Part 1
The interior of the orphanage was nothing like Philip had expected. Where he’d imagined peeling paint and worn floorboards, he found polished marble that glead like mirrors and fresh murals depicting cheerful pastoral scenes. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light throughout the entrance hall, their facets multiplying the morning sun into a thousand dancing rainbows.
It was beautiful. Too beautiful.
"Welco, Lord Philip, to the Redwood-Woterbatch Children’s Foundation – Albecaster Branch," the director said, her thin hands clasped until her knuckles went white. Mrs. Clearwater, according to the brass naplate. "The children have prepared sothing special for your visit."
Her eyes never quite t his, always sliding away to focus sowhere past his shoulder. Behind her stood three won in matching gray uniforms, their identical postures and unchanging smiles creating an uncanny tableau—hands folded, heads tilted at the sa precise angle.
Natalia’s grip on his arm tightened, her body shifting imperceptibly closer. Philip could feel the warmth of her through his coat, her sweet scent—sothing like vanilla and gunpowder—cutting through the orphanage’s antiseptic sll. Whatever her enhanced senses were picking up had her on edge.
"How wonderful," Lydia said smoothly, her professional smile perfectly calibrated. "Lord Philip has been so looking forward to finally eting the children his generosity supports."
As they were led deeper into the building, Philip noticed more staff mbers—all won, all moving with that sa eerie synchronization, turning corners at identical angles, their footsteps creating an uncanny rhythm.
"We have one hundred and twenty-three children currently in residence," Mrs. Clearwater recited. "Ages ranging from infants to sixteen years. All receiving the finest care, education, and... developnt opportunities."
She paused at ornate double doors. "They’re waiting in the main hall. They’ve been practicing their welco song for weeks."
The doors opened to reveal a sight that made Philip’s breath catch.
The hall was magnificent—vaulted ceilings painted with cherubs, tall windows flooding the space with golden light. But it was the children themselves that stopped him cold.
They were beautiful. Every single one.
Not in the natural way of normal children with gap-toothed grins and scraped knees. These children possessed an ethereal beauty—luminous skin, perfectly proportioned features, eyes that held an inner light. The younger ones looked like Renaissance cherubs, while the older children could have stepped from classical mythology.
"Welco, Lord Philip!" they chorused in supernatural precision.
A staff mber raised her hand, and the children began to sing. The traditional Yorgorian folk song should have been sweet, but their mathematical precision made it chanical. Every note, every breath in perfect unison.
Philip felt Natalia lean toward him, her breath warm against his ear as she started to whisper sothing—
Lydia’s hand tapped Natalia’s lower back—casual but deliberate. A warning to stay silent. Natalia’s brow furrowed adorably in confusion, but she obeyed, though Philip could practically feel her questions radiating like heat. Her fingers unconsciously intertwined with his, seeking reassurance.
"Children, show Lord Philip how grateful you are for his kindness!" Mrs. Clearwater commanded.
Like a switch flipping, their formal postures dissolved into apparent enthusiasm. They surged forward with bright smiles and reaching hands, though even their excitent felt choreographed.
"Lord Philip! Lord Philip!" A golden-haired boy with sapphire eyes tugged at his coat. "Will you play with us?"
Philip’s heart ward despite his unease. Whatever else was wrong here, these were still children. He crouched down, and imdiately several pressed closer.
"Hello there. What’s your na?"
"Thomas, my lord!" the boy replied brightly. "I’m seven years and three months old, I excel at mathematics and preliminary mana manipulation, and my favorite color is blue!"
The response was so formally structured it sounded like a military report. Philip’s unease deepened.
"That’s... very specific, Thomas. What do you like to do for fun?"
The boy’s smile flickered with uncertainty. "Fun, my lord?"
"You know—gas, playing with friends?"
"Oh!" Thomas brightened. "We have scheduled recreational periods from three to four-thirty! We engage in approved physical activities and social bonding exercises!"
Before Philip could respond to that disturbing answer, a little girl of perhaps five climbed onto his lap with the determination of a tiny general.
"I’m Sofia!" she announced, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You sll nice, Lord Philip! Like the outside!"
"The outside?" Philip asked, his heart aching.
"We can see it from the windows. Sotis birds land on the sills. Brown ones and black ones and sotis blue ones. Do you know about birds, Lord Philip?"
"Do you ever go outside to see them closer?"
