The weight on his shoulders was far greater than his four-year-old body suggested.
In his heart, he had chosen his path — to serve, to uplift, to bring the Vale into a better age. But there was a chasm between knowing what to do and having the power to do it. He had no authority. He was barely more than a curiosity in the eyes of most — a pale, sickly boy with highborn blood and no real voice.
And if he pushed too far, too soon… they might fear him.
In a world ruled by whispers and old beliefs, what would they say about a child who spoke like a man? Who thought in ways no maester taught, who talked of stars and steam and strange machines?
Demon.
Changeling.
Possessed.
Rodrik shivered — not from cold, but from the thought. One wrong step could have him quietly smothered in his sleep. Or worse — made to disappear under the pretense of "illness."
But he couldn't wait. Time was not on his side.
There were no telegraphs, no electricity, no formal education beyond what a maester chose to share. Metalwork was crude. Logistics crawled at the pace of horses. Disease could kill in days. War could come in months. And no one here could tell a bolt from a bearing.
He knew how to build a rocket. But what use was that in a world where even screws were made by hammer and chisel?
And above all, he didn't know when death might come for him again.
I need to move now… but carefully. Thoughtfully.
He needed to prove himself — not to the court, not to the lords of the Vale, but to one man: Lord Yorbert Royce.
The man was the only one with any real authority her. If anyone needs to accept that Rodrik was not a normal child — and not a cursed one either — it would be him. Rodrik couldn't let the rest of the castle, or the Vale's smallfolk and servants, see too much of his knowledge. That was dangerous.
So he would reveal himself slowly — and only to Yorbert.
And to explain the knowledge he did show, he would frame it not as invention, but as a blessing.
"When I burned in my fever," he could say, "I dreamed of things. The Seven showed me truths in fire and stars."
It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. Just… safer.
Now he needed to show Yorbert something — something simple, harmless, but useful. Something real.
And then, the answer came — quiet as a whisper of iron on stone.
A compass.
It was perfect.
The device itself was nothing more than a magnetized needle suspended over a surface, allowed to turn freely and align itself with the earth's magnetic field. It could be made from nothing more than an iron nail, a bit of wood, and water. No expensive materials. No need for advanced tools.
To the people of this world, it would be useful — a navigational aid for riders, sailors, traders, and scouts. And yet simple enough to be believed. Not magic, but cleverness. Not fire and fear, but reason and utility.
Rodrik's heart beat faster with hope.
This is my way forward.
But before that, he needed to make one.
He needed iron, water, and silk thread. He needed a piece of wood — carved carefully — and a quiet place to work.
And above all, he needed to succeed.
Rodrik stepped back from his thoughts, eyes alight with purpose.
It was time to take the first step. Time to let the needle point north — not just for him, but for the future he would build.