“Visalros, the champion of the House of Silk has bested Surtil Duskveil.” A familiar voice sounded from atop her balcony of the Autumn Wreath Pavilion.
However, many of the crowd didn’t cheer or clamored in satisfaction. Many had ties to the military and even the Golden Duskveil family in a way, and for those who didn’t, they didn’t wish to anger those who did.
Noticing this, Mistress Seol called out to Osias, “Visalros… I’ll gift you the rewards for the Hundred Golden Talon Tourney at a later time.”
And in the next moment, a Third Ordeal descended from behind Mistress Seol.
A man shrouded in loose fabric from head to toe… yet the material and style of it was undeniable — it was a Third Ordeal under the House of Silk.
The nameless man in silk extended a hand towards the lifeless body of Surtil and immediately, sheets of silk stretched and wrapped around Surtil.
In another wave of silk, Osias blinked and appeared back in the dim warrior quarters again. His handful of attendants were startled at his sudden appearance, but then from the faraway shadows… Osias lifted his gaze with narrowed eyes and stared at the darkness.
Nothing happened, but Osias knew something was there.
And then as though the darkness itself was made from fabric, it was stretched towards the weakened body of Osias and smothered him in its cold embrace.
‘Another… Third Ordeal.’ He mused, accepting the care. It wasn’t as if he could do anything if the obscured Third Ordeal had ill intentions anyways.
…In what could’ve been an hour as he sat and rested, he felt a slight shift from the layers of silk, and then the dark sheets slowly unraveled. Opening his eyes, he patiently waited as the layers lifted from his bare skin and the cold air touched him bitterly.
‘Healed in full…’
Blinking a few times to acclimate himself, he found that the mysterious shrouded figure disappeared alongside their care but thought nothing of it as he tightly clasped his hand into a fist, feeling his strength had returned.
“Ah! Visalros, you’ve come to… we’ve been tasked with dressing you once more.” Said a familiar voice from behind him.
It was one of the courtesans who attended him, and she was peeking outside of the hallway’s entrance to the warrior's quarter. Bringing a soft step forward, she came along with many beauty tools in hand and many other courtesans followed her.
Osias sighed a little before relenting, allowing them all to clean and dress him in a similar refined attire they draped him with before the tourney began.
Enjoying this moment of repreive, he laxly closed his eyes as they worked.
Then he felt a small soft brush along his chest but thought nothing of it.
And then two gentle palms on his collar.
Skittish giggles sounded from around him and Osias annoyingly sighed before muttering:
“Enough, I'm of the Mistress. I have no interest in any of you.”
They worked fast and gracefully and within moments Osias was dismissed and told to approach the highest floor of the Autumn Wreath Pavilion to greet Mistress Seol.
Passing the entrance outside the warrior’s quarter as he did so many times this day, he wasn’t greeted with rows of people in the audience, rather the courtyard seemed as desolate as it was the many times he met with Mistress Seol in preparation for the tourney. Many attendants were out dismantling the festivities and cleaning the area… even the stone platforms were lowered and leveled as they normally were in the brief time he was recovering.
He was greeted with beaming smiles and nods as he slowly made his way through the courtyard, the cool evening air brushing against his skin as he walked. The sight of attendants dismantling the remaining decorations, packing away the remnants of the festival, made it clear how quickly things moved on, even after such a brutal contest.
The consequences of killing so many prospective talents of powerful families weren’t something Osias considered when tasked with being the champion of the House of Silk… and hopefully, if Mistress Seol grants his request then he could succeed his Ordeal soon before the consequences reach him.
The climb to the top floor of the pavilion was quieter than he expected. The air inside the pavilion was fragrant with the scent of incense, a sharp contrast to the blood and sweat of the tournament. The courtesans who had attended Mistress Seol were nowhere to be seen now, leaving the halls eerily silent.
Finally, he reached the highest floor, where the grand double doors to Mistress Seol’s chamber stood ajar, allowing the warm glow of candlelight to spill out into the hall. A soft murmur of voices reached his ears as he stepped closer, and he could make out Mistress Seol’s familiar tone, calm and measured as always.
