The hall went silent.

During that period of respite, it was finally quiet enough for Adam to notice how many people were muttering in the background. Though he couldn’t see their faces, he had to imagine they looked as shocked as the Aspreay. “You would sentence yourself to an eternity in a dungeon?” the lord asked in disbelief.

It honestly wouldn’t be too different from college. “No. Until my memories return. At that point, I would be able to explain my background and adequately convince you that I am no spy. And until then...well, even if I were a spy, I would do the city no harm while locked in that cell, right?”

“And you would be content with that arrangement?”

“I have lost my memories,” Adam said. “I have nowhere to go, nor the ability to feed myself. The jail cell would be a luxury.”

“Perhaps.” He nodded. “But feeding you would cost us coin – you may not know this, but the city suffers. We must curb our expenses.”

Unsaid in the lord’s explanation was: ‘And immediate execution is cheaper than a long term prison sentence’. Despite sounding as if he fully believed himself to be reasonable, he’d moved from his people’s safety to a monetary justification in the blink of an eye, as if they were one and the same. Worst of all, he seemed unaware of the hypocrisy of worrying over expenses when this ‘trial’ practically had a buffet readied for its guests.

I want to strangle this bastard, Adam thought, his chained hands twitching. With a smile, he said, “Ah, but there is more to say, my lord. Would you allow me to make an offer?”

“By all means.”

“I saw on my way here that you are an admirer of art,” he said. “You have collected many portraits of yourself.”

“What of it?”

“I am a painter,” Adam proudly stated. This was the first thing he said today that didn’t sound like bullshit to his own ears. “And I can do better work than what you have right now. By a significant amount.”

If the earlier silence had let Adam know that other people were muttering, now he was painfully aware of the dozens of whispers in the background, so many that they added up to a hazy cloud of noise pollution. That was fine. He’d expected this reaction.

Lord Aspreay barked out a laugh. “You claim to have no memory and expect me to find no issue with you claiming to be a painter?”

“Why not?” Adam asked sharply. “You take no issue with me being able to walk, and I’ll go as far as to say you’d never be confused that a bird can fly. Why question that I can paint?”

“Romantic,” the lord replied in a droll tone. “Yet lacking in substance. Can you prove it to me?”

“Can you give me a canvas, oil, and ink?”

It was here that, for the first time, Aspreay appeared to truly consider Adam’s words. The lord narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his throne. “And if you fail to meet my expectations?”

“Then my lord needs not bother executing me – if I fail to impress someone whose expectations were set by those paintings, then I will gladly slice my own throat.”

Adam was intentionally trying to be dramatic, but he found himself surprised at how much he meant the words. It wasn’t like he felt particularly confident in his oil painting skills. By most definitions, he was an average artist, and while he enjoyed oil painting, he struggled with it. Pencils and styluses were kinder to him than a brush.

Still, the paintings in this world had no perspective at all. They were flatter than what Adam’s old roommate thought Earth was. The full-body portraits of Lord Aspreay had shown no depth between the bushes, rocks, the man himself, or the sword in his hand. The image looked flat, like an old medieval painting.

People often said that perspective in art wasn’t invented until the 1400s. That wasn’t true. Many old drawings showed a semblance of depth and perspective, to varying degrees of success. It was true, however, that Filippo Brunelleschi codified the technique into a mathematical science during the 1400s. Before then, the quality of 3D spaces in art was inconsistent.

"Perspective" in art is an illusion. A carefully crafted trick honed over many generations. Be it either a lack of interest in the trick, or a lack of opportunity to learn from each other, the fact remained that many old paintings looked extremely flat.

And – in Adam's opinion – boring.

Modern perspective would seem like magic to them. A boring, “realistic” style would greatly impress them – especially since the bar for realism was set so goddamn low. Adam might not be particularly tall, but he could still stand upon Da Vinci’s shoulders to reach new heights.

Well, Brunelleschi’s shoulders in this case, but the point stood. This was a world that lacked a printing press and appeared to have a medieval understanding of perspective.