"During supervised outdoor periods," another child piped up. "Tuesday and Thursday mornings, weather permitting, for precisely forty-five minutes."
They spent an hour with the children. Philip read stories while Natalia watched in fascination as small humans climbed on him with complete disregard for propriety. Her analytical mind was clearly malfunctioning.
"They’re damaging your clothing," she observed as a four-year-old sared jam on Philip’s expensive coat. "The cleaning costs will be significant."
"It’ll wash," Philip replied, helping the boy with his blocks.
Natalia tilted her head, studying the children with the intensity she usually reserved for combat analysis. "Are they experiencing the sa biological responses I experience when I’m close to you?"
Philip’s face went crimson. "No! They’re children, Natalia. This is completely different."
"Oh." She processed this, looking increasingly puzzled. "So inefficient physical contact that serves no productive or... reproductive purpose is positive?"
"When it cos from genuine affection? Yes," Philip managed, desperately hoping the children hadn’t heard.
A girl with pigtails tugged on Natalia’s dress. "You’re so pretty! Are you Lord Philip’s wife?"
Natalia froze like a deer in headlights. The staff mbers tensed visibly.
"Now children, we shouldn’t make assumptions—" Mrs. Clearwater started.
"But they look just like the couples in our storybooks!" another child interrupted. "The prince and the beautiful princess with golden hair!"
Lydia crouched beside them, clearly enjoying herself. "Oh? What makes you think they’re married?"
"Because she keeps touching him!" a boy declared with six-year-old authority. "And she’s incredibly beautiful like princesses!"
"And she’s wearing a pretty dress like wives wear!" Sofia added from Philip’s lap.
Natalia’s face had turned an interesting pink. "Lord Philip and I have a mutually beneficial arrangent involving protection services and... overnight proximity for security purposes—"
"She ans we’re very good friends," Philip translated quickly, mortified.
"Friends don’t hold hands that much," Thomas observed skeptically, pointing at their intertwined fingers.
"Or sll each other," another child added innocently. "She keeps sniffing your neck!"
Natalia looked genuinely confused. "I’m monitoring his pheromone levels for signs of distress—"
"Moving on!" Philip said loudly.
anwhile, younger children were showing Natalia their drawings. One little boy shyly offered his paper, and she accepted it with unexpected gentleness, her fingers tracing the lines as if analyzing their composition.
Another child, emboldened, climbed into her lap. "Lady Redwood, why is your hair so shiny? Like sunshine!"
Natalia looked genuinely puzzled. "My hair follicles produce optimal levels of natural oils due to my enhanced biological—I an, I eat very nutritious food. Particularly proteins. Master Philip ensures I receive adequate... nutrition."
Philip choked on air while Lydia covered a laugh with a cough.
"Can we touch it?" a little girl asked shyly.
Natalia glanced at Philip, who nodded encouragingly. Soon she was surrounded by children gently touching her golden locks.
"It’s so soft!"
"You’re the prettiest lady we’ve ever seen," a five-year-old declared. "Even prettier than the angels in our ceiling paintings!"
Natalia seed overwheld, her usual combat-ready posture lting into sothing softer. She awkwardly patted one child’s head with the sa careful precision she used to disarm explosives.
"Am I executing appropriate child-interaction procedures?" she whispered to Philip.
"You’re doing wonderfully," he assured her, chard by her earnest attempts.
A girl of perhaps twelve approached—silver hair like spun moonlight, eyes the color of winter sky. "Lord Philip, we’ve prepared a performance to show our appreciation. Would you honor us by watching?"
As the children arranged themselves, an older girl approached—sixteen, the eldest. Her otherworldly beauty seed almost supernatural, every movent calculated for maximum elegance. She executed a curtsey so perfect it defied physics.
"Lord Philip," she said in a lodious voice. "I am Olivia. I wanted to personally thank you for your generosity."
Philip noticed Natalia’s eyes narrow slightly, her hand tightening possessively on his arm. The familiar had clearly identified competition, even if she didn’t fully understand why.
"It’s my pleasure, Olivia," Philip replied carefully.
The girl smiled—perfect but empty—and Natalia shifted closer to Philip, her impressive bosom pressing against his arm in what was definitely not an accident. Philip’s brain temporarily ceased functioning.
The children’s performance was disturbing—coordinated acrobatics and mana manipulation that would have impressed academy students. From children, so barely walking, it was deeply unsettling.
