Adam barely paid attention to his surroundings as he made his way forward. His mind was busy playing back his last few conversations with Belmordo. Okay, yeah, alright. That last bit was unnecessary. So were all the other times I taunted him, if I'm being honest with myself. My plan isn't contingent on him being upset – all I gained from antagonizing him was an enemy on the lookout.

After a moment, he shrugged. Felt pretty good though.

There were many things Adam had done since coming to the Painted World that he could admit were a tad on the self-destructive side. The way he was throwing himself at challenges and going all-in on things was a worrying trend. This, though?

No regrets.

None whatsoever.

Tenver had said before that, when a person lost everything, sometimes they just wanted to help whoever they could. Adam was close to fitting that bill. He was poor, an enemy to the world, and almost completely alone. It’d made him briefly consider going along with Belmordo’s cruelty, sacrificing his own self-respect for the sake of Penumbria.

Much to his surprise, however, he hadn’t quite lost everything. He still had his pride – and that was worth more than all the Orbs in the world.

If the people of Penumbria depend on me, and it’s my fault that I’m stuck with that responsibility...I’ll make sure they live well. But I’ll do it my way.

With that in mind, he started to actually examine the tower he was in. The ceilings were as high as he’d expected, but they stood out in that they seemed made of lumber rather than the stone that the walls were built out of. A single spiral staircase looped around the center of the room, leading to the next floor.

There were no windows, though. Instead, a bombardment of decoration adorned the interior from top to bottom. He saw ostentatious banners, velvet cloths, shining trinkets, and glittering jewelry hanging from every wall. They were equaled in grandeur by the numerous suits of armor, clutching oversized longswords that Adam knew no human could possibly carry. Well, then again, this was a world of magic, so maybe a Talent–

Wait. Is that...?

Adam reached over toward one suit of armor in particular. While the armor itself looked like the others, it held a shield that stood out. Not only was it a different color from the others – a bright red metal, as if dyed in fresh arterial blood – but it also seemed to pulsate at times, almost like a heartbeat. Is this the Dragonforged Steel that Tenver was talking about? The thing that can’t be destroyed by anything but Rot?

“What a discerning eye you have there,” said a new voice, from above the staircase. “Lord Adam, I presume?”

Raising his gaze, Adam caught sight of a figure largely concealed behind the sweeping banisters. Hints of dark blue and glimmers of gold suggested a grand dress adorned with frills. From that angle, it was difficult to be certain of her looks, but her tone was booming, haughty, and commanding.

“You are correct,” Adam replied, speaking loudly so that it echoed off the walls and reached the distant woman. “I was told no one else is allowed within the tower, so would it be fair to assume that you are Lady Solara?”

“Aye,” she replied, her voice a loud, imposing echo that seemed to hit him from all directions. “Would you care to join me for tea, before one of us dies? It has been terribly lonely here. I’m afraid there are no servants, however, and my upbringing hardly allowed me to become a master of the art.”

“And my upbringing left me unable to discern good tea from the bad. It would be my honor.” Adam reached for the shield and pulled it apart from the armor’s gauntlet. Dear god, that was heavy. He had to wrap some Vines of Stained Ink beneath his sleeves to help hold it forward. “Hope you don’t mind – I’m stealing your expensive shield. For if our tea turns violent.”

Solara’s laughter echoed throughout the tower. It sounded genuine, almost joyous at first, and stretched for a long moment. When it ended, however, it was on a bittersweet note. “Feel free, Lord Adam. You are...odd. Do you always expect your rendezvous with women to result in violence?”

“Not always. Although I did have one turn out to be a serial killer,” he said, absently thinking of Miranda. That hadn’t exactly been his favorite experience. The hospital people were really nice, though. “You’re probably at least a step or two above her.”

The voice hesitated, as if at a loss for what to say. “Um. Should I take that as flattery, Lord Adam?”

“Probably not. Eric always said I was bad at flattering people. I’m just being honest – you’re in a whole different league.” He still couldn’t see Lady Solara’s face. At this point, Adam began making his way up the staircase, bringing the heavy Dragonforged Steel shield with him. Every step seemed to make the metal expand and recoil like a beating heart. “Let’s have your tea. I assume you’re not possessed yet?”

