The celebration began at noon.
Carriages filled the outer grounds of the estate, their crests painted proudly on polished doors. Nobles stepped out one by one, dressed in layered silk and fur, their conversations polite and shallow.
This was not a birthday party.
It was a declaration.
Banners bearing the sigil of House Atradiés hung from the stone walls—dark blue cloth marked with a silver crest. Servants moved with precision, guiding guests into the grand hall.
I sat beside my parents on a raised platform.
Small.
Visible.
Watched.
My mother wore a formal gown today, elegant and restrained. My father stood beside his seat, speaking quietly with arriving nobles.
Every greeting was the same.
"Duke Atradiés."
A pause.
A glance at me.
And calculation.
When the hall was full, my father rose.
Silence followed immediately.
No command was needed.
"This gathering marks two occasions," Duke Alaric Atradiés said, his voice carrying through the hall. "The second birthday of my son—and his formal introduction to the realm."
The weight of the words pressed down.
"House Atradiés," he continued, "has long stood as the northern shield of the kingdom, sworn in loyalty to the royal family."
Every noble straightened.
"Under the crown of House Valerion," he said, "we guard the borders, command the northern legions, and uphold the will of the throne."
House Valerion.
The royal family.
The rulers of the kingdom.
The name sent a chill through me.
I remembered it.
Even in my past life.
In the novel.
"My son," my father said, placing a hand lightly on my shoulder, "bears the name Amaniel Atradiés."
The name echoed through the hall.
Whispers followed instantly.
Amaniel Atradiés.
The duke's heir.
That child?
I stayed still.
Too still.
As the music resumed and nobles began moving again, I listened.
Carefully.
"…That's him?"
"…He doesn't look like much."
"…I heard the duke's son is slow."
"…Protected by status, nothing else."
Their voices were low.
But not low enough.
And then it clicked.
The memories I hadn't wanted surfaced clearly.
The original Amaniel Atradiés.
Lazy.
Untalented.
Sheltered.
A child who relied entirely on his birth.
A noble who never trained seriously.
A presence tolerated, never respected.
In the novel—
He was known as a good-for-nothing duke's son.
Not hated.
Not feared.
Just dismissed.
A character whose name existed only to be surpassed.
My chest tightened.
So that was my reputation.
Not yet spoken aloud.
But already decided.
The nobles didn't see potential.
They saw a familiar story.
A useless heir born into power.
I looked toward the center of the hall.
At the banners.
At the nobles.
At the space reserved for royalty—empty, but respected.
House Valerion.
The royal family that shaped the world's direction.
And House Atradiés.
A sword held by the crown.
And me.
A blade everyone believed was dull.
I felt no anger.
No panic.
Only clarity.
Daniel Smith had lived his first life pretending to be better than he was.
Amaniel Atradiés had inherited a life where no one expected anything from him.
"…That's fine," I thought quietly.
Low expectations were freedom.
If the old Amaniel was good for nothing—
Then I would become something.
Slowly.
Quietly.
And when they finally noticed—
It would be too late to stop me.