"Remarkable," Lydia murmured. "Such... brilliance."
"They train four hours daily," Mrs. Clearwater said proudly. "Physical conditioning, mana exercises, cognitive enhancent drills."
"And their parents?" Philip asked quietly.
The director’s smile tightened. "These children have no parents, Lord Philip. True orphans—wards of the Foundation from birth."
"All of them?" Philip couldn’t hide his shock.
"The Foundation specializes in such cases. Children who would otherwise have no chance at life."
A toddler who couldn’t have been more than two toddled over and raised her arms. Philip lifted her automatically, and she imdiately wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.
"Papa?" she whispered, so quietly only Philip could hear.
His heart shattered. He held her closer, feeling her little body relax against him.
The staff imdiately stepped forward. "I apologize, Lord Philip. The young ones sotis forget their training—"
"She’s fine," Philip said quickly, shielding the toddler.
Natalia had moved closer, not in affection but protection, ready to pull him away from danger. Her body was coiled like a spring, and Philip could feel the heat radiating from her—her combat systems warming up.
"Perhaps," Lydia suggested smoothly, "Lord Philip would enjoy seeing the children’s artwork?"
In the gallery, the artwork was too perfect—technical skill beyond the artists’ years, no chaos or imagination of actual childhood creativity.
A bell chid. "Nutrition period," a staff mber announced.
The children began filing out in perfect lines, but several lingered. Sofia tugged on his coat.
"Will you co back, Lord Philip?" she asked, her voice finally sounding like a real child’s—uncertain and hopeful.
"And bring Lady Redwood too?" Thomas added. "She’s nice. She doesn’t look at us like the other ladies do."
"She slls nice too," a younger child added. "Like flowers and... danger?"
Natalia blinked in surprise. "That’s... surprisingly accurate sensory detection for a human child."
"I’ll try to co back," Philip promised.
The toddler in his arms had fallen asleep. A staff mber stepped forward. "I’ll take her to the nursery, Lord Philip."
Reluctantly, Philip handed over the sleeping child. The woman held her like a package rather than a baby.
As they were escorted out, Philip noticed things he’d missed before—magnetic locks on doors, caras in corners, reinforced windows. They passed a door marked "dical Wing" and glimpsed elaborate equipnt through the window—far beyond basic healthcare needs.
Mrs. Clearwater quickly stepped between him and the door. "Comprehensive health services for the children. Their wellbeing is our highest priority."
"I’m sure it is," Philip said quietly.
At the entrance, Mrs. Clearwater’s relief was palpable. "Thank you for visiting, Lord Philip. The children were thrilled to et their benefactor."
"Yes," Philip said, looking back at the beautiful building that felt more like a laboratory than a ho. "I’m glad to et them too."
Walking toward the carriage, he could feel Natalia trembling slightly where she gripped his arm. Her fingers had found their way under his coat cuff, her skin hot against his wrist—a familiar’s tell-tale sign of extre agitation.
Mrs. Hendjizson stood by the carriage, her weathered face grim, hand resting on sothing under her coat.
They climbed in silently. Only when the orphanage disappeared behind a hill did Natalia explode.
"Master, those weren’t normal children! The blue mana saturation in that building was—"
"Astronomical," Lydia finished quietly, all earlier cheer gone. "I sensed it too."
Philip stared at her. "You can sense mana?"
Part 2
"Of course. The concentration was rather hard to miss." Lydia adjusted her skirts with practiced ease, though Philip noticed the slight tremor in her fingers. "Blue mana has a very distinctive resonance pattern, quite different from the green mana that living beings naturally generate."
As they left the orphanage behind, the carriage wheels found every pothole in the deteriorating road. Through the window, scenes of industrial decay unfolded like a grotesque painting. Abandoned factories lined the streets like broken teeth, their windows dark and empty, so still bearing faded signs of once-proud companies. Weeds pushed through cracked concrete, and Philip spotted a family of rats scurrying across what had once been a loading dock. The acrid sll of rust and decay seeped through the carriage windows.
"This is the capital of the Empire?" Philip couldn’t hide his disbelief, watching as they passed a grand marble facade that, upon closer inspection, was rely a thin veneer bolted onto a crumbling brick structure. "It’s so... hollow."