More importantly...art is a luxury, isn’t it? Adam suppressed a grin. Tenver told me your Talent decides everything. Your job. Your skills. It’s how you earn Orbs, how you earn a goddamn living. Non-vital Talents are reserved for sworn servants of rich lords.

Having an artist must be almost as expensive as being one.

And Lord Aspreay, rich as he was, still lived in a dying city suffering from a literal tumor. Tenver had described this place as a remnant of better days; the current dumping ground of the Empire that even trading caravans tried to stay away from. Aspreay could posture as he wanted, feast at the cost of his people’s lives if he dared, but his luxuries were limited not by Orbs, but by availability. Having a proper court painter would be a luxury few lords could boast.

“As I understand,” Adam continued, “my second crime is coming into contact with the creatures outside. Yet I seem not to have been infected by them, right?” He was just guessing that the creature was infectious, but between the tumor and the comments he’d heard, it sounded like a reasonable enough assumption.

“Thus far,” Lord Aspreay conceded. “But that could yet change, if symptoms were to...not to mention, the crime of exposing yourself to such risk, of exposing the city to such risk is–”

Adam raised his head in a dramatic motion. “A foul deed that one should pay with their own life!” he loudly proclaimed. Beneath his clothes, he covertly tested his Ink, making sure it could still shoot out of his hand if necessary. Time to go for broke. “And I will pay that price!”

“You will pay with...your life? Speak plainly!”

“Twenty years,” Adam said. “Even if I regain my memories and I am deemed to be a free man, I will pay back your kindness with twenty years of my work.”

The lord fell into quiet contemplation. Adam could see the gears turning in his head. Yes...this should be a good deal for you, shouldn’t it?

If Adam was incompetent or not a painter at all, then some rope around his neck would easily sort things out. But if he really was as talented as he claimed...well, then having him legally enslaved for twenty years would be the bargain of a lifetime.

Sure, most people would probably view it as horribly exploiting a vulnerable young man, but Adam figured Aspreay was too much of a 'lord' to think of it that way.

Not that I have any intention of staying here for twenty years, Adam mused. But I do need money, food, and shelter. And if his gambit failed...well, Adam was still reasonably certain he could break his chains and attempt an escape. He liked his odds at winning over the lord better than escaping a city full of guards, though.

“You will not leave this building until your memories return?” Aspreay asked, with a thoughtful tone.

Adam nodded.

“And even after regaining your memories, you will work here for twenty years?”

Adam nodded.

The lord paused. “What guarantees are there that you would not try to harm me – or other members of my court? Your artistic duties would have you standing closely by our side.”

“You are free to keep my legs chained if you wish to limit my movements.”

After another long pause, Lord Aspreay nodded to the same cloaked servant from earlier. Once more he fetched a piece of parchment, but this time he brought it not to his lord, but to Adam. “What’s that? A contract? I–”

The servant didn’t allow him to finish. The next thing he knew, the cloaked old man had absently stabbed him in the arm with what looked like a bird’s feather, but felt like a knife.

Before Adam could so much as mutter a curse, the servant put the bloodied feather to his parchment. A second later, he looked up at Aspreay. “My lord – he lies not. This man is truly a painter by the name Adam. He shows no sign of spying abilities.”

“Is that so? Consider yourself lucky, Adam the Painter. A single use of that parchment is quite expensive in these parts.”

Which was probably why they hadn’t used it before starting this ‘trial.’ Then again...this had always been closer to a negotiation than a trial. If Adam hadn’t piqued his interest, then Aspreay probably wouldn’t have bothered, even if it was free.

Don’t let your emotions get the best out of you. Focus. Anything odd about that parchment? For one, it seemed that the parchments were single-use, unlike his tablet. For another, it looked like they couldn’t see his Rank or abilities. This plan could have gone horribly wrong if they were able to tell how low his “Talent” was.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

But most of all...none of them looked shocked that he was a painter. Surprised, yes, but not shocked. If merely coming into contact with monsters was grounds for execution, then shouldn’t they feel strongly about someone who could seal the beasts inside his drawings?

