A Path To Omniscience

It didn't take long for a waiter to notice Asher and his parents arriving. Balancing a tray of drinks in one hand, he approached and offered them with a polite, wordless gesture. Both Nillia and Vance accepted with a small nod of thanks before the waiter moved on to tend to other guests.

"This place is quite impressive for a charity event. How exactly are they planning to raise money?" Asher asked, his gaze wandering the room with a flicker of curiosity.

Nillia took a slow sip of her drink before responding, "The organizers invited artists from all over Atlas to contribute their work. Later, there'll be an auction, and all the proceeds will go toward Mantle's relief efforts and infrastructure."

"Art, hmm?" Asher mused, tilting his head slightly.

"Well, we certainly have enough space for it."

"That's true," Nillia said thoughtfully, "though I was considering buying a few pieces for your room. It's always been so bare. Perhaps a statue near the balcony entrance?"

Asher shook his head lightly.

"I appreciate the thought, Mother, but I prefer my room as it is. The emptier it is, the easier it is to think. Maybe you should get something for your and Father's room instead." Vance chuckled softly.

"Oh, please, you know there isn't any wall space left in our room. Your mother made sure of that." The remark earned him a sharp, narrow-eyed glance from Nillia, but his chuckle only deepened.

"Don't look at me like that, love. You know I adore how you've decorated, but even you have to admit you get... carried away when you're left to design anything." Asher smirked, turning to his mother.

"He's not wrong. You've had that room reconstructed three times in the past three years if I remember correctly. Because of that, I think you two have ended up sleeping in the guest room more than any of the actual guests we have over." That memory drew laughter from Asher and Vance, both grinning. 

Nillia, however, didn't seem as amused—at least not outwardly.

"Well, forgive me for being passionate about the place where we sleep," she muttered, a trace of annoyance in her tone. But the faint smirk tugging at her lips gave her away. After a few more minutes of talking, Asher noticed a pair heading their way. Their target was obvious—his parents.

"Well, looks like it's my cue to take my leave," Asher remarked. His parents paused their discussion, following his gaze to the incoming guests.

"Ah, so much for family bonding," Vance muttered with a small sigh, taking a sip of his drink.

"As always, business before pleasure," Nillia replied, though her expression softened as she turned back to Asher.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay, dear? It's rare for you to attend an event like this. It could be a good opportunity to make an impression." She had a point, but Asher shook his head with a faint smile.

"I already have my own plans, remember? Besides, we already made it past the paparazzi—I'd rather not throw myself back to the wolves." His parents exchanged a glance before Vance gave a slight shrug as Nillia sighed. 

"Well, if that's how you feel, then ok," she said. Seeing his mother abandon the idea almost as quickly as it had surfaced, Asher excused himself and strolled away. His parents watched him for a moment before turning to greet the pair that had approached them.

I'm glad she didn't push me to stay. As important as impressions are, they only matter to the people you actually want to influence. And right now, the list of people I'm interested in getting closer to only includes a few people here.

That didn't mean he wasn't paying attention, of course. Asher's memory had always been sharp, and since discovering the Nexus Space, it had only improved. He had already committed most of the faces in the room to memory. Unsurprisingly, few children were present.

Events like these rarely involved kids—they didn't serve a purpose, even if that sounded harsh. Adults don't take kids seriously. They're only ever-humored for being cute. And those who are older, nearly adults, have a little more luck, but there's still an invisible line. Why bother talking to a child when you can speak directly to their parent?

This created two common scenarios. The first was one Asher recognized in Weiss and Whitley: dutifully shadowing their parents, looking polished, and only speaking when spoken to.

The second was happening just out of the corner of Asher's eye. Off to the side, away from the networking buzz surrounding their parents, clusters of kids had gathered. They chatted and entertained themselves, filling the time as best they could while their parents handled the more "important" discussions.

As Asher crossed the open floor, a few of the other kids glanced his way but quickly turned back to their conversations. He acted as if he didn't notice, making no effort to approach them. If they wanted to talk, they could come to him and he would entertain them. But for now, his priority was simply waiting.

Outwardly, he appeared calm and casual, but his focus remained sharp, trained on Ironwood and Winter.

I need to position myself somewhere isolated—far enough from my parents to avoid interruptions, but still easy to spot.