"What were you expecting?" Lydia asked, following his gaze to where gilded letters spelling ’IMPERIAL TEXTILES’ hung askew from a building whose roof had partially collapsed.
"More people, for one. This is supposed to be the heart of a global empire. But these streets feel emptier than..." he caught himself before ntioning London or New York from his world, "than I imagined."
A beggar shuffled past, his coat a patchwork of different fabrics that might once have been expensive. He paused to urinate against a statue of so forgotten imperial hero, the bronze green with verdigris and bird droppings.
"Albecaster has about two million people in the greater tropolitan area," Lydia explained, pointedly looking away from the scene. "Perhaps another million in the surrounding counties who commute for work. Though ’work’ is increasingly scarce these days in the suburbs."
Philip suddenly realized the population dynamics of this world might be vastly different from his old world—a question he filed away for later consideration.
"But wait—you knew about blue mana?" His voice pitched higher with incredulity, returning to their earlier revelation.
Lydia gave him a look typically reserved for children who’d asked if water was wet, though her eyes held genuine concern. "Master Philip, blue mana is commonly recognized as the type of mana primarily used for powering artifacts. When you asked to research everything about blue mana, I assud you wanted to know about its various applications—most cutting-edge technology draws on blue mana rather than traditional green mana." She paused, her voice softening. "But I didn’t realize... your amnesia runs deeper than I thought. Unlike green mana which derives from biological life force, blue mana is generated by the movent of charged particles through conductive materials under specific electromagnetic conditions."
Philip blinked, his mind racing. That sounds exactly like electricity! But before he could pursue that thought, a particularly jarring pothole made the carriage lurch, and he noticed they were passing through increasingly desolate streets.
"I spent hours reading the latest papers on experintal applications." Lydia’s expression grew grave, and she unconsciously moved closer to Philip, as if discussing state secrets while gesturing at the abandoned industrial buildings around them. "You see these factories? They once employed thousands. Now their work had mostly went to other regions with cheaper labour costs. Moreover, other nations, such as the Republic and UES are developing blue mana generators to power summoned workers on an industrial scale. In other words, human workers are starting to be ... outcompeted by foreign... familiars..."
"Foreign ... familiars?" Philip asked, watching a group of unemployed n warming themselves around a trash fire in what used to be a factory loading dock.
"Exactly. As blue mana can be artificially generated, it eliminates the life force drain on the summoners and effectively removes the energy constraint, making it possible to sustain vast numbers of summoned entities and sustain them indefinitely."
"Wait, what?" Philip straightened so abruptly that Natalia, who had been contentedly leaning against him, made a small sound of protest. "Does that an you could power familiars with blue mana?"
"Yes!" Lydia’s eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of soone finally able to share forbidden knowledge. "In fact, all the Guardians are powered thus. Otherwise, any actual combat deploynt would drain their summoners to death within minutes. The Guardians wouldn’t outlive their summoners’ collective lifespan without external power. Blue mana has powered them since mid-last century." Her voice took on a lecturing tone, though she kept glancing nervously at the abandoned buildings they passed. "It’s through blue mana that Arussia and the Coalition sustain thousands of summoned ’birdies’ on the battlefield."
"Yet the newspapers still show pictures of cavalry charges and artillery bombardnts," Philip said, gesturing to a crumpled broadsheet in the corner of the carriage that depicted heroic horsen.
Lydia laughed—a surprisingly bitter sound that made even Natalia look up with concern. "Oh, Master Philip. The public still believes war involves gallant officers leading charges while military bands play stirring marches. They think hypersonic missiles are isolated acts of terrorism that should be tried as cris against humanity." She shook her head, her perfectly coiffed hair catching the light filtering through the grimy carriage window. "The reality? Thousands die daily to swarms of summoned entities powered by blue mana, remotely directed by operators in underground bunkers hundreds of miles away. But that doesn’t sell newspapers or maintain public morale."
As their carriage rolled past a governnt building, the contrast between appearance and reality reached almost satirical proportions. The building’s facade glead with fresh gilt and marble—but only the side facing the main thoroughfare. Philip noticed a beggar had made camp in a side entrance, using newspapers for blankets. The magnificent columns were polished to mirror brightness on the street-facing side, while the back was stained with pollution streaks that looked like black tears.
"Even the governnt buildings are falling apart," Philip muttered, watching a pigeon nest in what should have been a ventilation grate.
