Enoc opened his eyes.
Sunlight streamed through the window, bathing the room in a warm glow. He blinked, confused for an instant, but the confusion quickly dissipated.
He was Enoc. Son of Jiron, governor of Spring City. He had been ill for the past few months, but today he felt… different. Better. Strangely better.
He slowly sat up and checked his body. His wings unfolded gently behind him, golden feathers gleaming in the sun. He did not feel his usual weakness. In fact, he felt strong.
—How strange —he murmured, his voice sounding just as always.
He got out of bed unhurriedly and walked to the door. When he opened it, the corridor stretched before him, familiar and welcoming.
A servant passed by carrying a tray and stopped upon seeing him.
—Enoc-sama! —he exclaimed with a bow—. What a joy to see you up! Do you need anything?
Enoc shook his head with a slight tilt.
—No, thank you. I'll just take a walk.
The servant smiled and continued on his way. Other mansion employees greeted him respectfully as they passed, and he responded with the same polite nod.
Everything about him seemed natural.
His movements, his expression, his way of speaking. Nothing betrayed that beneath that skin and those memories lay a different consciousness, dormant but not extinguished. The mental seals Noah had placed on himself were perfect. Even if something went wrong, the emergency protocols would activate.
But for now, Enoc simply enjoyed the sun in the mansion gardens, watching the birds fly and wondering why he suddenly felt so… alive.
Despite the luxuries and respect that came with being the governor's son, Enoc did not feel particularly privileged. The stone walls of the mansion, the servants who bowed as he passed, the food that reached his table without him lifting a finger… all of that was just the backdrop of a life he had never chosen. Instead of enjoying the comforts of power, his mind was focused on the future.
—Today will be another day to learn —he told himself as he walked through the corridors.
Enoc was not a warrior like many in the city. He lacked the strength of the clan's men and the agility of the younger fighters, but his mind was sharp, always observing, always learning from others.
Deep down, he firmly believed that the true key to governing lay not in muscles or weapons, but in intelligence and cunning. A fist could win a battle, but a mind could win a war without shedding a single drop of blood.
His father's house was full of activity at that time of morning. People of all kinds prepared for the day: warriors training in the central courtyard, their wings spread as they performed aerial combat exercises; craftsmen sharpening weapons in their workshops; servants coming and going with trays and materials.
Enoc crossed the courtyard without stopping. The younger warriors looked at him with a mixture of pity and superficial respect. They knew who he was, but they also knew he could never compete with them.
He arrived at the door of his father's office. It was a solid door of dark wood, adorned with carvings of battle scenes and solar symbols. Two guards flanked the entrance, their golden wings partially spread as a sign of alert.
—Enoc-sama —they greeted him with a bow.
—My father, is he available? —he asked in his usual tone, polite but distant.
—Yes, he is inside. Please enter.
The door opened and Enoc went in.
Jiron's office was a spacious room, lit by large windows overlooking the valley. The walls were decorated with trophies from past battles. In the center, a huge oak table held maps, scrolls, and documents related to the city's administration and territorial defense.
Jiron stood in front of the table, back straight and hands resting on its edge. He was an imposing middle-aged man, with shoulders as wide as beams and a presence that filled the room. His white hair, like Enoc's but thicker, fell over his shoulders. His wings, majestic as a hawk's, were partially spread, as if even at rest he was ready for combat. He wore a thick beard that framed a face marked by years of war and leadership, and his deep blue eyes reflected the experience of a leader who had been in power for many years.
—Father —Enoc said, in a respectful but firm tone.
Jiron turned slowly. Upon seeing his son, a flash of surprise crossed his face. It was not usual for Enoc to leave his room, much less to visit him in his office.
—Ah, Enoc. How are you today? —He offered a slight smile, though his eyes scrutinized his son carefully.
—I am well, father. Better than other days, in fact. I have noticed that my wings respond with more strength.
Jiron observed him for a moment, assessing his weak body. Then he nodded slowly.
—I am glad to hear it. The doctors said your condition was… complicated. But perhaps the rest has done you good.
—Perhaps —Enoc conceded—. Though I don't think rest is the answer to everything.
There was a brief silence. Jiron turned his gaze back to the maps on the table.
—Have you come to talk about something in particular, son?
Enoc took a few steps closer, stopping on the other side of the table.
—I just wanted to see how you were —he said—. And perhaps better understand the city's situation.
Jiron raised an eyebrow.
—The situation? Since when are you interested in politics, Enoc?
—I have always been interested —the young man replied calmly—. It's just that before I didn't have the energy to pay attention. But now… now I feel different.
His father looked at him for a long time, as if trying to solve a riddle. Then he sighed and pointed to the maps.
—The situation is not good. The Dark Feather have increased their raids in recent months. They attack our peripheral villages, steal supplies, kill our people. And we… —He shrugged—. We defend ourselves as best we can, but they are like wasps. Every time you crush one, two more appear.
—And the other clans? —Enoc asked—. The other cities, do they not contribute warriors?
—They contribute, but they also have their own difficulties. —Jiron frowned, worried.
Enoc nodded, processing the information.
—We need more than brute force —he said finally—. The Dark Feather are many, and they are used to war. If we only respond with violence, the conflict will drag on forever.
Jiron looked at him curiously.
—And what do you propose?
Enoc hesitated for an instant. The words he was about to say he had thought many times, but never expressed aloud.
—Divide them —he replied—. Sow discord among their clans. Offer rewards to those who switch to our side. Use their own ferocity against them.
The governor fell silent. Then a slow smile spread across his bearded face.
—You speak like a strategist, not a warrior.
—Warriors win battles —Enoc said—. Strategists win wars.
Jiron let out a brief laugh, a sound Enoc rarely heard.
—Perhaps your illness has given you time to think. That's not a bad thing. —He placed a hand on his son's shoulder, an unusual gesture of affection—. But don't rush. You are still young, and your health is fragile. Let me handle the war for now.
Enoc nodded.
—Rest, Enoc. And if you feel better, you can join me at council meetings someday. It will do you good to learn.
—Thank you, father. I will.
He bowed and left the office.
---
As he walked through the city, Enoc observed the daily activities with new eyes. Merchants hawking their wares, children playing in the squares, warriors patrolling the walls. An entire civilization functioning thanks to the balance of power that his father and his people maintained.
But that balance was fragile.
If the city showed weakness, the subjugated tribes might rebel. The Golden Feather clan needed more than military strength to survive.
Enoc began to think about his future. He could become a great leader, someone who would guide the tribe toward an era of peace and prosperity. But to do so, he would have to act with cunning and patience. He could not rely solely on his name or lineage. He needed to earn the respect of his people and of others on his own merits.
In his mind, a vision of a brighter future began to take shape. One where he would lead this city, where he would take his people beyond internal strife and toward prosperity. Where the Dark Feather would be neutralized and the subjugated tribes would find in him a just leader.
But first, he needed to gain power.
Enoc was not a warrior, he never would be. But in time, his mind would be more than enough to conquer whatever he set out to achieve.
As the sun rose over Spring City, the young man with golden wings smiled to himself.