The scent of ho is a peculiar thing. It’s special.
No matter how long you venture far from it, no matter how distant the lands you wander through or how many unfamiliar skies you sleep beneath, that scent of your ho never leaves you.
You could never truly forget it.
Sure, there are tis when you may not rember it.
But it still lingers sowhere deep in the mind, quiet and patient, just waiting for the mont you cross the invisible line that says you have returned.
And when that mont cos, when you finally return ho, you imdiately recognize it as if you’d actually never left at all.
Now, this scent varies from person to person.
For so, it is the hint of rain-soaked soil in their garden. For others, it is the aroma of spices from their kitchen. For many, it is the very fragrance of their house.
...For , however, the scent of ho was sothing far stranger.
It was the tang of cold mountain air drifting into my room through the windows. It was the tallic rust of old weapons. It was a blend of subtle traces of vanilla, expensive oils and lotions, and old parchnt and silver.
But most of all... it was the sll of power.
I opened my eyes in the company of a slight headache pounding away at the back of my skull.
A bottle-glass blur obscured my view. I blinked a couple of tis to clear the bleary vision, and when it didn’t help, I rubbed my eyes.
The haze slowly peeled away and all the details slowly settled into place.
I was lying on my back on a bed that was more than big enough to host ten more people, resting on a mattress so soft it may as well have been made from clouds.
A thin comforter was draped over , just as soft and smooth as multiple sheets of pure silk layered together. I tried moving it aside, but felt no response in my right hand.
Because there still was no right hand.
Okay, so that problem hadn’t yet been solved, it seed.
The ceiling above arched high and proud, carved with familiar constellations inlaid with thin threads of gold.
I knew every star in that pattern. I had morized them as a child while lying awake at night, staring up at them through half-sleepy eyes.
For a long mont, I simply stared.
Then, slowly, I pushed myself upright while ignoring the dull throb behind my temples.
The room spun before stabilizing, everything snapping into sharp focus as my senses adjusted.
Tall windows lined the eastern wall. Their thick curtains were half-drawn to allow thin ribbons of dawnlight to spill into the grand chamber.
The light caught on rows of weapon racks arranged neatly along the adjacent wall. Blades of every shape and size — spears, halberds, sabers — rested there.
I stood up from the edge of the bed and had to struggle to see the other end of the room, it was so far away.
Plush sofas and ornate furnishings, large mirrors and more than a dozen of my own portraits decorated the entire space.
Each lavish piece was arranged in such a manner that it never needed to justify its master’s inherent arrogance or his preferred extravagance.
Yes.
This was my room.
I got it the day after I Awakened and was allowed to enter the Spirit Realm to visit my father’s stronghold, the Golden Sanctuary.
This was, in many ways, more of a ho to than our estate back in Luxara.
And so, I hated it all the more as well.
•••
After taking in the ridiculously lavish sight, I decided to call for a servant. Because apparently, I was buck naked, without a single piece of clothing on my gorgeous body.
...Aside from a few bandages, of course.
Though before I could do anything about it myself, the heavy doors suddenly parted open and in walked a few maids dressed in black and gold.
In an era of technology where we could’ve easily deployed robots for nial tasks like cleaning and assisting, I really didn’t know why we still employed attendants.
What I did know, however, was that as soon as those maids noticed in my utterly naked glory, they gasped and imdiately fell to their knees.
"My lord! Forgive us!"
"We thought you were still asleep!"
"Forgive us, young master..."
The three of them practically groveled.
If you’re confused why they were overreacting, it was because they forgot to knock before entering a young noble’s chamber.
It was understandable, really, because their hands were full of trays of food and baskets of clothes. So they couldn’t have knocked anyway.
But for a mistake like that in the past, I would’ve flogged them all myself.
Obviously, I wouldn’t do sothing like that right now. Because, as I had said before, over the course of my journey, I had grown to be so mature. I was an empath now!
So I didn’t punish them.
...Instead, I scread.
"How dare you, you filthy wenches!"
The maids quailed and started trembling.
One even dropped a tray, and the clatter echoed across the chamber like a funeral bell.
I paused for dramatic effect, letting the horror of my ’anger’ settle over them. They were already quivering. I didn’t need to do much more.
"Do you know who you’re in the presence of?" I bellowed, pointing a single finger at the nearest maid. The theatrical snap of my arm made my neck-long golden hair sway.
