The days seemed to blur together, each one faster than the last. At first, I had been terrified of stepping into the role of Patriarch a title too large, too weighty for someone like me. But slowly, the fear began to dissipate, replaced by something else. Confidence. No, more than that quiet certainty, as though this mantle had always been waiting for me.

  It felt natural, strangely so, as if I had been born for it. I spent my days resolving disputes, inspecting markets, and speaking with the townspeople, finding joy in their voices and their lives. They no longer looked at me as just the overlooked sibling, the forgotten fourth son. No, when they looked at me now, there was respect in their eyes, admiration even. I couldn’t help but feel proud of what I had accomplished.

  But of course, peace has a way of fracturing when you least expect it.

  Father's Request

  It was a quiet morning when my father summoned me. I entered his chambers, the thick air with the faint scent of cedar and medicine. He sat in his chair by the window, his once-proud figure now diminished, his illness leaving him frail and weak. He looked at me with an expression that was almost unreadable, was it guilt? Regret? Or perhaps pride?

  “I hope you are doing well, Rio,” he began, his voice a shadow of its former strength. “It’s a heavy burden you’re carrying, but I want you to know how much it means to me that you’ve taken on this responsibility.”

  I nodded, but the lump in my throat made it hard to speak. I waited as he continued, his tone softening.

  “Sophie… and her husband… will lead the family once this is over,” he said, the words halting, as though they pained him. “It has already been decided by the empire. I hope you can forgive me, my son. I know I have failed you—

  failed to give you the love and attention you deserved. But you’re here now, helping me, and for that, I am grateful.”

  For a moment, the weight of his words settled over me like a heavy cloak. Sophie and her husband would take my place in the end that much was clear. Yet, surprisingly, the ache I expected to feel never came. Instead, I found myself smiling.

  “Don’t worry, Father,” I said. “I know my time as Patriarch is temporary. Until Sophie returns, I’ll care for the territory. I’ll protect it in her stead.”

  His eyes searched mine for something approval, perhaps? He nodded, his voice breaking slightly as he whispered, “Thank you, my son. You’ve grown so much.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Growing Power

  The days passed, bringing with them a rhythm I had come to enjoy. I threw myself into my role as Patriarch, finding satisfaction in the mundane yet vital tasks of governance. Yet beneath the surface, something extraordinary was shifting. My powers continued to grow, the vaults within me becoming more active with each passing day. I could now control three of the seven colors, their presence tangible and guiding.

  But there was something strange. The remaining vaults, the ones I couldn’t yet access, seemed to be merging, their boundaries blurring into something new. It wasn’t just the vaults that were changing. It was me. My stamina had begun to increase exponentially, far beyond what was normal. My talent with swords had grown to the point where even experienced soldiers looked at me with surprise. And then there was the stats window, the strange interface that granted me items, as if the world itself recognized my progress.

  It was exhilarating and terrifying. This power, this transformation it felt limitless. But it also felt dangerous, as though I was skirting the edge of something I didn’t fully understand.

  Whispers Among the People

  The townspeople had begun to notice the change as well. They whispered about me in the marketplaces, their words carried by the breeze:

  “Did you hear? The fourth young master is the Patriarch now.”

  “Yes, but wasn’t he the most unremarkable of them all? Strange, isn’t it?”

  “Not so strange, actually. He’s doing well, he even talks to the common folk, inspects the markets, and listens to their petitions. I heard he doesn’t punish people; he gives lectures instead. And somehow… it works! People promise to change! It’s absurd.”

  Their words amused me, but they also warmed me. For the first time in my life, I felt connected to the people I served, not as a ruler above them, but as someone who cared.

  The World Between Eras

  Ours is a curious world, caught between the old and the modern. We wear sleek, contemporary clothes yet wield traditional weapons forged with ancient techniques. We have immense power drawn from the memory vaults, an ability older than the earth itself, yet our society still clings to the comforts and complexities of modernity.

  Even I, who have begun to understand the vaults’ mysteries, reflect this dichotomy. On the outside, I am the young Patriarch, confident and capable, admired and respected. But on the inside, something is changing. It feels as though my heart has been locked away, bound by someone I cannot yet name. The merging memories within me whisper truths I am not ready to face, yet they also guide me, shaping the person I am becoming.

  Unwanted Attention

  One unexpected side effect of my position was the attention I suddenly received. Love letters began to pile up in my quarters, each one more elaborate than the last. Wax seals adorned with delicate floral patterns; notes scented with rose water it was flattering, but also bewildering.

  I had been told my face was handsome, though I never gave it much thought. But now, it seemed my role as Patriarch added an air of mystery and appeal. The letters were charming, yes, but I couldn’t help but feel they were distractions from the larger, more pressing matters at hand.

  For all the admiration, all the whispers of respect and affection, there was one truth I couldn’t shake. None of it truly mattered. Titles, power, love letters, they paled in comparison to the journey I had yet to embark on. A journey that promised revelations I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.