“I have my moments of self-awareness. This is one of them. It won’t last long, but I will not harm you for as long as it does.”

“In that case, should I not prepare to fight you?”

“Mayhap so. But I’d love if you could join me for tea, Lord Adam.”

“Why?”

“Because I have not spoken with anyone for a long time now.” There was no theatrics, noble etiquette, or even a cursory attempt to hide the sadness in her voice. “It’s simply that I...no, banish the thought or take it for a jest. I understand that–”

“Prepare your tea,” Adam said, cutting her off. “I’ll catch up to you.”

Hefting the red, dense shield, Adam began his ascent up the tower’s spiral staircase. Each step seemed to make the shield vibrate rhythmically, pulsating against the grip of his Stained Vines. His other hand traced along the stone cold bannister, providing balance against the unusual weight he now bore. It was a slow ride, and he heard the woman move further into the room as he approached the top. Not only was the weight of his shield a problem, the surrounding heat made it feel as though he were ascending into hell.

So many torches... Sweat beaded on Adam’s forehead as he struggled to climb. Never thought about how goddamn warm a room full of torches would be when I was reading up on medieval times. I guess it’s necessary, considering there’s no windows. You couldn’t see anything otherwise.

Finally, he reached Solara’s room. As befitting of a noble in harsh captivity, her abode was both stately and disheveled. Despite being furnished with luxury, most of the furniture was broken, a token effort made to sweep dirt and debris into one corner. And while the room was very spacious, it was clearly too big for a single person to clean properly, with dust coating much of the surface.

Most concerning of all were the numerous bloodstains, half-faded yet ever-present. Remnants of those who tried to fight the Curse and died, Adam reasoned. I’ll take that as a warning to be careful.

One piece of furniture stood out amongst the others. It was an extremely long, rectangular table with a glass tea set laid out on top, striking in its elegance. Just two chairs were set out, distanced so far apart from each other that Adam thought he’d be forced to raise his voice in order for Solara to hear him.

He turned to look at the woman – only for his breath to be taken away. Behind her and around her were the brightest torches Adam had seen since coming to this world, burning a fire so red that even her pale skin seemed scarlet beneath it. The Three Torches were imposing, bright, and in near-complete sync with each other, flames dancing and swirling in tune with each other to the beat of an inaudible song.

And then there was the woman.

Since coming to this world, Adam had seen many nobles up to now, men and women alike. He thought he’d known what to expect from the heiress to the city of Gama; that she would look like one of the women from Aspreay’s court, if maybe dressed a little more ostentatiously due to her wealth and her city’s prosperity.

He’d been wrong.

Solara was dressed in the dark blue dress he had caught hints of from the bottom of the stairwell earlier, but upon closer inspection the golden adjournments were few and relatively modest. The fabric of the dress itself appeared not unlike what he’d see among the commoners who knelt down before Aspreay to petition for help. Though she wore jewelry, it seemed relatively inexpensive, just small stones on a single ring and each earring.

Even so, there was an air of distinguished nobility about it – about her. True, the dress was common, but it was impeccably clean. Sure, the jewelry was cheap, but it matched both the cloth and her disposition perfectly. And her face...

“Beautiful,” Adam said plainly. When he realized the words had left his lips, he considered them. I could try to play it off. Which seemed silly. He might die at any moment, why bother? Might as well be honest. “I haven’t seen anyone that beautiful since Tenver.” Okay, maybe a bit too honest.

But she did look as beautiful as him, and her face stood out as so oddly symmetrical. It almost looked like it had been painted, or carefully put together by some master craftsman. Most people would have found it off-putting, Adam knew. Her golden hair went past her shoulders, but it was cut evenly and precisely as if not a single strand was allowed to go beyond another. She had a penetrating sort of gaze, the harsh stare that felt as sharp and pointed as her ears. Solara looked at him with bright, wide eyes that were as golden as her hair, studying him carefully, her pale skin seeming ghostly beneath the faint torchlight that illuminated the room.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

After a moment of silence, she laughed. “As beautiful as Lord Tenver? Now, that is flattery. Tales of his beauty have reached even the capital...if my spies are to be believed.”