"Only where the public doesn’t look," Lydia said knowingly, her fingers absently tracing the worn velvet of the carriage seat. "The entire outer city is a stage set—gorgeous from the audience’s perspective, held together with paste and prayer behind the scenes. The inner city is a completely different story."
They passed what had once been a grand shopping arcade. Through its broken skylights, Philip could see an entire ecosystem had taken root inside—trees growing through the abandoned shops, their branches reaching toward the light. A faded sign advertised "MADEMOISELLE’S FINEST IMPORTS - SERVING ALBECASTER SINCE 1623."
Natalia, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly brightened with an excitent that made her whole body vibrate with energy. "So that ans I could be powered by blue mana rather than draining Master’s life force?"
"Of course," Lydia replied matter-of-factly, though her eyes held a knowing glint. "I’m actually surprised Master Philip has lasted this long maintaining you purely with his own energy. Most summoners would have collapsed within days. Your constitution must be remarkably robust, Master Philip."
Philip felt his face heat up as Natalia turned to study him with those impossibly blue eyes, her gaze traveling slowly down his form with scientific interest.
Ding! The System chid in his mind with obvious amusent. Oh, they think you’re so kind of beast!
Natalia’s eyes sparkled with increasing excitent, and she unconsciously pressed closer to Philip, her warmth seeping through his coat. "Does that an Master would be less exhausted if I were powered by blue mana?"
"Certainly," Lydia nodded, clearly enjoying Philip’s discomfort. "The constant drain on his life force would be eliminated entirely."
"Does that an," Natalia leaned forward eagerly, her breath tickling Philip’s ear, "we could explore more... rigorous activities together? Like—"
"Natalia," Philip interrupted gently but firmly, his voice slightly strangled, "Not now."
Natalia nodded obediently but didn’t move away. Instead, she settled more firmly against his side, her hand finding his and interlacing their fingers with surprising tenderness.
Lydia coughed delicately, though her eyes danced with mirth. "I believe Master Philip is slowly realizing that he’s been inadvertently funding an experintal foreign military program for the past several years."
The weight of that statent crashed down on Philip like cold water. "Using an orphanage as cover," he muttered, feeling sick. "Using children..."
"Those children are being trained as special forces, Master Philip." Lydia’s expression turned sympathetic but frank. "The precision, the discipline, the synchronized mana manipulation—it’s military conditioning of the highest order. No normal orphanage produces such results."
"The question is who’s running it," Philip said thoughtfully, his tactical mind finally engaging despite his emotional turmoil.
"The Redwood-Woterbatch Children’s Foundation. Your na is literally gilded on the building." Lydia’s voice carried a hint of irony. "Though I suspect you’re rely the unwitting financial front for either the Woterbatch family or..." she paused dramatically, lowering her voice, "the Osgorreich Imperium itself."
Philip buried his face in his hands, and Natalia imdiately began stroking his hair in what she clearly thought was a comforting manner, though her touch was slightly too clinical to be truly soothing. "This is what I get for blindly signing whatever Rosetta put in front of ."
"That’s what happens when you finance projects without participating in managent," Lydia agreed, her tone carrying equal parts sympathy and reproach. "All in the na of lust—" she coughed delicately, glancing at Natalia, "—I an, love."
"But why didn’t you speak up at the orphanage?" Natalia asked Lydia, her hand stilling in Philip’s hair. "When you tapped my back to keep quiet?"
Lydia’s expression turned deadly serious, all traces of humor vanishing. "Because, my dear, we were being watched and listened to. Those caras weren’t just for security—they were military-grade surveillance equipnt. Every room had audio capture devices hidden in the molding. If they’d realized we knew what they were really doing..." She shrugged eloquently. "Well, there were at least thirty blue mana-powered combat familiars in that building, each potentially stronger than a platoon of trained soldiers. Plus over a hundred children with mage-level mana reserves who’ve been training since they could walk. Even with your considerable abilities, Natalia, those aren’t odds I’d care to test."
"You think they would have attacked us?" Philip asked, raising his head from his hands.
"I think they would have done whatever necessary to protect a military operation of that scope. And who would question it if Lord Philip had an unfortunate accident while visiting his own charity? Such a tragedy—the generous benefactor, struck down by a collapsing beam in the old building he was inspecting. The children would sing so beautifully at your funeral." Lydia’s smile held no warmth whatsoever.