Scanning the room, his eyes landed on a buffet table tucked off to the side. Unlike the larger, busier tables scattered throughout the venue, this one was smaller and less trafficked—precisely the kind of spot he needed. While it wasn't ideal for mingling, that wasn't his goal. For his purposes, it was perfect.

As he reached the table, he gave the spread a quick once-over. It wasn't stocked with meals but rather hors d'oeuvres—shrimp cocktails, mini quiches, stuffed phyllo pastries. Simple, bite-sized foods designed to stave off hunger without making anyone too full or distracting from conversation.

He picked up an empty glass and moved to the punch bowl, pouring himself a drink before settling into a quiet rhythm of sipping and sampling. He looked relaxed, but his attention never strayed far from Ironwood and Winter. And it was because of that, that he caught it—a glance in his direction from the two of them. 

It wasn't random or idle. Even from across the room, Asher could feel the weight of their curiosity. He didn't let his own gaze linger, sweeping past them with practiced nonchalance, as if he hadn't noticed.

Looks like Lavi did exactly what I asked and fed the Atlas Military agent the information I told her to. Good. This means I won't have to make the first move—it would've been much harder to get things rolling if I did.

Satisfied, Asher turned back to the buffet table, reaching for one of the shrimp cocktails. But his hand paused mid-motion as he caught sight of something—or rather, someone. From his angle, he could only see the top half of their head, but it was enough to notice the distinct ginger-colored hair that stood out like a beacon.

It was a girl, with the second feature that stood out after her ginger hair being her striking emerald eyes. They were so clear and reflective that they seemed almost like glass. Asher's pause lasted only a moment longer before he tilted his head slightly and popped the shrimp he had grabbed into his mouth.

As he swallowed, he offered a friendly, casual greeting.

"Hello there." The girl didn't respond right away, her gaze shifting between his face, the cup in his hand, and the food on the table.

"Is something wrong?" Asher asked his tone light but curious. His question brought her focus back to his face, and she finally spoke.

"I was asked not to talk to anyone here," she said, her voice carrying a peculiar tone that made Asher frown briefly as he glanced around.

I don't remember seeing any families here with orange hair. Though, if her parents don't want her talking to anyone at an event like this, maybe she's adopted.

It was a reasonable assumption. Typically, adopted children in Atlas high society weren't exposed much to the public and would even be used as ways to garner sympathy or reputation for the parents for doing such a 'brave' and 'noble' thing. On top of that, ginger hair wasn't common in Atlas; red shades, perhaps, but not like hers.

He'd never seen a ginger-haired Atlesian before.

Smiling gently, Asher replied, "Oh, well, excuse me, then. I wouldn't want to get you into trouble with your parents."

But to his surprise, the girl shook her head.

"My father isn't the one who told me not to talk to anyone," she clarified.

"Mr. Ironwood and Winter asked me to avoid interacting with people and just observe how they interact with one another." The mention of those names made Asher's brow lift slightly in intrigue.

General Ironwood and Winter? So she wasn't brought here by her parents—or at least not her father, based on what she said. But why would two prominent figures in the Atlas Military bring a child to a charity event like this, especially without her guardian?

He studied the ginger-haired girl for a moment longer before breaking the silence.

"I see. But why don't they want you to talk to anyone?" The question seemed to weigh on her. Her emerald eyes shifted, a flicker of sadness crossing her face.

"They don't think I'm ready to talk to outsiders yet. My father... agrees with them. So, at his request, they bring me to private events like this so I can learn through observation." Asher's curiosity only grew. The way she spoke and the situation she described didn't add up.

Why would the head of the Atlesian Military and someone like Winter Schnee be involved with this girl's social development?

It didn't make sense. The best explanation Asher could muster was that she might have some mental or developmental condition and her father was close to Ironwood. But even that theory felt tenuous at best. One thing, however, was clear—she was naive. Leaning into that, Asher adopted a thoughtful expression.

"Well," he said, "you seem to be talking with me just fine, don't you think?"

Her eyes widened slightly as his words seemed to sink in. Then, ever so slowly, she nodded.

"I-I am, aren't I?" There was a noticeable excitement in her voice, and she straightened up slightly, revealing more of her face. Asher took the opportunity to observe her more closely. Her skin was pale—not in a way that seemed unhealthy, but it was striking under the light. The only notable color on her face came from the rosy tint of her cheeks and the freckles scattered across them.

"Can you tell me your name?" She asked, her tone tentative yet curious. Asher noted how she still kept most of her body hidden behind the table but decided not to comment on it.

