As Obinai and Eris approach the towering palace doors, the massive wooden panels creak open with a deep, resonant groan. Standing just inside is an butler, also adorned with pointed ears. Perfectly poised and impeccably groomed. His black butler’s uniform fits him like a second skin, the fabric sharply pressed and gleaming under the soft light. The uniform’s gold accents along the cuffs and collar glimmer faintly, adding an elegant touch to his otherwise formal attire. His almond-shaped eyes flick briefly to Obinai, a flicker of surprise—or perhaps scrutiny—passing over his face. He quickly raises a delicate hand to his nose, then glances sideways at Eris.

Before he can speak, Eris cuts in smoothly. “He already got past the guards, Sebastian. He’s okay.”

Sebastian pauses, his expression momentarily tight, but after a beat, he nods slightly, acknowledging her words with a subtle bow. His gaze shifts back toward the door, and without addressing Obinai further, he turns on his heel with a soft rustle of his uniform, muttering something quietly under his breath, “Serna shtauc…”

Eris doesn’t seem bothered by the remark; she doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she steps forward, guiding Obinai deeper into the palace. He follows...

The foyer is vast—an expansive space that stretches upward and outward. The ceiling towers above them, so high it almost disappears into shadow, and it is painted with a breathtaking fresco of swirling clouds, celestial beings, and mythical creatures, all intertwined with gold-leaf accents. The golden edges of the painting shimmer in the soft glow from the crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. Their light casts delicate reflections on the polished marble floor below, which is a stunning mosaic of whites, grays, and blues, each stone expertly laid to create a dazzling pattern that seems to pulse with some rhythm.

Obinai’s gaze drifts to the towering columns that line the walls of the foyer. They rise high into the air, their smooth stone adorned with intricate carvings that seem to move under the weight of his stare.

They pass through the grand hall, and Obinai notices the subtle elegance of the furniture scattered throughout. Velvet settees in rich, deep hues of crimson and emerald are arranged thoughtfully, their dark wooden frames carved with delicate floral motifs. Small tables made from gleaming stone or inlaid with intricate designs hold small treasures: vases with fragrant flowers, delicate glassware, and statues crafted with an almost obsessive level of detail.

Further down the hall, large tapestries hang from the walls. They hang in threads of gold, silver, and silk. The tapestries sway gently in the breeze that enters through large, arched windows, their edges fluttering.

Obinai sees that as the light catches them images start to appear but go away like the pages of an ancient book being turned by unseen hands.

...he doesn't pry...

As they walk, Eris guides him through the space. The air smells faintly of lavender, a subtle but luxurious fragrance that seems to hang in the air.

When they reach another pair of ornate double doors, Eris turns to him. “First,” she says, “you need a bath.”

Before he can respond, Eris opens the doors and pushes him inside, her hand on his back giving him a gentle nudge. “Hurry up,” she says.

He turns back to speak, but the words die in his throat when he takes in the room before him.

The space is vast, circular, and overwhelmingly beautiful. The high, domed ceiling is painted with a serene mural of the sky—soft blues and whites that merge into one another, flecked with golden accents that seem to glow in the warm light. The edges of the dome are adorned with stucco designs of intertwined vines and delicate flowers that cascade down the walls.

Around the perimeter of the room, large arched windows are draped with sheer curtains casting dappled shadows on the smooth marble floors below. The marble here is a soft blend of warm cream and rose, giving the room an inviting, peaceful feel. Tall mirrors with gilded frames are placed strategically around the space, amplifying the natural light.

At the heart of the room lies the bath itself, an enormous pool that could easily be mistaken for a small lake. The water is crystal clear, steam rising gently from its surface, filling the room with a soothing warmth. The stone surrounding the pool is intricately carved with delicate images, their forms flowing with the currents.

Around the pool, a set of plush towels and fine robes are neatly arranged on a golden rack, each towel thick and soft, embroidered with fine gold threads. Small tables nearby hold jars of oils and soaps, each one more luxurious than the last.