Natalia frowned, her analytical mind processing this new data. "But the children seed genuinely affectionate toward Master Philip. Especially the little ones. They kept touching him and climbing on him like small primates establishing social bonds."
"They were probably starved for genuine human contact," Philip said sadly, rembering the desperate way that toddler had clung to him. "Those poor children..."
"They seed to derive pleasure from the purposeless physical contact," Natalia mused, tilting her head in that particular way she did when analyzing human behavior. "Like when Sofia hugged you and that infant fell asleep in your arms. It appeared to generate positive emotional responses despite serving no tactical or biological purpose."
"That’s how humans show affection, Natalia. Through touch." Philip explained patiently.
Natalia tilted her head, processing this information with the sa intensity she usually reserved for combat analysis. "Oh! So physical contact without clear purpose is a way to show affection?" She looked down at where her hand rested on his arm, studying it as if seeing it for the first ti. "Fascinating. I must gather more data."
Philip noticed her shifting slightly, her analytical gaze fixed on him. "Natalia, what are you—"
"I am conducting an experint in human affection display," she announced with scientific precision. "Hypothesis: increased physical contact correlates with increased affection demonstration. Beginning trial one."
She started thodically—first leaning slightly more against his shoulder, pausing to gauge his reaction like she was asuring combat effectiveness. "Heart rate increased by twelve percent. Interesting."
Then she wrapped one arm around his, then both, each movent deliberate and studied. "Skin temperature rising. Pupil dilation detected."
"Natalia, this isn’t exactly—"
"Trial two: full contact protocol." With the surprising agility that ca from her enhanced abilities, she smoothly repositioned herself across his lap, treating him like terrain to be tactically conquered. "The children achieved maximum affection response through complete body contact. Replicating conditions."
She wrapped her arms around his neck with chanical precision, inadvertently pressing her extrely generous bosom against his chest in a way that made Philip’s brain experience a critical error. "asuring affection transmission rate... Master, your cardiac rhythm has beco highly irregular. Is this the intended result?"
"The children were five years old!" Philip wheezed, trying not to think about how warm she was or how her breath tickled his neck.
"But the principle should scale proportionally," Natalia argued with perfect logic, sohow managing to press even closer as she adjusted her position for ’optimal affection delivery.’ "If small humans require small contact for affection, then adult humans require adult-sized contact. It’s basic mathematics, Master."
"Different—types—of—touch—" Philip managed, his face burning.
"Oh! Variable protocols?" Natalia’s eyes lit up with scientific interest. She began running her fingers through his hair while maintaining the full-body embrace, exactly mimicking what she’d observed the children doing but with significantly more... intensity. "Implenting multi-surface affection delivery system. Recording all responses for future optimization."
Lydia watched this display with barely contained laughter, making no effort whatsoever to help Philip. "Such dedicated research, Natalia. Very thorough."
After several minutes of Natalia’s increasingly creative ’affection experints’—including asuring optimal hug pressure and docunting various pat patterns—Philip finally managed to convince her to return to a more conventional seating position. Though she maintained possession of his arm and continued to stroke his hand in a way that was both sweet and slightly unnerving in its chanical precision, occasionally muttering about "data points" and "affection trics."
"Wait, Lydia." Philip said suddenly, desperate to change the subject from Natalia’s experints in physical affection but also genuinely troubled by a nagging thought. "Sothing doesn’t add up about the orphanage. If there were familiars there, wouldn’t the Empire detect them? Especially here in the holand?" He paused, rembering their earlier encounter. "I an, Empress Celestica detected Natalia from across the ocean!"
Lydia’s smile turned sharp as a blade, and she leaned forward conspiratorially. "Yes, Master Philip. An excellent observation. You’re learning to see the patterns." She glanced aningfully at the governnt buildings they were passing. "Which leaves only one possible conclusion."
"What?"
"Soone in the highest echelons of power is deliberately turning a blind eye." She let that sink in for a mont, watching Philip’s face pale as the implications hit him.
"Soone in the governnt authorized it," Philip finished, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty carriage.
"Or soone influential enough to manipulate even... the Empress herself." Lydia’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "In fact, this might be an elaborate trap set by a political rival. If exposed at the right mont, it would serve as devastating leverage against..." she glanced aningfully at Philip, "a certain Duke who’s been garnering too much popular support with his reform agenda."