Inside, the chamber was just as the other floors — lavish tapestries adorned the walls, a grand bed to the side, and fine silk cushions were arranged around a low table where Mistress Seol sat, flanked by a few close handmaidens. She was draped in her usual robes of deep red and gold, her presence as commanding as ever. Her eyes gleamed with something between satisfaction and expectation as they landed on him.
“Leave me.” She said, and the servants left her with a bow.
“My my… the girls did their duty well, you look refined as ever, truly a champion of our House. Tell me, did they swoon over you?
“You’ve done well, Visalros,” Mistress Seol said, her voice smooth as the silk that covered her, though her eyes flicked over to his body. “To emerge victorious against Surtil is no small feat, but you are not here for pleasantries, are you?”
“I have a target, larger than before on my head with that victory… I want my answers.” He said curtly with a lowered head.
Pausing briefly, Mistress Seol brought a hand across to her ear and unmasked the veil that covered her face, revealing her pearly eyes to Osias.
“Mm,” She hummed before standing up and pacing slowly. “Ah, yes… the matron of the House of Silk.”
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Osias lifted his bowed head and listened intently. He wanted two things from winning the tourney — one was the circumstances of the matron and the powerful being within the palace of Qussai as well was to leave without worrying of Third and Fourth Ordeals impeding him.
“The Queen Consort of the Son of the Golden Hawk… how much do you know of them both, Visalros?”
“Nothing. The other prisoners didn’t know either and the guards would rather spit than converse with us.”
“I see.” She giggled softly, climbing atop the lavish bed.
“...The Son of the Golden Hawk is our guardian, our lord. He was said to have been born from light and fire as he carved out Qussai from his talons raking the desert. He was said to be a hawk that turned to a man when he cleansed himself by basking in the sun’s embrace, having repented his territorial aggressions, and swore his love to my matron."
“My matron… I only know her by title, not by name her raising me.” Mistress Seol said with an odd, longing tone before meeting Osias’s puzzled gaze with solemn pearly eyes. “Visalros, you’re mine. You will not speak of this to anyone, and I will make sure of it aside from promises.”
Suddenly, Osias’s knees buckled as he staggered and brought a hand to his head as it pounded in pain… but within a moment, it was gone, and before he could ask what happened, Mistress Seol continued:
“The Queen Consort is dead and the Son of the Golden Hawk is to follow her soon.”
Osias raised his eyebrows in shock, but then immediately stifled a smile at the news… it meant that another siege upon Qussai was bound to occur with even greater force without someone like the Son of the Golden Hawk defending the city.
His freedom was coming. In one way or another.
‘Is this why another siege hasn’t been mounted? Why our advance army was so ill-equipped? To test and see if the Son of the Golden Hawk was still alive or not?’ He mused.
If Mistress Seol couldn’t grant him his request… then he could only wait for the inevitable. It’ll just be a few years. But he’ll still try and push for it.
“My, my… I haven’t seen such a face on you so far Visalros, even after all the nights we shared.” Mistress Seol teased, stretching her lithe body playfully.
“Is that all you wish to know of the palace?”
Osias nodded before asking more:
“Then what of… Qussai and this country. Where did the Red Feathers hail from? What do you know of my Innate Ability?”
Now it was for Mistress Seol to have a curious face as his eyebrows raised every so slightly at his flurry of questions.
“Truly a foreigner—no, even more. You… you are a long way from home, Visalros.” She said endearingly.
Osias paused, thinking carefully of his words because he doesn’t know of the ramifications if he so bluntly said the truth.
“I was… taken here. Not Qussai, but this war itself. As though my life has been nothing but dancing between powers I do not dare test. Moving from one death to another, so much so I couldn’t care about such things before.”
“Ho… finally speaking of your past? Do tell more, now that you’ve won the tourney in my name, The Black Warden cannot hold you any longer, you’re mine and mine alone.”
Osias slowly shook his head, before asking more from the knowledgeable Mistress:
“I’m free from the Black Keep?”
“You are, but you’re mine.” She replied sternly.
