The woman leaned on a couch inlaid with dark gold patterns.
A long gown of inky black silk, flowing like the night, accentuated her snow-white skin. The hem of her skirt cascaded down, shimmering with a deep luster in the candlelight.
The collar and cuffs of the long gown were embroidered with intricate geometric totems, woven with gold threads as fine as hair, subtly forming the imagery of snakes and stars.
An ancient-looking golden snake-shaped forehead ornament, inlaid with deep emeralds, coiled around her smooth, full forehead.
Two points of eerie green light in the snake's eyes seemed to possess life.
The craftsmanship was exquisite, even by today's standards.
The woman in the black silk gown sat relaxed and elegant. One hand gently encircled Serie in her embrace, while the other rested casually on an open, ancient deerskin scroll, on which she seemed to be sketching either a star map or a territory.
Several extravagant rings adorned her slender fingers.
Her nails were neatly trimmed and rounded, glowing with a healthy, pale pink luster.
The light was too dim for Serie to clearly see her full features; she could only sense a calm, majestic, yet slightly distant outline.
Several strands of thick, seaweed-like black hair fell lazily by her cheek.
The room was exceptionally spacious, with a towering dome ceiling lost in the dimness, and huge stone pillars carved with strange mythical beasts stood all around.
Evening breezes gently wafted in from distant high windows, carrying the faint scent of night blossoms from the courtyard, stirring the layers of translucent drapes that hung down, and also fanning the warm yellow flames dancing on the bronze candlesticks on a low table beside the couch.
The candles burned with a soft crackle, shedding glistening wax tears, and the light and shadow gently flickered on the woman's serene profile.
An indescribable sense of peace enveloped Serie's consciousness.
It felt as if she had drifted for a long time and finally returned to the warmest harbor.
Her nerves, long taut due to the Control Bureau, various enemies, and Troubles (troublesome matters), relaxed and were soothed.
The woman's embrace was so real, its warmth, infused with an exotic fragrance, dispelled all fatigue and cold.
So warm...
So peaceful...
Where is this...?
Who... is she?
Serie did not struggle, nor did she wake up.
She simply sank deeper into this warm dream.
It was not until the woman put down the deerskin scroll that her fingers, with their cool obsidian ring face and warm skin, gently caressed Serie's cheek.
The touch was as soft as a lover's caress.
She lowered her head slightly, leaning close to Serie's ear, her breath carrying that warm, exotic fragrance, and her voice was low and lingering:
"My dear Goluthos..." Her fingertips, with a hint of reluctance, gently stroked Serie's skin, "...It's time to wake up. You... have more important things to do..."
More important things...?
Just let me sleep a little longer here...
Serie unconsciously snuggled deeper into the warm embrace, showing no sign of waking up.
She only wanted to sink deeper into this tranquil harbor, composed of candlelight, exotic fragrance, and tenderness.
"Goluthos..."
"Goluthos?"
Serie's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly; the voice seemed somewhat familiar...
The woman's figure in the dream seemed to sway slightly, and the candlelight flickered more intensely.
"Goluthos!"
Wait... Is that Chloe's voice?!
The warm veil of the dream was instantly torn apart!
Serie abruptly opened her eyes!
Before her was no longer the drapes under a dim dome, but a rough concrete ceiling.
The scent lingering at her nose was no longer an ancient exotic fragrance, but the damp, dusty smell peculiar to air-raid shelters.
The sensation on her body was no longer cloud-like softness, but the hardness of the iron bunk bed beneath her.
Only on her cheek did the cool obsidian and warm skin sensation still seem to linger...
Before her, the comforting figure and flickering candlelight completely vanished, like thin mist dispersed by the wind.
Gradually overlapping with it was Chloe's handsome yet slightly awkward face.
She was leaning over, standing by the bed, very close.
Serie blinked. Beneath her slightly damp eyelashes, her eyes still held the confusion and lingering warmth from the depths of the dream, like a young beast forcibly pulled from its warm nest, looking at the world before it with a bewildered gaze.
"Goluthos, I am very sorry to disturb your rest," Chloe's voice was apologetic, and her speech was a little faster than usual, "But the situation is urgent. Someone has called a core meeting, and as the Black King... you must attend."
Serie gently shook her head, indicating that she didn't mind.
She sat up from the hard bed, the lingering warmth quickly suppressed by reason.
Business first.
However... the fleeting glimpse of that figure in her mind lingered.
It shouldn't be an ordinary dream...
An ordinary dream couldn't be so real; it might be fragmented memories of Goluthos being awakened.
That should be the Queen who stood side by side with Goluthos, so gentle and beautiful; her embrace was so comforting...
But why... did Goluthos ultimately devour her?
What exactly happened?
Was Goluthos... willing?
What was the Queen thinking when she faced death?
Serie couldn't find the answers. Perhaps... Chloe, who had a deep understanding of that lost era, might be able to help her answer them one by one.
Serie silently followed Chloe, walking along the cold concrete corridor.
They finally stopped before a larger metal door.
The moment Chloe pushed open the door, a room much larger than Serie's, equally rough and practical, came into view.
In the center of the room was a large rectangular table made of several thick steel plates, with welding marks still visible at the edges. The tabletop was covered with fine scratches, clearly having been used for a long time, appearing exceptionally rugged and possessing a wild Latin American flair.
A dozen or so metal folding chairs of various styles were scattered around the table.
Several higher-powered emergency lights hung overhead, casting a cold white light.
They clearly projected everyone's shadows onto the rough concrete walls.
At this moment, about ten people were already seated around the table.
Among them were some she recognized—
Frost sat alone in the shadows of a corner far from the main seat, the atmospheric pressure around him so low it seemed capable of condensing water droplets.
His pale face was taut, his thin lips pressed into a cold, hard line. The moment Serie entered, he merely lifted his eyelids to cast a glance, his eyes as sinister as if tempered in ice, then lowered them again, as if looking any longer would be defiling.
However, his hands beneath the table were clenched, his knuckles white.
Victoria was arranged to sit on a raised chair next to Tarak, her two small legs dangling in the air.
She seemed completely oblivious to the solemn atmosphere of the meeting room, idly playing with her fingers, until she saw Chloe and Serie enter, at which point her small mouth immediately pouted high, and she glared fiercely at Serie.
Being the Black King is not easy...
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