demeanour. "Neither was the question."
The elevator doors opened almost immediately—or at least it felt that way. Theodore hadn't sensed motion. No shift in pressure. No vibration.
'I didn't feel it move at all,' he realized.
Waiting for them just beyond the doors stood a man in immaculate posture. He was bald by choice, his dark skin unlined except for the faintest creases of age, gray eyes alert and assessing without being intrusive. He looked somewhere between forty and fifty, though Theodore suspected that estimate was unreliable.
"Good morning, young master," the man said calmly. "Your father is expecting you."
Maria stepped aside. "Theo, this is Malik Adeyemi. He's new."
Theodore inclined his head slightly. "Butler?"
"And bodyguard," Malik replied without offense. "Depending on the day."
There was something about him—stillness, readiness—that Theodore catalogued immediately.
'Not just staff,' he thought. 'A watcher.'
They walked together down another long corridor, silence broken only when Maria leaned closer.
"Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?" she asked quietly.
"The difference between inherited intelligence and cultivated insight?" Theodore replied without missing a step.
Her smile widened. "Good. Most people your age don't remember breakfast."
"Most people my age aren't surrounded by secrets pretending to be architecture."
She laughed softly. "Grandfather says the mind adapts faster than the body. Especially when it's forced to."
Theodore studied her sidelong. "Your grandfather also works with things that warp causality. That's not forcing adaptation—that's inviting consequences."
Maria blinked, surprised. Then, impressed. "You really don't talk like a kid."
"Neither do you. Plus, I don't feel like one," he said honestly. "Yeah the other kids are too slow," Maria says agreeing with him.
They stopped before a set of tall doors, which Malik opened without ceremony.
Inside stood Richard Rich.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, his presence warm rather than imposing. Light brown skin, dark hair streaked with silver, and eyes that immediately drew Theodore in—one golden-brown tinged faintly with red, the other a silvery blue-green. When Richard saw him, his face softened into a genuine smile.
"Theodore," Richard said, his voice rich and steady. "Come here."
He gestured Theodore closer, angling his arms to reveal the small bundle he carried.
"This," Richard continued, pride unmistakable, "is your younger brother. His name is Alvin."
The baby looked up at Theodore with wide cerulean eyes and a shock of dark, midnight-blue hair—then giggled.
Something warm flickered through Theodore's mind. Familiar. Anchoring.
Richard chuckled. "I think he likes you."
He carefully showed Theodore how to hold the child, guiding his arms with practiced care. Alvin settled easily, fingers curling reflexively.
Then the door opened again.
A man entered—shorter, rotund, bald, with a graying mustache and sharp, beady aged eyes. He wore a messy lab coat covered in food stains. His presence immediately shifted the room's atmosphere.
"Mr. Rich," the man said. "I need a word."
Richard frowned. "This can wait."
The man hesitated, then sighed. "It's about conflict energy."
The warmth vanished.
Richard's expression hardened, concern etching deeper lines across his face. After a moment, he exhaled slowly.
"…Very well." He turned to Theodore and Maria, forcing a small, reassuring smile. "Watch after Alvin for me. I won't be long."
As Richard and Gerald stepped away, Theodore felt it.
A faint distortion.
A pressure behind his eyes.
Time—not slowing, not stopping—but hesitating.
He looked down at Alvin.
For just an instant, the baby's giggle echoed twice.
And Theodore knew—without yet understanding why—that something had already begun to unravel.