The girl squeaked, "Y-Yes, my lord! You... you are the—"
"The very apex of perfection?" I suggested, nodding gravely at my own rhetorical flourish. "Soone who stands at the zenith of charisma? Soone whose re looks are enough to kill? The peak of true masculinity?"
"Y-Yes! All of that... and more!" she stamred, nearly toppling backward.
"Good. Then you understand why this offense cannot go unnoticed." I leaned toward them, folding my arm over my bare chest with a smug smile. "You dared barge into my room while I was unclothed. Therefore, I demand compensation for you feasting your eyes upon ."
The maids glanced at each other, wide-eyed and pale, unsure whether this ant monetary compensation or... sothing far worse.
I sighed, shaking my head.
It was always exhausting explaining the subtleties of aristocratic wrath to the uneducated.
Fiction and baseless rumors had muddied the na of us nobles. Most of us were promiscuous, sure, but we wouldn’t sleep with just anyone!
Especially not with lowly servants.
I shook my head. "Fine, fine, calm yourselves. I am not unreasonable. I will forgive your mortal frailty... this ti."
They bowed so low it was a wonder any of them could still breathe. "We... we are grateful, my lord!"
"Excellent," I said, straightening up. "Now, clear this ss, fetch breakfast, and dress ."
Heh.
Okay, so I ssed with them a little, so what?!
Are mature and empathic people not allowed a bit of fun with their maids after surviving a traumatic voyage?!
•••
Before long, I was dressed in an attire that was far too modest for my taste, but I made it work.
I wore black trousers and a matching fitted shirt threaded with silver embroidery, accented by golden jewelry like rings and cuffs and chains. Attached to the collar was a small insignia of the Theosbanes — the visage of a roaring lion.
I didn’t bother with breakfast. The maids inford that I’d been unconscious for the past three days.
Then they stubbornly refused to tell anything about my companions. They said my father had personally ordered them to keep silent.
Now that troubled .
So, I decided to pay him a direct visit.
I set off through the Great Keep of the Golden Fortress.
Just to be clear, I call it a fortress because that’s what it was called. In reality, it was the size of a small city, with thousands of knights clad in golden armor stationed along the walls, towers, and several other outposts.
Giant slabs of polished gold caught my eye as I walked.
Those were sculpted statues of my ancestors — previous heads and notable mbers of the great Ducal House of Theosbane.
Those were n and won who had not only made a na for themselves in the pages of history but had also helped write them.
Unlike the Night Sanctuary and Noctveil Wilds, there was, thankfully, a sun in the sky here in my father’s domain. It rose from the south and sat sowhere in the west.
Currently it was afternoon as I passed the grand statue of my late grandfather — depicted holding a defiant sword against the heavens — and climbed the sweeping white marble stairs.
I continued through the main gate, pausing to acknowledge a Da of the Order of Zelda, one of the knights who had held when I was washed ashore three days ago.
"My father?" I asked, the question ringing clear and demanding.
"In the throne room, young master!" she replied, not at all breaking her perfect stance of attention.
I moved past her, hurriedly darting across a footpath that cut through a majestic garden, until I finally reached the weighty doors of the throne room.
They were nearly fifty tis my height. And while they each must have weighed several tons, balanced by hidden counterweights, they moved so easily even a child could open them.
I was about to do just that — open them — when suddenly, one of the knights standing on guard placed a firm grip on my forearm.
I stopped, more astounded by his audacity to touch so rudely than I was angry at him for doing so. "Do you... wish to lose your head, knight?"
"Apologies, young master," he said, releasing pointedly. "His Grace said no one is to enter the throne room right now."
I was about to slap him right then and there, but the other knight must have noticed the look on my face. He quickly stepped forward and gently placed a hand on my shoulder, though his gaze didn’t waver.
"I’m afraid you must wait, Lord Samael," he said, his voice low in an attempt at diplomacy. "The audience is private, and His Grace is... occupied."
He was trying to soothe my infamous temper, I could tell, but whatever words he spewed only served to flare it further.
"Stand aside, soldiers. Take your hand off or I’ll tear it off," I drew my Origin Card. "I will not repeat myself."
The two knights looked visibly torn between seeing through my threat or following my father’s orders.
In the end, they decided that fighting a High Noble heir, especially the son of their Lord, was not a fight worth having.
So I went past them and shoved the doors open.
The large doors made no noise as they swung inward, revealing to the throne room... and all the chaos inside.
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