"My Lady, here is the esteemed guest."
Fridger's voice carried the weight of ceremony as he executed a perfect bow to Lady Sylvia, his armor plates shifting with practiced precision. The butler's weathered face bore the solemnity of one delivering precious cargo.
Clink-ting clank-tang
The metallic symphony echoed through the ornate chamber as Fridger retreated with swift efficiency, the heavy door sealing shut behind him with a resonant thud that seemed to trap the very air within the room.
Zane sat frozen in his recliner chair like a statue carved from living flesh. His azure eyes had grown impossibly wide, pupils dilated as they drank in the ethereal vision before him. Every muscle in his body had locked into place, as if movement itself might shatter whatever spell held this moment together. The steady drumming of his heart reverberated through his chest, each thunderous beat sending cascading waves of electricity down his spine, raising goosebumps along his arms despite the room's warmth.
"My name is Lady Sylvia. I have been sent by the council to act as your personal assistant during your stay in Eryndor."
Her voice flowed like liquid silk, each syllable precisely crafted and delivered with the poise of nobility. The words seemed to slice through the thick air with surgical elegance, carrying an authority that spoke of years of refined education and training.
"I offer my most sincere apologies for my unprovoked attack upon our first meeting. My actions were not only foolish but deeply inconsiderate of your station and dignity."
She paused deliberately, allowing the gravity of her words to settle into the space between them. Her crystalline features remained composed, though she watched expectantly for some acknowledgment, some sign that her carefully chosen words had found their mark. What she couldn't know was that her intended recipient had already departed this realm entirely, his consciousness floating somewhere in the vast expanses of his imagination.
Lady Sylvia's expression began to shift, the practiced serenity cracking like ice under pressure. Her luminous eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the peculiar scene before her. She had expected—no, demanded—some form of response. A nod of acknowledgment, a gracious acceptance of her apology, perhaps even a dismissive wave. Instead, she found herself addressing what appeared to be an elaborately dressed mannequin.
Where in the seven realms had he even acquired such an unusual chair? The recliner seemed completely foreign to their world, its design unlike anything in Eryndor's finest furniture workshops. Yet there he sat, perfectly comfortable, staring at her with an intensity that made her skin prickle while somehow remaining completely unresponsive to her presence.
"As your appointed assistant, I shall be helping you compile the necessary information about our realm and providing comprehensive instruction as you learn to speak Gentish fluently."
The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, threatening to snap at any moment. Lady Sylvia's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Had she been dealing with any other individual, had the council not explicitly instructed her to treat this mysterious stranger as her superior, she would have already demonstrated the full extent of her displeasure through more physical means. The very thought of her restricted position made her crystalline hands flex unconsciously.
The restraint required of her felt almost suffocating. Every instinct honed through years of combat training screamed at her to shake sense into this infuriating man, yet she remained bound by duty and direct orders. She was not permitted to take any action that might displease him, no matter how maddening his behavior became.
From their brief but memorable encounter at the merchant's guildhall, Lady Sylvia had quickly assessed Zane's capabilities—or rather, his apparent lack thereof. His physical prowess seemed no greater than that of an ordinary gentlet citizen. When she had moved to strike him during their first meeting, he hadn't even managed to react with sufficient speed to defend himself. His reflexes were sluggish, his stance amateur, his awareness limited.
Yet here she was, a high-ranking knight of considerable skill and reputation, assigned as his personal servant. The contradiction gnawed at her like a persistent itch she couldn't scratch.
Who even is he. He just appeared mysteriously in our city. The hunters who brought him claim they found him at the other side. Dad says he is from another realm, how did he arrive here? He looks very much like ancestors in dream bubbles. Wait! does dream bubbles lead to other realms? What's his name? I think dad said it was Mr Ling. What a strange name.
The mystery deepened with each passing moment of observation. Lady Sylvia had been granted an honor that few could claim—she was not merely any knight, but the council leader's own daughter. Her assignment to serve as this stranger's assistant represented either an extraordinary privilege or an elaborate punishment. Given the circumstances of their first meeting, she suspected the latter.
Her father had delivered the news with characteristic directness: her rash attack on Mr. Ling had earned her this position as both penance and opportunity. Yet Lady Sylvia harbored no resentment about her assignment. In truth, she felt a thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins.
Ever since childhood, ancestors had captured her imagination like nothing else in their world. Their mysterious nature, their strange behaviors, their apparent disconnection from reality—all of it fascinated her beyond measure. After graduating from the prestigious academy with top honors, Lady Sylvia had deliberately chosen the path of knighthood specifically to gain access to the dream bubbles where ancestors dwelled.
Her initial expeditions had proven disappointingly mundane. The ancestors in Category 1 dream bubbles were exactly as the texts described: gentlet-like beings trapped in endless loops of repetitive behavior. She would observe them for hours, watching one ancestor perpetually cook a meal that never reached completion, another endlessly sweeping floors that never became clean, yet another repeatedly reading the same page of a book without ever turning to the next.
Advancement to rank 4 knight had granted her clearance to enter Category 2 dream bubbles, and the experience had been nothing short of revelatory. The scenarios were more complex, more vivid, more engaging to witness—but the ancestors remained frustratingly unchanged. They still never acknowledged her presence, never deviated from their prescribed patterns, never showed the slightest awareness of the gentlets who came to observe them.
But now—now she had something unprecedented. An ancestor who had somehow escaped the confines of dream bubbles entirely, who could interact with gentlets, who possessed agency and awareness. This represented a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to study her subjects of fascination in ways she had never dared imagine possible.
This ancestor appears to be different from others. Also, ancestors never leave dream bubbles nor interact with gentlets. What exactly is this person?