"Sure," he replied.

"My name's Asher Frostvale. Would you mind telling me yours?" The question seemed to stump her. She hesitated, her lips parting slightly as if unsure how to respond. Nearly a full minute passed before she finally spoke.

"I'm not- They told me not to-" She stumbled over her words, cutting herself off mid-sentence. Asher caught her eyes darting past him, flickering with a mix of anxiety and urgency. Her reaction was immediate. She sank back behind the table until only her eyes and the top of her ginger hair were visible.

As Asher, turned towards the sound of approaching footsteps he already knew who to expect. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting," came Ironwood's voice—calm and commanding, yet with a friendly edge. He wore an amicable smile as his eyes shifted between Asher and the ginger-haired girl.

"Of course not, sir," Asher replied smoothly, offering a respectful nod before his attention moved to Winter, who stood beside Ironwood with a composed yet unreadable expression.

"It's nice to see you again, Winter," Asher said, his tone warm and polite.

"I've been meaning to thank you for supervising my first duel with Weiss. Since then, it's become something of a habit, and it's helped me improve much faster than I'd expected." Winter's eyes sharpened slightly, her head tilting upward as she responded.

"Yes, so I've been told. I don't think I've ever heard Weiss mention someone so frequently—aside from Whitley, and only when he's irritating her, of course."

"Well, I'm flattered to hear that," Asher replied with a small, appreciative smile. Ironwood's gaze shifted back to Asher.

"So, I see you've met Penny. I trust she didn't cause you any trouble?"

"Oh, no trouble at all," Asher assured him, glancing briefly at Penny.

"She was... interesting to talk to, to say the least." He caught the faintest flicker in Ironwood's expression at those words, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced with a neutral nod.

"I see," Ironwood said.

"Well, unfortunately, it's time for her to head home. You'll have to continue your conversation another time." Asher offered a polite nod.

"That's a shame. It was a pleasure meeting you, Penny." Turning to her, he gave a small, courteous bow. Penny glanced at Ironwood, who gave her a subtle nod of approval.

She then stood up fully, revealing her full figure. Asher's gaze briefly flicked to her attire—a plain white, high-collared blouse adorned with ruffles along the neck and sleeves, paired with a matching skirt. While the outfit suited her, it was undeniably out of place amid the opulence of the event.

"I enjoyed speaking with you as well, Asher," Penny replied, her voice a bit cheerful as she waved and smiled.

Ironwood leaned toward Winter, whispering something in her ear. She nodded crisply.

"Yes, sir," she said before turning her focus to Penny.

"Come along. It's time to go home." Penny nodded and followed Winter, who began walking toward the exit. Asher's gaze lingered for a moment, noting something peculiar—Penny wasn't wearing any shoes. Her bare feet tapped softly against the polished floor as she walked away.

"She's quite an odd girl, isn't she?" Asher remarked, turning his attention back to Ironwood, who remained standing in front of him.

"Yes, she is quite special," Ironwood replied. Though straightforward, his tone carried a weight that hinted at something deeper. Asher noted it but decided to let the topic of Penny drop for now. The fact that Ironwood was still standing there, even after clearly interrupting his conversation with Penny, meant he had another purpose in mind.

"So, I suppose we should get down to business?" Asher said casually, flashing a polite smile up at the general. His words caught Ironwood off guard for a moment, but then the man's own smile returned, faint but intrigued.

"Oh? And what business could we possibly have?"

"There's no need to play coy," Asher replied, his tone getting a bit sharp.

"We both know that you're interested in the drones Frostvale Enterprises has been integrating into their security details for their cargo ships. And we both know that the Atlas Military—or more specifically, your people—have been snooping around in places they shouldn't, trying to figure out where they came from." He didn't mince his words, and Ironwood's polite smile gradually gave way to a smirk.

"I see." Ironwood stepped away from Asher, wandering over to the buffet table. His eyes scanned the spread absently as he continued.

"I asked Schnee about you after your name appeared in one of our investigation reports. I'll admit, I had my doubts. The information I'd received about you... well, it sounded absurd. But she told me you were exceptionally clever for your age—that talking to you felt nothing like talking to a child." He chuckled softly.

"Now I see exactly what she meant," Ironwood finished, turning his gaze back to Asher.

Asher tilted his head slightly, unfazed.

"Well... I do try to make a good impression on the people I'm interested in."