Time passed - years, even.
Edward Shadowboon was fourteen, close to fifteen.
Even though I wasn't really that old, seeing as I was a sort of clone.
But I was growing like a real boy would.
I tried to differentiate myself from Lightbane in some ways.
My hair was a darker purple, and I wore it long and flowing, while his was shorter. Not short - just shorter.
I put effort into it. More than he ever did.
I used creams, oils, soaps that smelled faintly floral and cost more than they reasonably should - things Ella, and Woodborn too (skincare being one of the things he took very seriously), loved to use. I kept my skin pale on purpose, trying to avoid the sun, scrubbed clean, smoothed, and treated nightly.
There was a routine to it. Wash. Exfoliate. Balm. Oil. Repeat. It was almost meditative. I was doing kind of a Patrick Bateman routine.
Lightbane had the look of someone who belonged to the land - a lower noble with a slight tan. I looked like someone who belonged indoors, under chandeliers and silk curtains, behind desks and ledgers.
I tried to look more extravagant. I didn't know any magic that could alter someone's appearance - not that I didn't know any… let's call it flesh-crafting - but it wasn't a reliable way to get a look right. I wasn't a plastic surgeon.
I didn't want to alter myself, - fuck it up, and be stuck like that - or make it worse by altering it further or trying to put things back into place.
I thought about making myself taller with something like subtle stilts made out of the dark goo, but I wasn't sure. Maybe. I'll just keep it open as an option.
Anyway, I looked like a real noble boy.
My father was, after all, the second-richest man in Astar and Asolar in an official sense, right behind the king himself.
His printing business had been booming for the past seven years.
And I guess I was more muscular than him.
I tried to keep up with my girls far more than he did with his, but while they grew slowly - seemingly having aged only about half as much as they should have - they were still stronger than me.
Orcs and Vulpes lived roughly as long as humans, but dark elves lived so long that it wasn't worth mentioning.
Regan shot up in height quickly, becoming about the same height as an adult human woman, and even though she wasn't the strongest physically, she looked like she was.
Medea got a bit taller, sure, but the main noticeable change was that she grew more tails. I wasn't sure if that was natural or just how her race worked, as I couldn't find any information on it. She had three now. I wondered if she would get even more.
Morgan was… well, she was Morgan. Tall. Slender. She didn't change much except getting a bit taller - nothing too notable. Maybe her ears grew longer and more pointed.
They were strong, capable, and a bit dangerous if not looked after.
But it wasn't like they needed a constant guardian hovering over their shoulders.
Sometimes a stern figure was necessary, but if I encouraged them to do right, then they would - right being almost mismatched here.
We were evil. Not evil-evil, but we did bad things to keep our smuggling empire rolling.
Mostly scaring off rivals, or nipping things in the bud before they could sprout into nuisances later on.
In the not-too-distant future, I would be enrolled in Acomet Academy.
It wouldn't be a dramatic change from how my life currently was.
Instead of coming home at the end of the day to Woodborn Manor, I'd go to the academy. Maybe meet up with Lightbane more often.
That was really it.
No looming sense of loss. No dramatic severing of ties. No fear of things falling apart the moment I wasn't personally present to hold them together.
Things didn't fall apart just because you weren't looking at them.
If I left for the academy, the operation wouldn't stall. It wouldn't collapse. It wouldn't suddenly become reckless or stupid.
The main change would be spending more time with people my age.
My physical age.
Acomet Academy wasn't some great unknown.
It was a networking opportunity.
A place full of noble children, future officials, mages, merchants, officers - people who would one day matter.
I'd be polite. Charming. A face to be remembered.
Edward Shadowboon, son of a respected industrialist.
A boy with good grades, decent manners, and interesting points of view - someone people looked up to or asked for advice when needed.
Perfect.
It was still kind of weird. It didn't feel like I was growing mentally at all, like I was frozen. I still felt like the young adult I was when I died, even though it had been fourteen years.
Maybe it had something to do with Geshich. He was a god, and he was the reason I was here. Maybe something went wrong - or right. How was I supposed to know?
One night at dinner, Ella and Woodborn - Mama and Papa - talked to me about the academy.
Ella took charge, as Woodborn knew it meant little to me.
"You'll be attending the Academy soon," she said.
"I know," I replied.
She nodded vigorously. "You'll represent the family, and I know you'll represent it well. Your sister, Mira, just sort of floats along in her class, and I haven't heard anyone mention her once - positive or negative - like she blends in with her surroundings. She has average grades, and her teachers have nothing to say. Not to say that I'm upset, honey, but the Woodborns should be known far and wide. At least she should be class president! She hasn't even joined any after-class activities or clubs. How is she supposed to connect with anyone if she doesn't interact with them? Will you, my dear Edward?"
"…I guess I could join a few clubs."
"Fantastic!" she roared, then turned to her husband. "Don't you have anything to say to our son, hubby?"
Woodborn looked up with a neutral expression. "Make us proud."
There was no sentimentality in his voice. That was just how he was.
Even when Mira - his actual biological daughter - left, there was little emotion in him.
I was sure he loved her, and his wife, deeply, but he never showed it.
I nodded, because nodding was the easiest response.
"Of course," I said.
Woodborn didn't say much after.
He never did. While Ella planned to busy herself with all kinds of things, especially socially, he never did.
He slowly finished his drink and didn't seem to be planning anything.
But I knew he was watching. He always was. He was aware, simply put.
When Ella finally excused herself after she had talked our ears off, Woodborn stood as well.
I expected him to leave, but instead he stopped beside my chair.
"Do you think this is a good idea?" he asked.
"I do. Every child should have a normal childhood. I am supposed to be a mortal boy, am I not? And everything is going well, isn't it?"
He nodded once. That was approval. "It is. If it remains profitable and stable."
"Calm your worries. Sentiment ruins empires. Just be a father. You've done well so far."
He paused for another moment, then left.
After dinner, I retired early - not because I was troubled or had something to do. Quite the opposite. There was nothing else to do.
I leafed through a few ledgers, skimmed reports already summarized for me, then tossed them aside.
Everything was fine.
No one needed reassurance, direction, or a good scare - or beating.
If something went wrong, the people working under me could handle it.
But if someone hurt them - or my business - they'd regret it. And many people knew that.
My business had no official name, as far as I knew.
The printing company was Woodborn's Printing. Simple and direct.
I wondered if rivals, gangs, or mafias in Astar had a name for us.
They knew the leader was some giant, shadowy, seemingly invincible figure.
Maybe I could start calling us something.
"Children of Darkness"? Something slightly try-hard.
But this was dark, and everyone knew it.
I should ask Gullyman about it.
Good old Gullyman. None of this would have gotten this far without him.
I should give him some sort of reward.
I guess he just needed a chance to do something other than murder. I didn't think my operation had murdered anyone yet, and I was kind of proud of that.
What illegal empire made it this far without killing anyone?
None of them.
None of them except mine.
An empire that would last a thousand years - forever and evermore.
Maybe my role-playing softened because I set most of the truly evil things aside.
But there was no reason not to.
I made good money - enough to help Lightbane when he really needed it, like when he expanded the small settlement in the woods. And I had information control through the printing company if I ever needed it.
Everyone working under both companies had a good deal.
Honest money for honest work.
Dishonest money - meaning more than it should have been - for dishonest work.
Simple.
Then I slept.
Dreamless and comfortable.