Natalia had been following this exchange with rapt attention, her tactical mind clearly engaged. "So those staff mbers at the orphanage..."
"Were almost certainly military-grade familiars," Lydia confird. "Powered by blue mana to operate independently without a nearby summoner. It would explain their synchronized movents, identical expressions, and the fact that they never seed to blink at different tis."
"And the children?" Philip asked, though he suspected he already knew the horrible answer.
"Genetically enhanced. Selectively bred. Possibly even artificially created." Lydia counted off on her fingers. "Did you notice their beauty? The perfect mathematical symtry of their features? The unusual eye colors—violet, silver, amber—that don’t occur naturally in our population?" She shook her head grimly. "Plus those mana reserves—every single child had the potential of a trained academy mage. That’s not statistically possible unless..."
"Unless they were selected or created for it," Philip finished heavily, rembering those perfect faces, those too-bright eyes.
Mrs. Hendjizson’s voice called from the driver’s box, cutting through their dark speculation. "We’re approaching the Duke’s townhouse, Master Philip. Should arrive in twenty minutes, traffic permitting."
The change in scenery was gradual but telling—from abandoned factories to struggling middle-class districts to increasingly grand facades.
"Townhouse?" Philip perked up slightly, grateful for a shift from the heavy revelations about the orphanage. "The Duke lives in a townhouse?"
Lydia coughed delicately, following his gaze to the increasingly theatrical architecture. "Master Philip, you might want to... adjust your expectations."
"What do you an?" Philip asked, genuinely confused.
They passed through a district where the contrast beca almost absurd. Grand mansions so vast that looked like a completely different reality from the earlier buildings that they had passed by.
"Well," Lydia said carefully, gesturing at the theatrical architecture around them, "Money goes considerably further than nobility in Albecaster these days." She adopted a lodramatic tone. "A duke isn’t what it was a hundred years ago. These days, money runs the show while nobility ... is mostly for show."
"But a townhouse..." Philip murmured, still stunned by the image of a Duke living in a townhouse.
"Well, here in Albecaster," Lydia continued, watching a rat the size of a small cat dart across the street, "land prices in the capital is high, so the Duke must make certain... compromises."
"I see..." Philip said, though he wasn’t sure he did.
"But there’s another, more crucial reason for the Duke’s residential choice," Lydia continued. "He’s cultivated an image as a reformist and champion of ritocracy—which essentially ans championing those without aristocratic backgrounds as long as they have talent. So he can’t appear too ostentatious in the capital where journalists are everywhere. Every dinner party becos a statent, every purchase scrutinized for signs of extravagance."
"But what about that incredibly lavish party back at Yorgoria?" Philip protested. "That was excessive beyond belief!"
"Ah, but those never get photographed, did it?" Lydia’s smile turned knowing. "Only whispered about in elite circles where such things are expected. And if worst cos to worst, the Duke can always fra them as ’provincial entertainnts’ with the implicit understanding that everything is cheaper in the colonies." Her tone turned sardonic. "The holand citizens still believe they’re the center of civilization and that everywhere else practically gives things away."
"Is appearance really that important?" Philip asked, though he was beginning to understand.
They passed a grand bank building, its marble columns gleaming—but Philip noticed boards nailed over the side windows. A sign proclaid "IMPERIAL TRUST - SOLID AS THE EMPIRE" while a smaller notice on the door read "Appointnts needed for withdrawals of more than 50 dollars per day."
Lydia followed his gaze and gave him an amused but pitying look. "Oh, Master Philip. Appearance isn’t just important—it’s everything nowadays." She pointed to the bank. "That institution probably has less actual gold in its vaults than the Redwoods have, yet people trust it with their life savings because it looks solid."
"But that’s fraud," Philip protested.
"That’s modern finance," Lydia corrected. "The entire global system now runs purely on perception. Watch—" She gestured to a street vendor selling newspapers. The headline scread ’RECORD PROSPERITY’ while the vendor himself wore shoes held together with twine.
Philip shook his head in disbelief. "How does that even work?"
"The Empire manages to sustain astronomical debt through masterful manipulation of its image," Lydia explained. They passed what had once been a stock exchange, its ticker tape machines visible through dusty windows, frozen mid-calculation. "See those new technology companies listed on the Republic’s exchanges? Many are nothing but ideas and promises, yet they’re valued at millions."