Maybe that wasn’t something most painters could do.

“I accept your noble commitment to the city!” Lord Aspreay announced, with a booming declaration. “On your feet, Adam! Roland, unchain him – no, no, you need not bother with his feet. Look into his eyes! Feel the man’s honesty and devotion to justice!”

You’re so quick to trust me now that you’ve confirmed my Talent doesn’t involve fighting, Adam thought, with resentment. Wonder if you’d still be so trusting if you knew I could turn my blood into ink, stab you in the throat, and spider-man my way out of here.

Thunderous applause echoed in that shadowy room. Lord Aspreay himself led the effort, with every man and woman rushing to join him. It was an expected response; when a lord clapped, you clapped with him, regardless of your own opinions.

As Adam was unchained by the robed man, he and Aspreay continued to stare at one another. He shoved down the disdain threatening to surface, and instead portrayed the expression of a placid, agreeable, lowly artist who understood his place. That was who Lord Aspreay wanted to see.

Let him think Adam was that man. For now.

At the very least, he was glad to be able to move his arms again. He focused on that emotion as he joined Tenver and Esteban at their table – it made it easier to flash somewhat of a genuine smile at them.

“Thank you,” Tenver whispered as he made space for Adam to sit down. “I know it’s a huge sacrifice you’re making, and that this isn’t fair. But you did the right thing to keep yourself alive. After a while, I will talk to Lord Aspreay to reduce your years of servitude. I promise.”

Adam found his smile more genuine now. “I appreciate that.” He wasn’t planning on staying even a tenth of that term, but he considered it a nice gesture nonetheless – if a bit on the naive side. “Can’t complain, honestly. Got to keep my head.”

“It’s still not right.” Tenver’s whisper lowered to a mutter, his eyes burning with intensity. “I know...” He trailed off and shook his head. “It’s rude of me to say that I know. But I can imagine how hard it is to have no idea why suddenly your life is in someone else’s hand.”

Considering what you told me last night, maybe you really do. “Just gotta keep my head down and look for a brighter tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.” Tenver laughed. “That’s simply how life is. Even if you didn’t volunteer to live under those rules, it doesn’t mean you can ignore them. You have to understand them. Understand him.”

Ah, if only you knew. “Planning on it. Getting to know Lord Aspreay is my top priority.”

“As it should be.”

Adam didn’t miss that Tenver went from philosophical to practical without missing a beat. “The lord is an odd man, but even the maddest of men have their own internal laws that they follow. It will be easier to live with him once you learn what his are."

“Doesn’t sound like you’re pleased about it.”

Tenver didn’t drop his smile, but he did add a slight tension to it. “Doing the right thing is rarely pleasant. Nevertheless, I became an Imperial Guard for a reason. If the system cannot be changed, then I will save people from within it.”

Too optimistic, Adam thought. You can’t help people from inside a broken system. It’s just going to break you down. He didn’t allow his bitterness to show, though. Much as the whole thing was a foolish aspiration, he had to admire the guy for trying. “I’m glad this city has you, Tenver.”

“Thank you, Adam. And before I forget – here you are.” Tenver pulled out Adam’s backpack from under the table and handed it to him. “You seemed very concerned about this earlier, so I figured you’d prefer to have it by your side than leave it alone in the cell.”

“I really do,” Adam excitedly said, pulling his tablet out. “Thank you. Didn’t realize how nervous I was feeling without this.”

Partially because of its connection to his powers, and partially simply because it was expensive as hell. Not that he could buy another while stuck in this world. His tablet was, in every sense of the word, irreplaceable.

“Aren’t you worried?” Tenver gestured at the tablet. “There’s a lot of food and drink here. Won’t they ruin the fabric on your canvas?”

“Fabric?” Adam asked. He only allowed his confusion to last a moment. No way he could afford to look suspicious right now. “Ah...yeah. Don’t worry about it. Painters work in mysterious ways.”