That seemed like a little much, but Adam had no idea whether the woman was serious or not. He took a seat across from her, placed his shield on top of the table, and leaned against his backpack. “You were expecting me?”

“I was. My father informed me through a raven. He mentioned finding another fool who would die trying to undo my curse.”

“That would be correct, yes. But I don’t plan on dying.” Adam sipped at the tea. It was a little bitter for his taste, but frankly he was thankful for the drink. “This is really good. Don’t sell yourself short – it’s equal to any tea I had in Penumbria.”

“You damn me with faint praise, my lord.”

Adam smiled apologetically. “Forgive my bluntness, but I was told you weren’t in control of your curse.”

“I am not.”

“How long do we have to enjoy this cup of tea?”

“Perhaps five minutes. You have poor timing – I usually have a few hours after waking up. I should warn you against attacking me before I transform, as it tends to make the curse more violent and affords you no real advantage.”

Five minutes. That wasn’t nearly long enough to learn everything about her. It had taken six months for him to figure out Aspreay to the point where Adam could steal the late Lord’s Talent. Even if he could lessen the amount of information he needed by gambling his Talents, that wasn’t going to be sufficient. It was already difficult to truly grasp what made someone tick – what made them who they were – without being limited to a single brief conversation.

With that in mind, he withdrew his tablet from his backpack. Adam paused, taking the time to give her an extended, inquisitive look.

Solara perked up. “Ah, I see. Lord Adam, are you drawing a portrait of me?”

“Yes. Assuming you don’t mind.”

“No. Go ahead, my lord. My father did mention in his letter that this is how you would free me from my curse. Is that what you are attempting right now?”

Adam looked up from his tablet to shake his head at her. “No.” He moved his head back to his tablet, sketching her with fast motions. “That was my initial plan, but thanks to Belmordo, I don’t have as much preparation as I thought I would.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Once more, Adam peered up from his tablet, this time clearly annoyed. “I’m painting a portrait of you. We established this. Now, if you don’t mind, could you not move so much? I’m already not great at quick sketches, and you aren’t making this any easier.”

“We...did establish that, yes. But if you cannot take away my curse, then why...?”

"You look unique,” Adam said, nonchalantly. “Your dress is a nice shade of blue, and that combined with the fire flickering behind you is creating a really interesting shade. The fabric is reflective enough that there’s some blue on your face, but at the same time, the fire is so intense and bright. You don’t usually see something so...saturated, in person. Usually red and blue scenes are more muted, closer to an orange and very light blue, almost gray sort of contrast.”

His excitement rose as he spoke. “This though? It’s different. I want to capture it, even if it’s just a sketch. As long as I get the general idea down now, I can always iterate upon it later. Then it should remind me of what I had in mind when the idea first came to me, you know?”

“No, I...am afraid I do not know. At all.” The regality in Solara’s voice was replaced by a note of full confusion. “I’m terribly sorry, my lord, but am I to understand you mean to spend those minutes painting for the sake of painting?”

“And why not? Doing art for its own purpose is much more meaningful than giving it some idiotic justification.” Adam found himself grinning from ear to ear. This was the first time he’d felt like painting something after the incident with Aspreay. Thankfully, he hadn’t been burnt out by those six months of hellish work. In this moment, he wasn’t worrying about budgets or politics or betrayals – he was just painting.

God, it felt good. “I think when you do something you love for no reason at all...that’s where true art is.”

“I see.” Solara paused, contemplating his words. “So what you are saying, my lord, is that you are insane.”

Adam shrugged, his desire to think of a comeback supplanted by his desire to get the color palette just right. Maybe if I play with the opacity a little – no, can’t. Not enough time. Just gonna sketch out the fire on a different layer, I can adjust the opacity and blending modes later to see what I like.

If only he had a camera; he could’ve at least taken a reference picture. Hopefully this area wouldn’t be destroyed in the upcoming fight. Would be nice to paint it too. The Three Torches were incredible at providing just the right kind of lighting!