Obinai stands at the edge of the pool for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

He glances back toward Eris, who is standing by the door. Her face is flushed, a soft pink spreading across her cheeks, and she looks away for a moment, a sheepish smile curling on her lips. “I’ll be waiting,” she says quietly. “Take your time.”

Before he can respond, she quickly shuts the door behind her, leaving him alone with the bath. Obinai stares at the door for a brief second, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The moment she’s gone, he can’t hold back the grin anymore. He looks down at his hospital gown, still clinging to him, then with a quick motion, he rips it off in one go. The fabric flutters to the floor, crumpling in a heap, and in a smooth motion, he leaps into the bath, feeling the cool marble under his feet give way to the warm embrace of the water.

The moment he sinks into the pool, the gentle steam wraps around him, pulling away the last traces of tension from his muscles. He exhales deeply, letting the heat seep into his tired limbs. The water is warm and inviting, its surface rippling lightly as he adjusts his position, settling deeper into the embrace of the bath. His muscles, which had been aching and tight from the journey, begin to loosen. The soothing warmth of the water feels like a balm, and he leans back, closing his eyes...

The room is quiet except for the faint sound of water rippling. His crowed mind now feels a bit clearer. The tension in his shoulders seems to almost melt away. He lets his head tilt back slightly, feeling the gentle steam kiss his skin, the soft bubbles from the water drifting around him.

Obinai lets out a long breath as he says, “This is exactly what I needed.”

But like a flash, a sudden image flashes through his mind—his hand, thrusting through Santos’s body, the sickening crack of bones and the blood... He jolts upright. His heart pounds, and his vision blurs for a moment as the screams of the analysts echo in his ears. The sharp, gut-wrenching sound fills his head, and he reaches up, clutching his temples, his fingers digging into his skin as though he can hold the thoughts inside.

Then, there’s laughter. Low, cruel, and too familiar, it dances in his mind. Obinai’s breath catches, and he whispers hoarsely, “Please... stop it...” His voice trembles as he repeats the words, desperate for the noise to fade. He closes his eyes, taking in slow, shaky breaths, but the laughter lingers.

At last, the sound fades, leaving only the steady, calming pulse of the water around him. His hand drops from his head, resting against his forehead as he chuckles bitterly. “At this rate, I’ll go insane…” He laughs at the thought, but it’s hollow...

Shaking himself free of the thoughts, he looks at the clothes laid out for him. Neatly folded on a nearby ornate wooden bench—a set of gray robes. The dove-gray fabric looks soft yet sturdy. The robes are cut with a dignified, regal line.

Obinai picks them up, examining the fine stitching along the hems and the subtle pattern woven into the fabric. He slips into the robes, the fabric settling comfortably around him, fitting perfectly as though the clothes had been tailored just for him. There’s something oddly satisfying about the way they hug his frame.

When he’s fully dressed, Obinai stands, his fingers brushing against the fabric of the robes. He feels... different, somehow.

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...he's found a place...

...maybe...

With one last look around the bathing chamber, Obinai steps toward the door opposite the one he entered through. His footsteps echo softly on the marble floor as he opens it, revealing a corridor beyond. The light is dimmer here, the soft glow of lanterns hanging from the walls casting a warm hue across the polished floor. The robes swish gently around his ankles as he walks.

The corridor leads him toward another grand set of doors. Obinai hesitates for a moment...

...then continues. It’s a dining room, vast and elegant, the centerpiece of which is a long, wooden table set with an impressive array of dishes.

The room’s high, arched ceiling towers above, a large chandelier hanging from it, its crystals catching the light and scattering it across the space. The table is covered with platters of food—roasted meats glazed with honey, their rich, savory aroma wafting through the air. Bowls of vibrant vegetables—crimson, emerald, golden—are arranged around the table. The fresh, earthy scent of herbs fills the room, and nearby baskets of warm, freshly baked bread offer their own comforting scent, familiar and inviting.

At the far end of the room, a grand fireplace crackles softly, the flames dancing merrily.