"Why?" Philip asked, watching a well-dressed gentleman step carefully around a holess man to enter an obviously struggling shop advertising ’LUXURY GOODS.’
Natalia, who had been conducting her affection experints, paused to observe. "This seems highly illogical. Value should correlate with tangible assets."
"Ah, but people believe in potential," Lydia said, warming to her subject as they passed more contradictions—a gilded theater with a leaking roof, a restaurant with velvet curtains hiding a kitchen full of rats. "They’re treating future theoretical earnings as current assets. It’s financial alchemy—turning dreams into gold."
"That’s insane," Philip muttered, watching a banker in a threadbare coat maintain perfect posture as he entered the Imperial Trust.
"Its called valuation. And it works," Lydia gestured at the crumbling suburb around them, "as long as everyone maintains confidence. Look there—" She pointed to a crowd gathered around a posting board. "They’re reading about our ’economic miracle’ while standing in a district that hasn’t seen maintenance in decades. But since even one person believes strongly enough to invest, the value exists."
A beggar approached their carriage at a stop, and Philip noticed he was reading a discarded financial paper. Even the destitute were following the markets.
"Everything is perception now," Lydia continued, her voice taking on a darker tone. "Nations learned this lesson well. That’s how they keep themselves afloat despite astronomical debts. Refinancing."
"Is the Empire’s financial situation that dire?" Philip asked with growing alarm, noticing how many "Closed for Renovation" signs actually ant "Abandoned Forever."
"Not just the Empire’s." Lydia’s voice turned grim as they passed what had been a factory district, now a graveyard of industrial ambition. "The Republic, the Coalition, even the UES that’s been driving global growth. If people truly understood the intricate pile of global debt we’ve built..."
"We’d have panic," Philip finished, understanding dawning.
"Exactly. And panic becos self-fulfilling prophecy. So—" she gestured at a fresh coat of paint being applied to a governnt building’s facade while its foundation visibly crumbled, "—we maintain the beautiful lie."
"But isn’t that just delaying the inevitable?"
Lydia shook her head, pointing to a construction site where Philip could see what looked like massive blue mana generators being installed. "Not if they win the race. Each governnt desperately tries to boost productivity. To create enough real value to pave the way for printing away the debts without stirring inflation."
"That sounds like a big gamble," Philip muttered.
"Welco to modern economics," Lydia said dryly, "where confidence is currency and reality is negotiable. And this—" she gestured aningfully at the blue mana generator being constructed, "—is precisely why all nations are racing to create ever more sophisticated summoned entities. It’s why the Duke pushes so hard for reform—before we are left in the dust."
As they entered Albecaster proper, passing through gates that were gilded on one side and rusted on the other, the conversation had taken on a strange energy. Philip noticed how both won had grown tense—Natalia from her experints in human affection, Lydia from their discussion of hidden powers and economic collapse.
Natalia suddenly turned to Lydia with intense curiosity, perhaps seeking to understand more about this woman who seed to know so much. "But Lydia, are you a mage? How can you detect mana signatures so easily?"
Lydia’s expression shifted, becoming unreadable, almost dangerous. For a mont, Philip thought he saw sothing flicker in her eyes—a depth of knowledge that went beyond re education. "Because..." she paused, seeming to weigh her words with extre care, as if about to reveal sothing significant.
The carriage suddenly rolled to a stop with perfect timing, as if fate itself had intervened.
"We’ve arrived at the townhouse," Mrs. Hendjizson announced from outside, her tone carrying a hint of irony.
Philip looked out the window and his jaw dropped. They had pulled through ornate gates into what could only be described as a vast estate. Acres upon acres of manicured grounds stretched before them, dotted with multiple buildings—guest houses, servants’ quarters that looked like a small village, stables that could house a cavalry regint. Gardens seed to stretch to the horizon, and at the center sat a "modest" mansion that would have dwarfed most mansions Philip had seen.
"Welco to the Duke’s townhouse," Mrs. Hendjizson said dryly as she opened the carriage door.
"Wait," Philip sputtered, staring at the obviously detached manor surrounded by enough private land to be a park. "This is called a townhouse? But it’s..."
"Of course. What else would you call it?" Lydia asked with confusion.
"It doesn’t even share a wall with another building!"
Lydia laughed, the sound bright and genuine for the first ti since they’d left the orphanage. "My dear Master Philip, now that would just make the Duke look fake!"
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