“May I ask a question, my lord?”

Adam switched from one layer to another, vaguely cursing and resorting to vector layers so he could correct the lines later. “Yes, what is it?”

“You called me beautiful and spoke at length about the fire, about the sight before you.”

It was getting harder to focus. Time limits were annoying enough, and Adam hated short sketches, but this was too much. “Yes, what of it?” he grunted through his teeth.

“Are you not – are you not going to comment on my ears?”

“Hmm?” Adam peered over his tablet again. He narrowed his eyes, grunted, and returned to drawing. How much time did he have left? Maybe a minute before she started trying to kill him? “Not really.” If anything, he was half-considering covering them with her hair in the picture to keep them from being distracting. It wasn’t he was going for an accurate portrait, this was more of a stylistically–

“Adam—Lord Adam—my lord—you stupid bastard, are you actually serious?!” Solara’s voice sounded different now. Nearly all of its regality had vanished, and whatever was left had combined with a sense of indignant outrage.

Yet, somehow, it sounded far more honest than what it was before. “Are you not going to question me about my heritage? About why I bear elven ears when my father, Lord Vasco, does not?”

“Later. I’m running short on time here,” Adam snapped back, as if he meant his words as an insult. “Your hidden lineage sounds like a tomorrow problem.”

He paused. “I suppose that’s why we didn’t have much information on Lord Vasco’s daughter, though, and why Belmordo isn’t afraid of losing noble support if he kills you. And – damnit, look!” Adam complained. “Look what you did! You got me thinking about politics when–”

Solara rose from the table.

Then, she kept rising.

Not only did she stand up, but her feet ceased touching the ground, her body ascending forward suddenly and hastily, as if pulled by an invisible set of strings. Solara’s eyes went wide, her mouth gaped open, arms snapping away, swirling independently from each other. Adam met her gaze for a moment, but though their eyes crossed paths, he knew there was nothing inside there anymore.

In one motion, the woman held up in the air by invisible strings turned her back first, and then her neck. Her head faced towards Adam, having turned around at an angle that no living human could endure. An inhuman sound came from her throat, a sort of forbidden music that pained Adam’s ears and shattered the glass teacups on the table. Even her hands changed, her fingers growing longer like vines, her nails sharpening into claws.

Adam sighed. He stowed his tablet in his backpack, placed it in a secluded corner, and picked up the shield. His Stained Vines swirled around him, his heartbeat racing fast as the Dragonforged Steel pulsated.

“I suppose this will have to do,” he muttered. “She puts on airs of nobility, has some deep insecurity regarding her heritage, and from how natural the words ‘stupid bastard’ sounded when they came out of her mouth, probably wasn’t raised a noble.” He grimaced. “Fucking hell, this would be a hell of a lot easier if Vasco told me more before sending me here.”

A shivering cold invaded the windowless room. It was like an invisible breeze, blowing Adam’s hair away from his face as if he’d styled it to point skyward.

“It isn’t much to work with...but if it comes down to it, maybe it might be enough to gamble on the painting. Should I do that, or...?”

“You are not from this world.”

The shrieks coming from inside Solara – it seemed rude to even think of this possession as her – had converged into a single, shivery voice that seemed closer to the sound of blocks of ice colliding than human speech. Yet Adam understood its words, and listened carefully. “And I thought I was just here to play thief...looks like this is going to be relevant to my interests,” Adam said softly, then shouted, “what do you know about me?”

“Are you from the World of Ink?” Every word, every whisper, sounded like an indefinable music that humans were not meant to hear. Adam felt his breath catching, his knees threatening to give in, and even his eyesight blurred for a moment. He spread his Stained Vines under his clothes to force his legs into an upright position.

“I am from Earth.”

“Ah...the World of Ink...have you come here to offer...your...ink?”

Adam narrowed his eyes and spread the Vines evenly to his every limb, preparing for whatever was to come. Keep your breaths short. Stay calm. Losing your shit won’t help here. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I mostly work digitally?” What does it know about me? What does it mean? Have to–

“Give me your INK!”

It attacked.