Nox decided to follow the tall host.
They walked down a corridor whose condition was hard to ignore - the building seemed neglected. The spacious, dimly lit hallway had no carpet, so the dull sound of their footsteps echoed off the walls.
Looking around, Nox noticed several paintings hanging on the walls. All of them looked as though they had been painted by a child. He thought the host must have exceptionally poor taste to display such things. The absurdity of it lifted his spirits a bit. He imagined the large, intimidating man carefully checking whether a hideous painting was hanging perfectly straight in the elegant corridor.
He recalled his family home - much smaller in size, with modest rooms and creaky wooden floors, yet filled with warmth, laughter, and the comforting presence of his loved ones. The memories of shared meals, quiet evenings by the hearth, and familiar faces brought a pang of longing. He began to wonder just how expansive this place really was, and how many people moved through its halls - if any at all - in this lonely, shadowed mansion.
He looked at the tall stranger's figure, taking in every detail. The man's broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his loose shirt, revealing powerful muscles that flexed and shifted slightly with each step and Nox could tell he experienced years of hard training and fought countless battles.
Nox's eyes traced the worn leather sword sheath hanging low at the man's side - well-used but meticulously cared for, hinting at both skill and discipline.
Nox had seen the stranger ride earlier, the ease with which he handled the horse marking him as no ordinary rider. 'Who this man really is?' Nox wondered, curiosity mingling with a flicker of unease.
They were approaching the eastern wing. They had already passed at least a dozen pairs of doors. The stranger walked in front, and Nox, though the pace wasn't fast, struggled to keep up.
He was still weak, breathing heavily, feeling as if he had spent the past two months bedridden. As if sensing this, the stranger slowed his pace slightly. For a moment, Nox thought the man might care about his condition - but he quickly dismissed the thought. When they stopped in front of the last door, the stranger turned around to face him and said harshly, in an irritated tone:
"Enter."
Only then did Nox see the face of his rescuer in full detail. The man's sharply defined jawline gave him a stern, almost chiseled appearance, as if carved by years of hardship and battle. A rough three-day stubble covered his face unevenly, adding to his rugged, formidable presence. His eyes were a deep, intense black, seeming to hold a depth of experience and an unreadable emotion beneath their dark gaze. Above his right eyebrow stretched a jagged scar-several centimeters in length-that traced a pale line, a permanent reminder of some past conflict. His shoulder-length hair, slightly tousled and falling just like Nox's own, framed his face in a way that softened the severity just enough to suggest a hint of kinship or shared history. His shirt was cut in a similar style to Nox's but black and fitted tightly to his powerful frame.
Nox let his gaze drop, taking in the texture of the man's trousers and the heavy leather boots. He quickly looked away, but the host had noticed.
"Do you like what you see?" he asked mockingly.
"No... I... that's not..." Nox stammered, his voice catching in his throat. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he quickly averted his gaze, mortified to have been caught staring.
A jolt of panic stirred in his chest - had he offended the man? The sharpness in the stranger's tone made his stomach twist. Nox's mind scrambled for an explanation, but no words came. His pulse quickened, and for a brief moment, he wasn't sure if the man was toying with him or warning him.
Nox instinctively shielded his right hand, attempting to conceal the mark etched into his skin. His gloves were still lying on the table back in the bedroom. He had a feeling the stranger had already seen them, but that didn't make him any more comfortable with exposing it to others.
He hurried into the room.
Inside the small, dark living room, there was a single armchair positioned slightly askew in front of the fireplace and a small table. A bearskin rug covered the floor. The room wasn't much bigger than his own bedroom. Nox wasn't sure whether he should sit or wait for the host to say something.
As the stranger walked slowly towards the fireplace, Nox decided to sit down. After a moment, a small elderly woman appeared in the doorway carrying on a tray what looked like a plate filled with steaming food. It wasn't a sophisticated dish, but it looked tasty - a slice of meat with sauce, potatoes, and a glass of water from the same set as the one in his room. The tall lady moved a small table closer to him and made it clear that he should eat the prepared meal.
He lingered over his plate, absently tracing patterns with his fork, as if hoping the motion might quiet the restlessness stirring inside him.
The host stood by the fireplace for a long moment, staring deep into the flickering flames as if trying to summon his scattered thoughts. The crackle of burning wood filled the silence between them, a comforting yet somber sound that seemed to hang in the air like a thick fog. His broad shoulders tensed slightly, and his jaw tightened as his mind wrestled with some unseen weight.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally turned back to Nox. His eyes narrowed, and a deep furrow formed between his dark eyebrows, giving him an expression that was equal parts impatient and expectant. The firelight flickered across his scarred face, casting sharp contrasts that only added to the intensity of his gaze.
"Don't you have something to say to me?" he asked, his voice low but edged with a sharpness that left no room for evasion.
Nox raised his eyebrows. Panic flickered through his thoughts. His mind raced, unprepared, caught off guard by the sudden question. 'What?! Do I have something to say to him? What am I supposed to say? Does he expect gratitude?' He cleared his throat slightly.
His palms were damp, and a strange pressure settled in his chest - a mix of unease, resentment, and the awkward weight of obligation.
"Yes. Thank you for saving me," Nox blushed and said it much louder than he wanted. The words felt foreign on his tongue, like something he was expected to say, not something he truly understood.
He couldn't read the stranger's expression. After a moment of awkwardness, Nox added: "What's your name?"
"Torven", the man replied.
"I haven't yet decided what to do with you" he said firmly. "When you're finished, you'll return politely to your room. We'll talk again next time. I'll ask you the same question. I hope you'll have thought more carefully about your answer by then."
"Velkan" Torven said loudly.
At that command, the door opened and a huge man entered the room. He gave Nox a long look but said nothing.
"Velkan will be your guard. If you need anything, go to him. But don't try to run, you don't stand a chance against him." he smirked.
'A guard? He really thinks I'd run?' Nox thought with a mix of hurt and disbelief tightening in his chest.
But in the end, Nox simply nodded. He figured there was nothing more to be gained today. Finally, he mustered the courage to ask:
"Did you send my letter to my family?"
Torven's lips curved into a wide smile.
"Of course. They think you're dead."