After the harsh scrubbing, Ian stood there, teeth chattering, arms wrapped around himself. Water still dripped from his soaked hair down his back, pooling at his feet.
The door opened again...Two won stepped inside. Maids, dressed in soft, flowing gowns, their eyes downcast. But they weren’t alone. Two guards flanked them, arms crossed, watching Ian like a hawk.
The maids didn’t speak. They simply stepped forward and began to dry him with thick cloths, careful but quick, avoiding eye contact. Ian flinched at their touch at first but didn’t resist. He was too cold, too tired, and honestly, too confused.
Once dried, they brought fresh clothes, a clean shirt, plain but made from fine material, and dark trousers that actually fit. After they dressed him, one of the maids took a small jar and dabbed a warm, fragrant ointnt on his wrists, neck, and jawline. He slt like pine and spice.
He couldn’t lie, it felt good. But it only made the confusion worse.
They didn’t say where they were taking him. But when they opened the door and the guards nudged him forward, he followed.
He was led through quiet stone corridors lit with low-burning torches. Eventually, they arrived at a tall set of ornate doors, guarded on both ends. Without ceremony, the doors opened, and he was brought before her.
The Queen sat on her throne. She wore black and gold this ti, a sharp crown nestled between her dark braids. Her eyes followed him as he stepped forward.
Every one bowed, Ian just stood there. The Queen raised one hand.
"Leave us."
Everyone filtered out. Even the guards. The doors shut behind them with a deep thud.
Now it was just the two of them.
Ian stood straight. Shoulders square. But inside? He was a whirlwind. He tilted his head and smirked. "So you had washed... just because you want to talk to ?"
The Queen’s brow lifted. "Yes," she said, coolly. "Because I couldn’t stand the stench of filth pouring off your body."
Ian chuckled, annoying smirk on his lips half pride, half nerves. He shrugged like he mattered. That only made her eyes narrow.
"Kneel."
Ian didn’t move at first.
Then he gave in. Slowly. Not out of fear, but maybe... out of respect. He dropped to one knee, head low.
"Your Majesty."
She stared at him for a long while, then circled once, her footsteps light and graceful. "Where are you from, she asked.
He raised his head. "You wouldn’t understand."
"Try ."
"I’m not from around here," he said. "Where I’m from, red hair doesn’t an death. It makes us rare. Respected. We’re not hunted like beasts."
Silence stretched between them.
The Queen exhaled slowly. "You believe that."
"I know it," Ian replied. "We’re not cursed where I co from."
She studied him, her gaze unreadable.
"You give off an aura," she said quietly. "A strange one. Not cursed. Not lucky. Just... otherworldly."
She stepped closer.
"It would be wrong to have you executed before understanding what you are... and where you ca from."
Ian sat there on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor as the Queen paced before him. His mind ran in circles, haunted by the quiet certainty that his end could co at any mont, maybe with a blade, maybe with another wrench of that invisible force she seed to control.
He looked up when she spoke again, her voice more curious now than cold.
"What’s your na?"
"Ian," he said softly. "Ian Grey."
She repeated it slowly, as though tasting it. "Ian Grey..."
He stayed silent.
The Queen walked to a table near the side of the room. With a nod, a side door opened briefly and a servant rushed in with a worn leather pack and sothing wrapped in cloth.
Ian’s heart jumped slightly. His backpack and his rifle.
The Queen motioned toward them. "Unpack it. Show everything."
Two guards stepped forward and placed the items before him, then stepped back again. Ian looked at the Queen. She gave a sharp nod.
So he did.
He opened the top flap, hands shaking just slightly. One by one, he laid the contents out on the stone floor in front of her.
First, the protein bars. "What are these?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
"Food," Ian said. "They’re compact als, dense with nutrients. You eat them when you can’t cook or hunt." She picked one up, sniffed it, then placed it down again.
Next, he pulled out his mobile phone. The screen was dark, no service, no signal. "This?" she asked.
"It’s... it’s a device. For communication. We use it to talk to people far away, store information, read things, take pictures, even...."
She raised a hand to stop him. "Too fast. I understand little... but continue." He set it down beside the protein bars.
"This is a power bank," he said, pulling the slim rectangular object from his bag. "It charges the phone. Holds power when there’s no source nearby."
"Power," she repeated, uncertain. "Magic?"
"No. Technology," he said. "I’ll explain that later, if you let ."
She didn’t reply, only watched.
Next, he pulled out a small solar panel, folded like a book, light and flexible. "This... collects sunlight. Charges the power bank and the phone, or any other rechargeable device."
She stared at it, then glanced at the high windows of the chamber.
Ian moved on.
"This is bug spray," he said. "Keeps insects off. You spray it on your skin."
The Queen raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
He pulled out the first aid kit next, small, red, and zippered. He opened it, showing her bandages, antiseptic wipes, painkillers, a roll of gauze, and small scissors.
"This... this is for healing wounds."
"No magic?"
"No. Just science. dicine."
Her face twitched at the word.
Next ca his extra shirt, neatly folded. Nothing special. Just fabric.
Then he reached down and showed her the rounds of ammunition, brass and copper, glinting under the torchlight. She leaned in closer to those.
"These?" she asked.
"They go into that weapon," Ian said, gesturing to the rifle. "They’re what make it deadly." She studied them for a long mont but didn’t touch.
Finally, he pulled out his water bottle, still half full. He opened the cap, drank a bit to show it wasn’t poison, then held it toward her.
She waved him off. Ian looked up at her. "That’s everything."
The Queen remained quiet for a while.
He couldn’t read her face, not quite anger, not quite awe. Maybe both.
"You speak strangely," she said at last. "Of tools and power and... things I do not fully grasp. Yet you lie with ease in your eyes."
"I’m not lying," Ian said firmly. "Everything I’ve said is the truth."
She studied him again. Long and deep.
"I believe you," she murmured. "I don’t know why... but I do."
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