One week is neither a long nor a short time, but it can feel like an eternity in an unfamiliar environment. That was the time that had passed since Myrddin agreed to work for Belial.

Curiously, he enjoyed being a servant, though not so much because of the work itself, but because of how novel the experience was. Since he accepted Belial’s proposal, his emotions had calmed, almost to the point of vanishing. This new tranquility felt strangely comforting: a peaceful calm, similar but different from the despairing emptiness he used to feel.

"Hey, Merlin, wake up." An annoying voice and a light shake pulled him out of sleep.

Half-opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was the ceiling and the face of a young, dark-skinned boy.

"Come on, get up and change quickly. If we’re late, it’ll be entirely your fault," said the boy with a yawn, adjusting his wrinkled and poorly fitted servant’s suit.

The door closed with a bang, leaving Myrddin sitting on the bed. Looking down at the floor, he saw a broken clock. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened: the alarm had gone off, and an angry "someone" broke it.

Grumbling slightly, he forced himself to get up and headed to the bathroom. As he washed his face and looked at his disheveled reflection in the mirror, he felt a sense of déjà vu. As he dressed unhurriedly — if he was going to be late, he might as well do it properly dressed — he began to recall the past week.

It seemed like only yesterday when, after accepting Belial’s offer, the latter laughed and disappeared after saying some cryptic words. Charles, the head butler, took care of organizing everything. He explained the essentials while leading him to the room where he had been sleeping peacefully ever since.

First, and surprisingly, they were no longer in Lodran. According to Charles, the world is like a book: multiple layers of paper stacked on top of one another. The layer he had been on before was, so to speak, the cover; now, he was on one of the inner pages.

Charles’s analogy was confusing, but eventually, Myrddin grasped the general idea: he was in a parallel world.

The rest of the explanation wasn’t particularly surprising, but at least it was easy to understand. For a few months, he would be living alongside another person. Given the size of the mansion, to avoid problems, he would share tasks with someone who would help him adapt and, most importantly, avoid getting lost.

At first, it seemed ridiculous, but then he understood it wasn’t to be taken lightly. According to Charles, it wasn’t uncommon for people to get lost in the mansion, some nearly dying. Some ventured into forbidden areas, while others got lost in the labyrinthine building, almost dying of dehydration.

Though it initially seemed absurd, he soon remembered how he had acted similarly when he first woke up in the mansion, exploring and touching strange things in a place where everything was many things, but normal was not one of them.

Returning to the present, he finished dressing in front of the full-length mirror in the room. The malnourished and unkempt Myrddin of before was gone. Now, he wore an elegant black suit, simple but distinguished, with a brown vest and a white silk shirt. He looked like the servant of a high-ranking noble.

He made sure everything was in order, unhurried but meticulous. In his short stay, he had discovered two things he truly enjoyed to the fullest: sleeping, which turned out to be more pleasant than he ever imagined, and being neat and well-dressed.

"Come on, Merlin, we’ll miss lunch again if we don’t hurry!" Edith’s anxious voice, accompanied by a knock on the door, snapped him out of his thoughts.

Edith was an eighteen-year-old boy, neither particularly pleasant nor annoying to Myrddin, but his presence had become a constant in his new routine.

Urged by Edith’s tone, which warned him that he would be left behind if he didn’t hurry, Myrddin grabbed some keys from the table and quickly left the room.

"Took you long enough, let’s go!" Edith said as he moved quickly, forcing Myrddin to almost trot to keep up.

The mansion’s dark hallways, adorned with ancient tapestries, seemed endless, as if designed to lose anyone who ventured without a guide. Watching Edith navigate stairs and corridors with ease, as if he had a mental map of the place, made it hard to believe he had once gotten lost in those labyrinthine halls years ago, almost dying of dehydration.

Curiously, Myrddin and Edith shared several similarities despite their differing personalities: both were orphans, without surnames or close relatives, and they both shared demonic blood, though it seemed that almost everyone in the mansion, except Belial, had some connection to demons.

After a rushed walk, they reached their destination: the kitchen. In front of the door, Edith unsuccessfully tried to fix his clothes and hair, swallowing nervously as he saw the clock on the wall strike nine in the morning, more than two hours late.

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"I’m screwed," he muttered darkly, feeling a headache coming on, as he and Myrddin entered the kitchen.

"Quick, move those boxes!"

"Where the hell is the oregano?!"

"Hey, be careful!"

"Who the hell spilled so much salt on the floor?! Don’t you know how expensive it is?! Damn! This will come out of our pay."

The place was organized chaos. Dozens of people were rushing back and forth amid shouts and orders, but there was a strange harmony in their actions. Everyone was busy with their tasks; while there were mistakes and accidents, they were quickly resolved with a dose of insults.

"Let’s go," Edith whispered to Myrddin, detecting the aroma of food.

They passed through the crowd; some were so focused they didn’t notice them, but others, less busy, quickly made comments.

"Finally, the sleeping princesses have arrived!"

"So you decided to show up?"