“...I won't. Time will tell, but I'm sure I'll never be yours.”
Mistress Seol paused with a contemplative expression before her lips curled into a smile.
“Still defiant, my champion? Is it that precious flower that's stopping you?”
Osias narrowed his eyes… he didn't think his conversation after winning the tourney would lead here once more.
“No. It's not just her. I wish to return home.”
“Do you even know where your home is?”
“...With the people I left behind.”
“I see.”
Another crooked smile stretched onto her lips before she turned over on her back and in another blink, Osias was already by the bedside.
“My champion… I hope you’ll call the House of Silk your home. Perhaps in the coming days, it’ll dawn on you as you spend all your time here.”
“Tell me, what more do you wish for? Words alone cannot be exchanged in such a deal. You’ve reminded those who caught wind of the rumors about the Queen Consort’s passing that the House of Silk is not to be trifled with. Even more… you are not entirely free.”
In another blink, Osias was already on top of Mistress Seol by means he did not know of… yet his mind was still as clear as ever as a deep scowl formed on his face.
He was already playing a tool in her clasps, nothing more. But he still stammered out dreadful words in a vile hiss:
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to return to my home. I already know of my first step… bring me the Black Warden.”
Osias blinked once more and the decadent silk clothes that covered each of their bodies were whisked away. His sinewy flesh inked with an impossibly dark ink with hues of crimson was illuminated by the countless candles scattered across the chambers of this highest floor. Mistress Seol’s lithe and snowy pale body was revealed, and an abnormal enticing overflowed in Osias’s mind, something he resisted with all he could.
Noticing his pained face, Mistress Seol brushed her hand gently below his chin, and within a blink, he was lying against the bed.
“Ah… you must be in pain, my champion. It’s too early it seems for a change of heart.” She said with a sheepish grin.
‘I’m sorry… It’ll be just a little more. A little more and I’ll return.’
—
Osias rested his back against the bed’s soft backboard with Mistress Seol beside him, covered below in a soft blanket at the neck.
“I see, I see… The Path of Blood you say?” She echoed wistfully before adding, “I don’t know of it.”
Frowning to himself, Osias wondered if he should mention and explain his Path and the centipede relic he came upon on the outskirt city outside of Qussai. However, before he could think of the proper way of asking, Mistress Seol instead asked something of him.
“Why the Black Warden, Visalros? I fear that I cannot grant such a request to sate your vengeance.”
“Is it not within your power?”
“He has quite the standing within the military… he serves directly under the Golden Duskveil General, the one whose son you’ve killed. If you push him any further, the general may descend onto the House of Silk without warning and leave without repercussions.
‘Is that why I felt the pull inside the palace that day? Was he alongside the general within those white walls?’
“I need to. I cannot serve you when that stain of my time in Qussai breathes.” He lied through his teeth.
“Ho… so eager to stay with me?” She laughed softly before adding, “I cannot burden the House of Silk with such a thing. So I’ll scheme a little and pull the strings to bring him to you without the name of the House of Silk being tarnished anymore.”
Osias frown finally began to curl darkly as he felt the allure of leaving this damned place just a second earlier.
“What are you planning for me, Mistress?”
“Hm? I wonder…” She hummed melodiously, betraying the wicked expression as she lay her head across his lap.
“A shame, but I’ll have to share my champion.” She finally said, and Osias raised an eyebrow in puzzled irritation.
“What do you mean?” He huffed with a scowl.
“That precious daughter of the Black Warden, I’m sure those flinty eyes of yours have crossed the delicate girl beside the object of your vengeance.”
“What does she have to do with bringing the Black Warden to me?”
“Do something with her and her father will come raging before you. Have the Black Warden ravage the prison in his wrath, and if you’re strong enough… you can kill the mad warden. I can handle the aftermath if the Black Warden causes enough destruction in a rampage.”
Osias felt something heavy well up in his throat the moment he heard Mistress Seol mention the daughter… but he swallowed it and pushed it aside. If it’ll allow him to return, then he’ll do it.
‘At the very least, I’ll be gone before the aftermath even comes when my saber meets the warden’s neck.’