The world outside the Howlett estate was changing, and James was the quiet, unseen engine of that change. He no longer saw the rolling hills and dense forests of Alberta as mere scenery; he saw them as the first, unformed province of a future kingdom. His own power, and Victor's, were facts. Unchangeable, biological facts. And facts, he knew, were either weapons or vulnerabilities, depending on who controlled the narrative.
He sat in the library, not reading, but thinking. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows that did nothing to disturb the absolute stillness at his core.
They will fear us, he thought, the conclusion as inevitable as a mathematical proof. The cattle always fear the wolf. It is their nature. They see strength they cannot match, resilience they cannot comprehend, and their small minds can only process it as a threat. They will not see tools for progress or guardians for their safety. They will see monsters. And what do men do with monsters?
He looked at his own hand, flexing his fingers. Beneath the skin, bone waited, harder than any steel his father's new factories could produce.
They try to cage them. They try to dissect them. They try to burn them. They will not understand that you cannot cage a hurricane. You cannot dissect an earthquake. The age of ordinary men sitting in judgment over beings like us is coming to an end. But it must end on our terms. Not with a war that shatters the world, but with a transition so smooth they barely notice the chains have changed hands.
The solution was not to hide. Hiding was for prey. The solution was to lead. To make the world not only accept their power but come to depend on it. To make the very concept of "normal" expand until it included them at the very top.
We must become indispensable. Our power must be woven into the fabric of their civilization until they cannot imagine a world without it. They must look at us not with fear, but with awe. With gratitude. They must volunteer for the leash, begging for the order and safety we provide.
His mind, a strategist's mind, began drafting the blueprint for this new world. It would not be an empire of overt conquest. It would be a corporation. A society. An organization. A place where those with unique abilities could find purpose and direction, under his guidance. A place that would, in time, make the governments of men look like quaint, outdated debating societies. He didn't have a name for it yet, but he could see its skeleton: a structure that offered protection and purpose to the powerful, in exchange for their loyalty, all while presenting a benevolent face to the world it would secretly control.
This grand design started, as all things did, with the practical. With the Howlett name.
At dinner, the atmosphere was different than it had been years before. The tension was gone, replaced by a palpable sense of momentum. John Howlett, once a man burdened by the limitations of timber, now spoke with the fiery zeal of a visionary.
"The Bessemer process was just the beginning, James," John said, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork. "Your idea for the alloy mix… the one with the trace nickel and chromium… the tests are astounding. Stronger, lighter, less brittle. The railway barons are tripping over themselves. We're not just selling timber anymore; we're selling the future."
"That is excellent news, Father," James replied, his voice calm and supportive. "It is only the logical progression. First, we build the railroads. Then, we build the machines that run on them. Then, the buildings that house the machines. Howlett Steel will be the skeleton of this continent."
Elizabeth watched the exchange, a fragile smile on her face. The shadow of Thomas Logan was a receding nightmare. Her world had narrowed to the success of her husband and the brilliant, if unsettling, calm of her son. She saw no monster, only a prodigy. "You've brought such light to this house, James," she said softly. "Your father is a new man."
James gave her a small, perfect smile. "We all have a part to play, Mother."
And they did. John was the public face, the driving ambition. Elizabeth was the symbol of domestic stability, the respectable heart of the family. James was the unseen architect, the source of the brilliant ideas that propelled them forward. And Victor… Victor was the sharp, hidden tooth that would soon be used to quietly remove any obstacles too stubborn for business or politics.
The influence of the Howlett family began to extend far beyond Alberta. In the smoky gentlemen's clubs of Toronto and Montreal, men spoke of John Howlett with a mixture of respect and unease. His rise had been too swift, his innovations too precise. It was as if he had a crystal ball.
"It's uncanny," one industrialist grumbled to another over brandy. "Howlett seems to know what the market needs before the market does. That new alloy of his… it's like it fell from the sky. The man's building an industrial empire on brains alone."
In the newspapers, the Howletts were portrayed as the vanguard of Canadian progress. Sketches of John's stern, confident face appeared next to articles about "National Industrial Destiny." The family was becoming synonymous with strength, innovation, and unshakeable success.
James consumed these reports with a detached air. This was all according to plan. Every newspaper article was a brick in the wall of their legitimacy. Every business contract was a thread in the net they were casting. The Howlett name was being transformed from that of a wealthy landowner into an institution.
He began the next phase of Victor's education. It was no longer just about control; it was about purpose.
"The world is not just forests and prey, Victor," James told him one evening in the stable yard. "The world is also made of paper and words and the whims of weak men in distant cities. Those men can cause more damage with a signature than you can with your claws."
Victor, now quieter, more focused, listened. "What do we do about them?"
"We ensure their signatures favor us," James explained. "Sometimes, that requires a different kind of persuasion. Not tearing a man apart, but… adjusting his perspective. You are my instrument for that, too. You are the final argument, when all other logic has failed."
He was teaching Victor to be a scalpel, not just a club. To be a ghost that could deliver a message, a threat, or a demonstration of power without a single drop of blood being spilled—unless it was absolutely necessary. Victor, who craved purpose above all else, absorbed the lesson. He was no longer just a feral beast; he was becoming a operative, a silent partner in his brother's grand design.
James looked out from his window at the end of the day, watching the lights of the distant town twinkle in the growing dark. They were so small, those lights. So fragile.
They huddle together for warmth and light, he thought, terrified of the dark and what it contains. They build their little societies, their rules, their morals, all as a flimsy shield against the chaos of the world. They have no idea that the chaos is evolving. That it can think. That it can plan.
I will not be the chaos that destroys them. I will be the order that supersedes their own. I will offer them a better shield, a stronger light. They will give me their loyalty in exchange for safety. They will hand over their sovereignty for the illusion of security. And they will never know that the wolf is not at the door. The wolf is designing a newer, stronger door, and he will be the one who holds the only key.
The organization will be that door. And I will be its architect.
The boy in the window was just a silhouette. But behind that silhouette, a new world was being imagined, one where power was not something to be feared, but something to be administered. And administration was a skill Johan Liebert had mastered long, long ago.
-----////---------///----------///---------//--------///-------
[Mc is 10 years old.now is 1889] (are u guys liking this and system like stat is not gonna happened so much and that feels unrealistic 😅😅)