The morning sun streamed through the wide windows of Elizabeth's private room, painting the marble floor with soft golden hues. The scent of jasmine tea hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of parchment wafting from the stack of documents on a low table. The Countess reclined in her usual seat, dressed in a black silk robe that revealed the almost ethereal whiteness of her skin.
Damon entered silently, as always, closing the door behind him. There was something different about him in the last few days. Not in his posture—which remained impeccable—but in his gaze. The absence of muteness seemed to make him more whole. More… present.
Elizabeth portrayed her face to him, and breathed in for a few seconds, as if examining a newly restored work of art.
"So," she began, her voice drawling, carrying a faint note of satisfaction—it seems the medicine was funded after all.
Damon moved until he was two steps away from her. "Yes, my lady."
She rested her chin on her hand, her eyes fixed on him. "Apparently, the necessary energy medicine to complete the healing."
He rested silently, leaving her to her duties.
"Your voice returned soon after absorbing Aria's essence," she said with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "It's no coincidence. It was that vital impulse that restored your vocal cords."
Damon took a deep breath, absorbing this revelation. Deep down, it made sense. It wasn't just the effect of the liquid, but the combination of it with something more… primordial.
He bowed deeply, his hand on his chest. "My lady's hold has given me back more than my voice. I owe you not only my presence, but my reason for serving."
Elizabeth inclined her head slightly, watching him with interest. "Fine words."
"They're not just words," he replied, rising. "I promise to be loyal to you, my lady. Absolutely loyal."
She invited him then, more sincerely this time, like someone enjoying a rare wine. "It's good to have someone trustworthy. Especially… someone like you."
Damon simply nodded. There was no need for further promises.
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, her robe sliding gently over her shoulders. Her gaze, however, took on a hint of cunning.
"So tell me, Damon…" she said, as if starting a new game, "what exactly do you want by trying to attract Ester's attention?"
The question dropped like a stone in the water. Damon was silent for a few seconds, his body still, but his mind racing.
He didn't have a simple answer. Ever since the system imposed that mission, he'd been more confident in his objective than in his inner guidance. He liked beautiful women, that was a fact, but it wasn't just that. Ester was an imposed target, and his curiosity grew as the doors remained closed.
"I…" he began, his tone thoughtful, "I haven't thought much about it in… sentimental terms."
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, leaning progressively forward. "Oh?"
"I just saw her as a target," he continued, his voice firm. "And I've decided I desire her. Maybe because she's a challenge, maybe because there's something in her I don't see in others."
Elizabeth let out a low laugh, almost a whisper.
"'Desire' can be a very dangerous word, Damon. Especially when it involves someone like Ester."
He didn't look back. "Dangerous… but necessary."
The Countess leaned her elbows on the arms of the chair and intertwined her fingers, examining him carefully. "I see… you're not driven by foolish affection, but by instinct. That's good."
Damon frowned slightly. "Good?"
"Yes," she replied, a calculating glint in her eyes now. "The purer the life essence you absorb, the stronger you become. And Esther…" she paused, letting the name hang in the air like a spell, "Esther carries something extremely pure. Not in the innocent sense, of course. But in the strength of her essence."
He watched her carefully. "And I believe your wish is for me to devour you,"
Elizabeth conveyed. "I want you to grow stronger. Your strength is my strength, Damon. The more powerful you become, the more useful you will be to me."
The silence that followed was heavy, but not hostile. It was the kind of silence in which each measured the other's words and interest.
"Then," Damon said after a few seconds, "if it is strength my lady desires, strength you shall have."
"I hope so," she replied gently, lifting her teacup and taking a sip. "But remember, it's not just brute strength that interests me. You're beginning to understand… aren't you?"
Damon nodded. "Yes. The strength you want is complete. Not just physical, but also presence, influence, control."
Elizabeth's smile widened slightly. "Now you're learning to think like me."