He quickly shifted his eyes around the room to see that most people – the few who spared him any glimpses at all – seemed to be regarding him the same way: not as someone holding an unknown device no one had ever seen before, but as a weirdo who was carrying around an empty canvas.

After briefly turning the bright screen toward Tenver and seeing no reaction, Adam immediately drew out his stylus and wrote a new assumption into his notes.

—People in this world cannot see the tablet. They see a canvas instead. Unclear on the limits of the illusion or its exact shape. Maybe consider testing–

“–PLEASE! I BEG YOU, MY LORD!”

Very few things could divert Adam’s attention when he was focused on his tablet. The fact that he found himself looking at the source of the scream meant everyone else must’ve been already paying attention to it for some time. Only now did he see the kneeling woman, standing where Adam had been a few minutes ago, pleading her case to Lord Aspreay.

Except he seemed more annoyed now. “Woman, be reasonable. Guilty of a crime, by your own admission. Why should you avoid punishment?”

“He – he was also guilty,” she said, pointing in Adam’s general direction. “And my lord showed him mercy. I only ask that you show me that same mercy.”

“Adam did more than ask for mercy. He bought it with his talent, wit, and reason. I give you the same chance, peasant. Have you anything to offer me?”

“Offer? My lord, I’m from Austern. Ever since the city fell, I’ve done nothing but wander and look for a new home. I heard tales of Penumbria, its rapid growth in the Empire, its kind lord–”

“A liar,” Lord Aspreay said. His voice was calm. Too calm. “Not only do you come into my city illegally, not only do you come without bearing gifts, but you also lie. Place yourself in my position, my good woman. A lying criminal demands to further strain your limited resources...would you entertain her?”

“My lord,” the woman began, in a shaky voice, “I beg of you. I am no liar. Truly, I am from Austern!”

Here the lord leaned forward, a frown on his forehead. “That I do not doubt. But if you ran from Austern, you would have passed Coimbrago and Almadares first...and here,” he tapped at a piece of parchment, “we have reports from those cities that you indeed did.”

At that last bit, the woman gasped, causing the lord to smirk in response. “Are you surprised we were aware of that much? Did you think we, at the dumping grounds of the empire, are so dumb and uneducated as to not know our surroundings?”

She went pale. “My...my lord...”

“They turned you down. And so you came to Penumbria, your last choice.” The lord’s face contorted in fury. “You insult my city by thinking of it as lesser than those whoreson-led cockroach nests, then dare to ask for mercy? No!”

The woman was trembling. “As you said it yourself, my lord, those cities were closer to my fallen Austern. I stopped there because I feared the monsters–”

“My decision is made.” The lord stood up. “Your crimes are not so severe as to forfeit your life. Nonetheless, you are not welcome into my city.”

Lord Aspreay raised his hand. Adam felt the entire room tense. With a flick of his wrist, the lord beckoned the hapless commoner forward, his voice low and menacing. The accused woman hesitated, sensing the danger lurking in the motion.

Before she could react, the lord unleashed his magic, and the walls of the throne room yawned open like a gaping maw.

A powerful, invisible force like a mighty tornado threw the woman off her feet, her limbs flailing as she hurtled through the opening. Her terrified scream echoed long after her body disappeared in a dizzying, spinning blur. Somehow, whether through instinct or a power he didn’t understand, Adam knew the woman had landed outside the barrier.

Lord Aspreay stood at the threshold, his features twisted in an eerie smile. “Begone from my territory,” he spat, his voice echoing across the courtyard.

And with that, he closed the walls behind him, stone moving itself into place as if alive.

Lord Aspreay Arcanjo

Talent: Domain Lord (Baron)

Skill: Dominion (Baron)

None can enter this domain without the Talented’s permission. Those without permission are forcibly ejected outside. Complete control over his palace’s stone. Has perfect knowledge of who resides inside his domain at all times. Cannot die while inside his domain.

“That is why,” Tenver whispered, “I said you did well.”