"Ha, ha, ha! The boss is going to kill you!"

With a nervous smile, Edith tried to ignore the comments as he received playful slaps from some of his coworkers.

They soon reached their workplace: the sink, a secluded corner of the kitchen where a giant pile of dirty utensils was stacked. The sight made Edith’s pupils tremble. How had so much accumulated?

It seemed the others had dirtied more than usual on purpose, but would they really do that?

While Edith lamented, Myrddin had already taken off his vest, rolled up his sleeves, and started washing without saying a word. The sound of running water made Edith sigh and follow his lead.

Although their late arrival didn’t directly affect the work in the kitchen, if they didn’t finish before lunch, they wouldn’t be able to eat. Moreover, any delay would carry over to the next day.

Edith’s hands trembled as he remembered how, the last time he arrived so late, the boss made him peel vegetables every night for a month.

At least, seeing Myrddin working beside him, he consoled himself with the thought that this time he wouldn’t be alone. Though Myrddin was quiet and inaccessible, some company was better than none.

‘Still, I never thought I’d find someone with more trouble getting up than me,’ Edith thought, recalling how hard it had been to wake Myrddin the first few days. Seeing the broken clock that morning, he couldn’t decide if he had broken it or if Myrddin had; both had their reasons. But he leaned more toward Myrddin, remembering how he threw punches every time he tried to wake him.

'But he's not a bad person at all. Should I try to help him communicate better?' Edith wondered.

Edith actually liked Myrddin, but it was hard to have any conversation with him that wasn’t about magic or the elder Belial. ‘Maybe I should take him to see some of the interesting places in the mansion—if the boss doesn’t find out that we were late?’

Unfortunately for Edith, none of what he hoped would happen. After an entire day of scrubbing pans, pots, and dishes without the slightest break, he found himself alone in front of the boss.

“Haha! Who would’ve thought? Not even I can get rid of your damn bad habit of being late. Ha! If I can’t correct you, I’ll never set foot in a kitchen again.” As the boss rolled up his sleeves, revealing his massive arms, Edith couldn’t help but ask aloud, almost unconsciously:

“Where did Merlin go?”

“The new guy? And now that’s what you’re worried about?” The boss cracked his knuckles, laughing menacingly at Edith. “Since you’re so interested, I’ll tell you as a parting wish: the head butler took him.”

‘The head butler?’ Edith thought, just before a hand the size of his face slammed into him.

While Edith received the beating of his life, Myrddin followed Charles, whom he hadn’t seen in a week, since he arranged his work and living quarters.

As soon as his shift was over, Myrddin sought out the boss, who was still unaware that he had arrived at the kitchen more than two hours late. The boss had informed him that Charles was waiting for him outside. When he found Charles, the butler gave him a brief nod and started walking without a word.

A week had passed since his arrival, and Myrddin was ready to ask a question. He had been thinking about it all week: he wanted to learn more about the owner of the place, Belial Von Llewellyn, and, above all, about magic.

Learning about Belial was easy; almost everyone in the mansion knew something about him. He was a famous and powerful man, from a family of influential mages in a nearby empire close to Carguria. From what Myrddin had heard, Belial had established this subplane as his personal residence. Curiously, many of the mansion’s inhabitants were originally from Lodran, either rescued or hired, but without direct connections to the magical world. Some had come into contact with magic, but most belonged to what mages called the normal world.

It seemed that Belial had distanced himself from the magical world. Although there were other mages in Lodran and other subplanes connected to the magical world, he remained apart, leaving only on rare occasions and hiring only people from the normal world.

Why? There were partially confirmed rumors. Myrddin had heard many versions, but they all told the same story with small differences.

It was said that Belial had failed in his ascension to archmage, which had caused him certain psychological issues. According to the rumors, his personality changed from week to week: one day he could be an ordinary middle-aged man, and the next, a cold-blooded killer. However, no one could confirm whether he had actually killed anyone, as those changes seemed to only affect his attitude, not his decisions.

Following behind Charles, who calmly walked ahead of him, Myrddin summarized his findings in his mind: “Noble blood from a family of mages, a great mage with psychological problems of uncertain magnitude.”

As for magic, Myrddin had learned far less. He had only heard of titles and ranks like acolytes, mages, great mages, and archmages, but the information was vague. He had also heard some myths and legends, but none of the workers or servants knew much about it, despite working for a great mage.

However, there was one thing clear to everyone: becoming a mage required talent. According to what he had heard, approximately one in every ten thousand people had it. Without talent, nothing could be achieved.

Did he have talent? That question didn’t concern him. Myrddin understood something that others didn’t: Belial himself had assured him, as if knowing that the doubt would eventually arise. “Magic makes the impossible possible.” He clearly remembered those words. It was as if they were directed at a future Myrddin, not the one at that moment.

“We’ve arrived. Remember to be respectful. Are you ready?” Charles interrupted his thoughts, staring at him intently.

Myrddin met his gaze and nodded.

It was time to resolve some of his doubts.