Obinai’s steps slow as he enters. His feet sink slightly into the plush carpet that lines the floor, muffling his footsteps as he walks toward the table. He sits down slowly at the nearest chair, its rich upholstery soft against his hands.

Across the table, Eris catches his eye, her laughter light and carefree, filling the room with a sound that seems to make everything else fade into the background. She flashes grin at him. "You look much better," she teases. "Almost thought you might be attached to that hospital gown."

Obinai smirks. "I feel a lot better," he admits, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before it shifts back to the food. "This place... it’s too much," he adds, shaking his head slightly.

Eris smiles. “That’s Eldoria for you,” she says, leaning back in her chair with an air of ease, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of her goblet. “It’s a little overwhelming, but it’s home.”

Obinai picks up his fork and starts to eat. He hesitates for a moment, tasting the food before asking, “What exactly is this?” His voice stammers slightly as he takes another bite. He hums, the food far better than anything he’s had in what feels like forever, but then his gaze flicks back to Eris...she doesn't answer.

He notices that she hasn’t touched her plate, her hands delicately placed on the table, and her attention still fixed on him.

He shakes the thought from his mind, refocusing on the food. “I know the place that I’m at, but...” he gestures vaguely around the room, his voice trailing off as his eyes wander over the fine decorations, the golden sconces on the walls, the crystal chandeliers above them. “I still don’t get it. How come I’ve never heard of you guys? Why does the wall separate us? Is there more out there?”

Eris chuckles, a soft laugh that doesn’t quite meet her eyes this time. “That’s not for me to say,” she responds playfully. "And honestly, I don’t know. Yes, there’s much more out there.” She leans in slightly, her voice dropping into a teasing tone. “You just look so out of place.” She watches him, eyes twinkling. “It’s not every day we have someone else who’s just walked through the woods and taken a magical bath, then joined us for dinner in full regal attire.”

Obinai’s mind spins at her words. Someone else? His mind freezes for a second. What does she mean by ‘someone else’? He had thought he was the first human she had met. He continues eating, the food tasting almost too good to be true, but the thought gnaws at him...

Eris watches him silently for a few moments as he eats, her gaze never straying far from him. Eventually, a slight pause falls between his bites, and she leans forward. “What happened to you?” she asks.

Obinai freezes mid-bite, a piece of bread held halfway to his mouth. He looks up, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before flicking away. A shadow passes over his expression, and the smile he’s been wearing slips.

“Bad people,” he replies simply.

Eris’s eyes soften. She nods slightly. The room falls silent for a moment, save for the soft clink of cutlery and the crackling of the fire nearby.

Finally, Eris lets out a soft breath, a small, reassuring smile curling on her lips. “Well, you’re here now, and you’re safe,” she says, her hand reaching across the table to offer him a drink. “Let’s make sure you’re well-fed and rested. The comforts of Eldoria are at your disposal.”

Obinai smiles faintly at her offer. “Thank you,” he manages, his voice soft as he takes a sip of the drink moved beside him. The fizzy sensation rushes across his taste buds, instantly reminding him of soda, but with a deeper, more exotic flavor that’s both refreshing and strange. There’s a subtle magic to it, a spark of something he can’t quite place, and it tingles pleasantly as it slides down his throat.

As he takes another drink, a thought stirs in the back of his mind. He’s eating with royalty. He’s sitting in a palace, with an elegant dinner laid out before him, surrounded by an entirely foreign world. He’s never felt so out of place, and yet—there’s a comfort in the food, the warmth, the soft light of the room.

His mind keeps drifting. “I’m sorry for intruding like this—” he starts, his words slurring slightly.

His vision blurs ever so slightly at the edges, the soft candlelight turning into a warm, hazy glow.

He pauses, then takes another long drink. “I didn’t mean to—” He starts to apologize again, but before the words can form, the room begins to feel distant, as though the walls are closing in around him.

Eris watches him closely now. The concern in her gaze deepens as she notices the shift in his movements. “Obinai?” she asks softly.