The questions tumbled from her lips in barely audible whispers as she moved closer to the enigmatic figure. Talking to Mr. Ling felt remarkably similar to attempting conversation with ancient stone monuments—utterly futile. He appeared completely deaf to her words, lost in some internal world she couldn't begin to fathom.
Her experiences with ancestors had taught her not to expect responses. During her countless hours harvesting memories within dream bubbles, she had encountered hundreds of ancestors, and not one had ever acknowledged her presence with so much as a glance. But this situation defied all precedent—how had he managed to communicate with the council if he remained perpetually locked in this trance-like state?
During their encounter at the merchant's guildhall, he had exhibited this exact same behavior: staring with that unnervingly intense gaze while remaining completely unresponsive to external stimuli. She had interpreted his lack of reaction as dismissive arrogance and had acted on pure instinct, attacking what she perceived as disrespect. When his face had flushed bright red, she had assumed he was accessing some ancestral memory technique and had rendered him unconscious as a precautionary measure.
The attack had been a catastrophic error in judgment. She had since learned from the ancestral records that ancestors were indeed observed changing their facial coloration to various shades of red, though the phenomenon remained poorly understood. The council had confirmed through their own mysterious methods that Mr. Ling posed absolutely no threat to their city's security. Her father had explained that her assignment as his assistant served as both punishment for her rash actions and an opportunity for redemption.
Despite the circumstances that led to this arrangement, Lady Sylvia felt genuinely grateful for the position. Here before her sat a living, breathing subject for the research that had driven her ambitions for years. The potential knowledge she might gain from this unprecedented access made her pulse quicken with anticipation.
This ancestor appears fundamentally different from all others I've studied. His very presence here challenges everything we understand about the nature of ancestors and their relationship to our world. What secrets might he possess? What revelations await discovery?
The muttered words escaped her lips unconsciously as she extended her hand toward his motionless form. Perhaps physical contact might succeed where verbal communication had failed so completely.
She grasped his shoulder firmly and gave him a vigorous shake, applying just enough force to break through whatever spell held him captive.
Zane's consciousness snapped back to reality with jarring suddenness, only to find himself staring directly into Lady Sylvia's breathtakingly beautiful face, now mere inches from his own. Her luminous features filled his entire field of vision, every delicate detail rendered in crystal-clear perfection.
She's touching me, his thoughts screamed in panic and delight simultaneously.
His gaze locked onto the radiant, multicolored crystalline hand resting on his shoulder, and his nervous system immediately began its familiar cascade of overload. Blood rushed upward through his body like a geyser, pooling in his head before erupting from his nostrils in a spectacular crimson fountain that splattered across his grey hoodie. The familiar spring of vitality followed immediately, washing away the building pressure and leaving him refreshed but thoroughly embarrassed.
Recognizing the danger of prolonged eye contact, Zane desperately diverted his attention to the intricate ceiling designs above, studying each carved detail with forced concentration. The ornate patterns became his lifeline, his anchor to sanity in the presence of such overwhelming beauty. The trance had already claimed him once during this encounter—he absolutely could not allow it to happen again.
Lady Sylvia maintained her grip on his shoulder while staring in fascination at the blood splatter decorating his clothing. She had read in the ancestral texts that ancestors occasionally emitted a red liquid called blood when sustaining injuries, but she couldn't identify any visible wounds on this particular specimen. The mystery deepened.
"Could you please excuse yourself from the room?" Zane managed to articulate while keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. "I need to conduct some... private business. Alone."
His voice carried a strained quality, as if each word required tremendous effort to produce.
"What?"
Lady Sylvia's crystalline features twisted into an expression of complete bewilderment as she studied this increasingly puzzling individual.
"You were the one who specifically requested me as your personal assistant. The council made that abundantly clear. Now you're telling me to leave before we've even established the basic parameters of our working relationship? I'm not departing this room until we reach a mutual understanding about our collaborative arrangement."
Her voice carried the steel of absolute determination, her posture straightening to display her full authority. This ancestor would not dismiss her so easily, not when she had been granted such an unprecedented opportunity for study and discovery. He had demanded her services—now he would have to deal with the consequences of that request.
So incredibly sweet, Zane thought involuntarily, his mental discipline crumbling like sand before the tide.
Despite every conscious effort to maintain his focus on the ceiling, his gaze began drifting downward with the inexorable pull of gravity. His eyes found her face once again, and his mind immediately began its familiar journey into complete oblivion.
That impossibly beautiful face. I want nothing more than to reach out and touch it, to see if it feels as perfect as it appears.
The tranced version of Zane began lifting his hand with dream-like slowness, reaching toward her face to fulfill the fantasy he had replayed in his imagination countless times since their first meeting.
Lady Sylvia, still maintaining her grip on his shoulder, watched his approaching hand with the calm alertness of a trained warrior. Before his fingers could make contact with her skin, she executed a lightning-fast defensive maneuver. Her free hand shot out to capture his wrist while she simultaneously pulled him upward to a standing position, spinning him around to face the opposite direction with fluid precision. She then applied pressure to guide him downward, pressing his head against the recliner's cushioned surface while maintaining control of his arm behind his back.
The entire sequence lasted less than three seconds and demonstrated the vast gulf between their respective combat abilities.
The moment her actions registered in her conscious mind, horror flooded through her system like ice water. She had attacked him again—the very behavior the council had explicitly forbidden. Her grip released immediately as she stumbled backward, hands raised in a gesture of surrender and apology.
"I'm terribly sorry! Please, I beg you not to report this incident to the council!"
The words tumbled from her lips in a panic-stricken rush before she turned and fled from the room with the speed of wind itself, leaving Zane sprawled head-first against his recliner chair.
He was smiling.