"That's what you think. Esther is the target now, but I know that in the future you will be the target of the System," Damon thought as he watched her smile. "After all, in the end, everything is a power play."
He straightened, feeling like he'd passed an invisible test.
Elizabeth set down her cup, her gaze still fixed on him. "Keep training. Keep improving. And when you think you're ready… show me."
"Yes, my lady."
She leaned back, returning to leafing through the book in her lap as if the conversation had just taken place.
[Next day…]
The North Wing courtyard was cool that morning. Dew still glistened on the sparse grass, and the air carried that damp scent that precedes full sun. It was a little over five and a half, and, as in the previous days, Damon was there.
The same rusty spear in his hands.
The same training dummy in front of him, stuffed with straw and torn fabric.
The same firm, rhythmic rhythm of thrusts, cutting the air with these dry thrusts.
But there was something different.
He didn't look away.
He didn't discreetly observe Ester's approach.
He didn't divert his training to gauge responses.
It was as if she didn't exist.
Damon's focus was absolute. His eyes fixed on the target, his body aligned, his muscles moving with controlled precision. Every step, every retreat, every thrust… nothing was done for show, nothing was choreographed. It was pure practice. Brutal concentration.
Ester, approaching with a laundry basket perched on her hip, slowed as she realized this. By habit, she was ready to be ignored by the world—or ignored back. But it wasn't.
There was something comfortable... solid... about his presence.
A man who, until then, had tried to draw every spark of attention from her, now trained as if she were just a shadow in the corner of his vision.
And that… stirred something deep inside.
"You're taking your time," said a soft voice beside her.
Ester turned slightly and saw Aria emerging from the side entrance, holding another, smaller basket of folded towels. The young woman had a soft smile on her face, but her eyes were watchful.
"What is it?" Aria asked, leaning forward slightly to peer at what Ester was staring at.
Ester's gaze returned to Damon, who continued to completely ignore them, pacing back and forth like a living extension of his body.
"Why isn't he working?" Ester asked, keeping her tone cool, as if it were merely logistical curiosity.
Aria blinked, surprised by the question.
"He's already done everything he's supposed to," she replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Now he's on his own time."
Ester slowly turned her head to face Aria.
"Everything?" she repeated, her voice carrying a veiled incredulity.
Aria nodded, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes. I cleaned the bathrooms assigned to him, took the towels and clothes to the clotheslines, and also delivered the laundry ahead of schedule."
Ester remained silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the man who continued his workout, regardless of any words exchanged. The spear sliced through the air with a sharp sound, and each impact against the puppet was precise, almost military.
"Has he always been like this?" the question slipped out before Ester realized.
A brilliant aria of singing. "Like what?"
Ester hesitated. She didn't want to assume there was something she couldn't quite put her finger on. "Focused."
Aria shrugged. "He's always been efficient, but… these days, he seems more… determined. Like he has something bigger in mind."
Damon's next blow hit the puppet with such force that it rocked on its stand. Ester noticed his control—it wasn't unbridled strength, it was restrained strength. Every movement had a calculated weight.
"And you know why?" she said.
Aria glanced at her sideways, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
"Maybe I do. But…" she gave a slight smile, "it's not something I should tell you."
Ester frowned, but didn't press the issue. If there was one thing she'd learned in life, it was that certain answers came through observation, not direct questioning.
In the center of the courtyard, Damon twirled his spear, shifted his stance, and resumed his cycle of attacks, as if it were just him and his target. Sweat was beginning to glisten on his skin, but his pace didn't slow. It was a two-hour practice session—Ester knew this because she saw him there every day, punctual as a bell. But this morning… there was something new.
He no longer asked her to know he was there.
He didn't need to be seen.
And that—somehow—made him impossible to ignore.
"Are you coming?" Aria said, straightening the basket of towels. "We still have to stop by the east wing before breakfast."
Ester nodded briefly and resumed her pace, but as she turned the corner, she cast one last glance back.
[Progress: 20%]