Obinai barely hears her. His head starts to nod involuntarily, his body swaying slightly in his seat. The flickering candlelight in the room feels too warm, too bright.

Before he can finish his sentence, his head dips forward, and his body slumps gently in the chair.

...once again everything fades to black...

The darkness surrounding Obinai gives way slowly to the faintest hint of light—warm and distant, like the first rays of dawn. He stirs, groggy and confused, his body heavy. A familiar, maniacal laughter echoes in the depths of his mind, sharp and cruel, causing him to flinch. His eyes snap open, but he squints immediately, trying to shield his face from the intrusive light. He moves to raise his arm but finds it... immobile. Panic rushes up his throat, tightening his chest as his head snaps up, eyes fully open now darting to the side to look at his hands...in chains mounted on the wall next to him at head level on each side.

The room is cold, far colder than the warmth he had just been wrapped in. The stark, grim chamber he finds himself in couldn’t be further from the comforting embrace of the guest room. He takes in his surroundings with growing unease. The walls are rough-hewn stone with moisture running down the jagged surface in thin, silent rivulets. The floor is dark, stained with some unidentifiable mark—perhaps blood, perhaps something older—and it feels unnervingly slick beneath him.

Above him, thick, rotting wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, from which chains and hooks dangle in menacing silence. The air is thick with a metallic tang, a nauseating mixture of rust and age. The room smells like decay. The light that filters into the space comes from small, barred windows set high in the walls, too narrow to let in much more than thin shafts of daylight. The light, even at its brightest, only seems to highlight the shadows...

His heart starts to race, and as his eyes dart around. Iron maidens, their doors slightly ajar, stand menacingly against one wall. The spikes within are jagged and cold, gleaming faintly in the dim light. Opposite them is a large wooden rack, leather straps waiting to bind whoever’s unfortunate enough to be tied to it. The sight sends a cold shiver down his spine.

He notices various other implements scattered across the room—thumbscrews, leg vises, cages too small for comfort. At the center of the room lies a large table, covered with smaller tools—pliers, whips, and knives. The chair beside it is fitted with straps, ensuring the occupant stays firmly in place.

Before Obinai can collect himself or call out, a voice breaks the silence, the deep Southern drawl wrapping each word in a heavy, almost mocking tone. “She gotcha too, huh?”

Obinai snaps his head toward the source of the voice. Across the chamber, in the gloom of the shadows, another figure sits, just as shackled to the stone wall as he is. The man is young, seemingly around the same age as Obinai. His skin is pale, marked with bruises that darken his torso, and his black hair is untamed, hanging just low enough to partially obscure his sharp eyes. He leans against the wall, his posture tired but...not defeated.

He opens his mouth, but when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. "What’s happenin’? Where are we?"

The young man shifts against the wall, his gaze still locked on Obinai. A dry smile tugs at his lips. “We’re in the glorious and pristine Eldorian castle,” he says. His eyes flick toward Obinai’s clothing, and his smirk widens. “Clearly, this is the place to be.”

Obinai’s brow furrows, confusion deepening as he struggles slightly in the chains. “That can’t be,” he mutters, his voice trembling slightly. “I don’t understand... this doesn’t make sense.”

The young man’s smirk doesn’t waver. He simply nods at Obinai’s attire. “Look at your damn clothes,” he drawls. “Guess you fit in just fine.”

Obinai glances down at himself, the gray robes still fresh...

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, his chest tight, as the absurdity of it all settles in.

The young man leans forward just a little, his eyes narrowing slightly, his voice dropping low. “Don’t worry, though,” he says. “The princess’ll tear those clothes off ya anyway.”

He swallows hard, blinking back the rising sting of tears.

He looks away momentarily then turns back to the young man. “What’s your name?”

The young man stares at him for a long moment, as if measuring him, before he straightens slightly. There’s a flicker of something—resignation, perhaps—before he finally answers. “Elias,” he says, the name coming out slow, as though it doesn’t mean much anymore.

“Elias Zola...”