King in another world

Two Years Later, the Terradiva estate had changed.

What once felt like a crumbling relic of old nobility now pulsed with industry and purpose. Grain production was up. Trade routes had been re-mapped. Taxes balanced. Merchants came not out of obligation, but opportunity.

And the boy once seen as the "spare" now walked the halls with the quiet authority of a man who understood where every brick and coin belonged.

Terranus Terradiva had built systems.

But politics? That was still Caelen’s ring.

House Terradiva was hosting their first major feast in over a decade. A celebration of peace, harvest, and unity. But beneath the laughter and polished goblets… was chess.

The guest list was a power play.

House Grellin—always sniffing for coin.
House Venmar—too proud for their debt.
And House Merrow—grinning like wolves in velvet.

Ferros Merrow, their lord, toasted with smug bravado.

“To House Terradiva—may their books stay balanced and their borders… untested.”

A ripple of laughter followed.

Terranus rose with his cup, voice smooth. “And may the Merrows keep their mouths as tidy as their ledgers—so neither spills what it shouldn’t.”

Silence. Then a few surprised claps. A smirk from Caelen.

Ferros narrowed his eyes. “Still sharp, little brother.”

Terranus raised his cup. “Sharper.”

Spring came hard.

Fields bloomed, flocks grew fat—and then, fire.

Rivenhall burned under moonlight. No warning. No reason.

Terranus had only just returned from negotiating new grain trade terms with a western guild when word arrived. He barely paused.

Carts were loaded. Supplies moved. Teams dispatched. Within hours, he was gone—no noble ceremony, no heralds. Just boots in mud and soot.

When he arrived, Rivenhall was smoke and ash. One in every five homes gone. Livestock scattered. A child missing. Again.

He didn’t ask for reports. He spoke to people. Held hands. Promised faster rebuilds. Overruled his own stewards to pay from his private accounts.

At the fire’s edge, he knelt beside the village headman.

“We will rebuild,” Terranus said.

“You said that last time.”

Terranus nodded. “And we did. We’ll do it again.”

Caelen, now 19 and seasoned in steel, led a precision team through the southern hills. What they found chilled him: not simple raiders, but trained men, mercenaries. Markings stripped, equipment well-maintained.

Too clean to be coincidence.

When he returned, he dropped a torn scrap of cloth on Terranus’s desk.

“House Merrow’s dye. Hidden under the lining.”

Terranus’s jaw tightened.

“It’s a message.”

Caelen nodded. “And if we don’t respond?”

“They’ll keep testing us until we break.”

That night, Lady Elana called Terranus to her study. The same quiet room where she once nursed him through childhood fever now held maps, letters, and locked drawers.

“You’re drawing attention,” she said.

Terranus didn’t blink. “Good. Let them watch.”

She poured tea. “I mean from the wrong people. That attack was as much about you as the land.”

Terranus frowned. “Then I must be doing something right.”

She smiled—softly. Almost sadly.

“I want you to leave. Just for a while. Go to Rexedoria. My cousin runs an economic council. They need bright minds who know how to build under pressure.”

“You’re sending me away?”

“I’m investing in you.”

He hesitated, then asked, “Do you want me to stay out of Caelen’s way?”

Her silence said more than her lips ever could.

“You may never wear the title,” she finally said, “but you’re building something greater. The family needs you alive.”

Later that week, Terranus found Caelen at the old orchard—same place they once argued, once bonded.

“You heard?” Terranus asked.

Caelen nodded. “Capital wants you.”

Terranus didn’t sugarcoat it. “I’m going. Not forever. But I need to see how things really work out there.”

Caelen tossed an apple between his hands. “I thought you might try for head of the house one day.”

Terranus smiled. “That’s not my dream.”

Caelen stopped.

Terranus continued, “I build. You protect. I see the cracks. You hold the wall. I’m not here to compete, Caelen. I’m here to complete.”

A silence hung heavy, then broke.

Caelen extended his hand.

“You better come back smarter. I’ll need it.”

Terranus shook it. “You better hold the line. I’ll make sure there’s one worth holding.”

Terranus stands at the estate gates, saddle packed, the wind tugging at his cloak. He looks back once—not for doubt, but for memory.

The land was still healing. The south was still watching. And the throne, though claimed by another, was being built brick by silent brick.

And behind it all, Terranus Terradiva—the second son—was becoming the quiet storm no one saw coming.