Four years passed with excruciating slowness. For Adam, trapped in a child's undeveloped body with an adult's memories and ambitions, each day was an exercise in restraint.
The royal nursery was exactly as he remembered it—high ceilings painted with constellations, enchanted toys that floated and spun, and the constant presence of servants who smiled at Marcus but watched Adam with wary eyes.
The twins shared this space, as they would until their seventh year when tradition dictated they begin separate training appropriate to their stations—the heir and the spare. But this time, Adam observed his brother with new eyes.
Marcus toddled across the playroom, laughing as he chased a miniature dragon construct that puffed harmless smoke rings. His green eyes sparkled with innocent joy, the minus-shaped pupils dilating with excitement.
It was difficult to reconcile this guileless child with the righteous warrior who had severed Adam's head without hesitation. Who was the real Marcus? The innocent boy or the merciless hero?
Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.
"Adam!" Marcus called, his childish voice still struggling with the pronunciation. "Come play!"
In his first life, Adam had already begun pulling away by this age, preferring solitude to his brother's exuberant company. That isolation had been the first step on his path to darkness.
A divergence opportunity.
[MINOR FATE DIVERGENCE POSSIBLE]
[PROCEED?]
The Genesis System's prompt floated across his vision. Adam considered his options. Playing with Marcus was trivial, meaningless—except that every relationship began somewhere. Every hatred, every alliance, every betrayal had its roots in such small moments.
"Coming," Adam replied, setting aside the book he'd been pretending to read.
He crossed the playroom, aware of the nursemaid's surprised expression. Adam rarely engaged with his twin voluntarily. In four years, he had carefully cultivated the same aloofness he had shown in his original childhood, but with purpose now rather than instinct.
The dragon construct fluttered around them, its tiny ruby eyes glinting. A training toy, designed to help young Arkmages develop their affinity. In his first life, Adam had never managed to control it until age six, while Marcus had mastered it by four.
Adam raised his hand, reaching for the Crimson energy that had once been as natural to him as breathing. In this undeveloped body, his connection to the Arcane Spectrum was tenuous at best, but he understood the theory far better than any child should.
The construct hesitated, sensing his attempt.
"Gonna catch it?" Marcus asked, bouncing with excitement.
Adam focused, visualizing the Crimson thread of the Spectrum, the energy of transformation and destruction. Not enough to burn or break—just enough to—
The dragon construct dipped, responding to his call, and landed gracefully on his outstretched palm.
The nursemaid gasped audibly.
"You did it!" Marcus clapped his hands. "Father said you might not be able to, but you did it!"
Adam's eyes narrowed slightly. So the king was already discussing his "deficiencies" with Marcus. Earlier than he had realized.
[MINOR FATE DIVERGENCE ACHIEVED]
[AFFINITY DEVELOPMENT ACCELERATED]
[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: EARLY ARCANE SENSITIVITY]
The system's notification surprised him. He hadn't expected such a minor action to have any significant effect. Perhaps the smallest changes could cascade into major differences over time.
"Let me try," Marcus said, holding out his hand.
Adam had a flash of memory—Marcus at twenty-three, hand extended not in play but in judgment, green eyes cold as he commanded the Radiant Blade to execute his fallen brother.
The dragon construct suddenly flared hot in Adam's palm. The nursemaid shouted in alarm as flames erupted from the toy, engulfing Adam's hand.
Pain seared through him, real and immediate. The construct was a training tool—it shouldn't be capable of generating actual fire.
"My prince!" The nursemaid rushed forward, already calling for water.
But Adam stared at his burning hand with detached curiosity. The pain was intense, yet somehow remote. He could sense the Crimson energy flowing wild and unchecked from the toy, responding not to his conscious command but to something deeper. His hatred. His fear.
[WARNING: EMOTIONAL STATE AFFECTING AFFINITY CONTROL]
[RECOMMEND STABILIZATION]
Marcus stood frozen, green eyes wide with horror as his brother's hand burned.
With deliberate effort, Adam calmed his mind, drawing on meditation techniques he had mastered in his adult life. The flames receded, then extinguished entirely. The dragon construct fell to the floor, now just an inert piece of metal.
Adam's hand was blistered and raw, but he had suffered far worse.
"H-how did you do that?" the nursemaid stammered, staring at him with undisguised fear. "How did you stop it?"
Before Adam could respond, the nursery doors flew open. King Tiberius strode in, followed by Magister Orren. The Royal Seer's face was grave.
"I sensed a Crimson flare," the king said sharply. His eyes fell on Adam's burned hand, then the melted construct. "What happened here?"
The nursemaid curtsied deeply. "Your Majesty, Prince Adam was controlling the construct, but then it—it burst into flames. Real flames, sire."
"And then he made them stop," Marcus added, finding his voice. "Without water or anything. He just looked at the fire and it went away."
King Tiberius exchanged a meaningful glance with Magister Orren.
"It's too soon," the king muttered. "He's only four."
"The Crossmark accelerates development," Orren replied quietly. "As I warned."
Adam kept his expression carefully neutral, though inwardly he seethed. Already they spoke about him as though he were a problem to be managed rather than a son to be protected.
Tiberius knelt before Adam, examining his injured hand. "Does it hurt, son?"
"Yes, Father," Adam replied honestly. Physical pain was the least of his concerns.
The king's expression softened slightly. "You controlled Crimson energy at age four. That's... remarkable." He hesitated. "But dangerous. You must be careful with such power, Adam. Crimson is the most volatile aspect of the Spectrum."
"I'll be careful," Adam promised, knowing his father would interpret his intensity as childish sincerity rather than the bitter irony it truly was.
"The alignment is clear," Orren said. "Crimson primary affinity. Just as the prophecy—"
"Enough," Tiberius cut him off with a sharp gesture. "We will discuss this later." To Adam, he said, "You will begin special training tomorrow. Earlier than planned, but necessary now."
In his first life, those "special" training sessions had been designed to suppress his powers rather than develop them—exercises in control rather than expansion, always emphasizing the dangers of his affinity rather than its potential.
"Marcus, you will begin your training as well," the king added, placing a hand on his younger son's shoulder. "It seems both my sons are prodigies."
Marcus beamed at the praise, the trauma of moments ago already forgotten.
As a healer was summoned to treat Adam's burn, he pondered this small divergence. He had revealed his abilities earlier than in his original timeline. The king and Orren were concerned, yes, but there was also a hint of pride in his father's voice that had been absent the first time.
A small victory. The first of many to come.
That night, as Adam lay in his bed across from his sleeping brother, he flexed his bandaged hand and considered his options. In his original life, he had spent years fighting against the limitations placed upon him, nurturing resentment that eventually blossomed into hatred.
What if, this time, he worked within those limitations? What if he played the dutiful son while secretly advancing his own agenda?
The path of patience rather than rebellion. The path of cunning rather than force.
[STRATEGIC OPTION IDENTIFIED]
[DECEPTION PATH AVAILABLE]
[NOTE: ALL CHOICES HAVE CONSEQUENCES]
Adam smiled in the darkness. Yes, he would be the perfect prince—on the surface. He would earn their trust while building his power. And when the time came, they would never see his true intentions until it was far too late.
Unless, of course, he changed those intentions along the way.
The thought came unbidden, unwelcome. Could he truly change? Did he even want to?
The memory of James Williams—his "father" in that other world—came to him suddenly.
"Can someone fundamentally broken be fixed? Can evil be redeemed? Or are some souls simply destined for darkness?"
Adam had eight more lives to find the answer.
But for now, he needed to survive this one.