Es didn’t reply imdiately. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, and studied the pile before her. Her fingers drumd lightly on the surface, her expression inscrutable. Despite her calm deanor, the sheer number of devices stirred a faint flicker of surprise within her. Such an investnt. Such audacity. Did the old man truly believe she wouldn’t notice?
Her gaze flicked up to the servant, and her voice, though soft, cut through the silence like a blade. "Forty caras, twenty microphones. Quite the inventory. Did he honestly think I wouldn’t see them?"
The servant’s hands fidgeted nervously, but Es’s sharp smile put him at ease. "Good work," she said, her tone smooth yet firm. "Tell the others—one month’s bonus for everyone involved. Loyalty deserves reward."
As Es was in the midst of addressing her servants, the office door creaked open, breaking the quiet focus in the room. In stepped Ray, dressed in an unexpectedly whimsical outfit—pajamas adorned with small teddy bear prints. His disheveled appearance, paired with the unassuming clothing, was almost laughably at odds with the heavy tension that lingered in the air.
Ray’s gaze swept across the room, briefly locking onto Es before shifting to the servants who stood at attention. Without hesitation, the servants lowered their heads respectfully and greeted in unison, "Hello, Eldest Master." Their tone was calm and steady, an unshaken facade that betrayed no hint of surprise at seeing a man they had all believed to be dead.
Ray, in turn, nodded slightly in acknowledgnt, his expression unreadable. His movents were asured as if testing the waters, though his presence filled the room like a gale, undeniable and impossible to ignore. Without another word, the servants bowed once more, turned, and left the room, closing the door behind them.
The servants’ behavior was peculiar yet predictable. They had served Es for years, loyal to a fault, and had long since learned to keep their emotions in check. Nothing shocked them anymore—not even the sight of a supposed dead man walking into their master’s office. They had witnessed too much in Es’s service, and their allegiance was unwavering.
To them, even if a corpse clawed its way out of a grave and presented itself before them, it would hardly matter. If Es ordered it, they would clean the corpse, dress it, and serve it tea as though it were the most natural request in the world. Their loyalty was absolute, forged not only by Es’s power but by her unwavering care for them over the years.
And yet, as they left the room, heads still bowed, a silent understanding passed between them. They had suspected sothing was amiss long before this mont. If Ray had truly died as the world believed, Es’s reaction—or lack thereof—was uncharacteristic. They knew their master too well. Es, who wielded unimaginable power, would have never been so composed in the face of such loss.
The servants still rembered Cain, Death incarnate. The devastation Es unleashed during that infamous mont of lost control was seared into their mories. When Ray was initially presud dead, Es’s grief and fury had been palpable. It had taken Aaron and Helga’s combined strength to trap her in a secluded mountain villa, where they tried to contain her rage. But even they had struggled to manage the storm that was Es.
The villa itself had been obliterated, reduced to rubble in the wake of her wrath. The surrounding mountain bore the scars of her power—unnatural landslides and earthquakes ravaged the terrain, leaving a permanent reminder of what Es was capable of when pushed to the brink. The destruction had been so widespread that many believed it to be a natural disaster, unaware of the storm Es had unleashed.
And now, Ray stood here, very much alive, with scratches on his arms and, curiously, a noticeable bump on his stomach. His presence was undeniable proof that sothing had been hidden from the world. The servants had their suspicions before, but this confird everything. For Es to remain calm and composed for all these months without seeking vengeance was unthinkable.
Es’s power was not rely a weapon; it was a force of nature, an extension of her will. If Ray had truly perished, the world would have felt the ripples of her grief and rage. Entire nations might have crumbled under the weight of her devastation. And yet, she had stayed silent. Too silent.
The servants exchanged subtle glances as they exited the room. They knew better than to voice their thoughts, but the truth was clear to them now. Ray’s supposed death had been a lie, and Es had played along for reasons known only to her. What those reasons were, they could only speculate. But one thing was certain: their loyalty to Es would remain steadfast, no matter what storms lay ahead.
Inside the room, Es watched Ray carefully, her expression a mixture of calm and sothing unreadable. If she was unsettled by his sudden appearance or by the faint, inexplicable swell of his stomach, she did not show it. For Es, appearances were everything, and she would never let even the slightest crack show in her armor.
Ray, for his part, t her gaze with a quiet intensity.
Ray walked up to Es, his gaze firm and commanding, arms crossed over his chest. The intensity in his eyes was enough for Es to know exactly what he wanted. A small sigh escaped her lips, helpless yet resigned, as she moved to sit in her chair, subtly turning it to reveal her lap.
The mont Ray saw this, a sly smirk played across his face, his expression softening into sothing more satisfied. Without a second thought, he walked up to her and settled himself comfortably on her lap, a weight that felt strangely familiar. Es raised her hand in mock surrender, her fingers reaching toward the ceiling as if to say, I give up.
By the ti Ray had entered his 8th sester, nearing the 8th month, he had developed a particular aversion to hard surfaces.
Reviews
All reviews (0)