Nocth's stomach chose violence.
The sound wasn't loud—but in the brief hollow between drumbeats echoing from somewhere deeper in the district, it felt exposed. Personal. Like a secret slipping out when no one had asked.
Imius stopped walking.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing with theatrical suspicion.
"…Was that," he said, "your warning growl?"
Nocth kept his gaze forward. "No."
Imius grinned. "Because it sounded like your body filing a complaint."
"I don't complain," Nocth replied, then hesitated. "I think."
That did it.
Imius laughed, sharp and unrestrained, then reached out and knocked his knuckles lightly against Nocth's shoulder. "Come on. Before your insides start negotiating with the street."
They drifted off the main road and into a quieter vein of the city. Here, the stone beneath their feet darkened, polished smooth by centuries of passing soles. Thin threads of light ran through the ground like veins beneath translucent skin, pulsing slowly as if the city itself were breathing.
The air changed too—warmer, heavier with layered scents. Roasted protein crackled somewhere nearby. Something sweet lingered beneath it, threaded with spice and mineral heat.
Ahead, a wide archway yawned open in the side of a sloping structure. No sign announced it. None was needed.
The place declared itself.
Two immense pillars framed the entrance, carved with scenes of feasting that felt less like art and more like memory—figures reclining beneath celestial canopies, hands piled high with glowing food, beasts offering themselves willingly to waiting platters. Between the pillars burned a shallow basin of blue-gold flame, its scent thick and inviting.
Imius spread his arms. "Behold," he said, reverent and smug all at once. "The Virex Table."
Nocth slowed without realizing it.
The interior opened far wider than the building should have allowed. The ceiling arched overhead, ribbed and curved like the underside of something vast and living. Soft light flowed through it in branching lines, converging at a slow-turning glyph suspended at the center—contained, deliberate.
Long stone tables curved outward from the middle, each surrounded by diners. Nothing felt crowded. Every seat felt intentional, claimed.
Nocth stepped inside—and felt it immediately.
Not fear.
Not danger.
Just… wrongness.
Like standing in a room where everyone else knew the rules, and you were already breaking them by breathing.
The air was thick with layered scents. Warm oil. Fermented sweetness. A faint metallic tang that lingered at the back of the throat. Food passed overhead on shallow trays suspended in thin rings of force—bowls of spiraled grain that shimmered like glass before dissolving soft as steam, crystalline cakes stacked with luminous sugars, coiled tentacular dishes braided neatly and brushed with oil.
One of them twitched.
Nocth blinked.
Imius leaned in, lowering his voice. "Don't worry. It stops moving once it decides you're polite."
"I don't think it likes me," Nocth muttered.
They took seats near the center.
That was when Nocth felt it.
Eyes.
Not hostile. Curious. Measuring.
Three boys sat at a nearby table, laughter sharp and careless. Their attire marked them immediately—finer fabric, etched clasps, the loose posture of those who had never been denied anything long enough to feel it.
With them sat a girl.
She didn't laugh.
Her garments were restrained, elegant—dark fabric draped cleanly over one shoulder, fastened with a pale sigil worked in silver. Her hair fell in smooth waves, held by a single pin shaped like a branching horn .Saevereth clan.
Nocth didn't know the name.
But something in him tightened anyway.
Her gaze lingered on him longer than the others'. Not cruel. Not kind.
Evaluating.
One of the boys leaned toward her, voice low but lazy. "What's wrong with his eyes?"
"They look… hollow," another said. "Like old glass."
The girl spoke calmly. "He reminds me of the ones from the outer colonies."
"Slaves?" the third boy said, grinning.
She didn't correct him.
"Think he's for sale?" the first added. "That look makes people uncomfortable."
They laughed.
Imius's hand stopped mid-reach.
He turned his head slowly, smile forming with dangerous ease.
"Oh wow," he said pleasantly. "Did you hear that?"
He leaned closer to Nocth, whispering just loud enough to carry. "Apparently tonight's menu includes three overpolished pebbles and one very expensive glare."
The girl's eyes narrowed.
Imius smiled wider. "I've always wondered how some people manage to dress like treasure while talking like rot."
One of the boys shoved his chair back. "Watch your mouth."
"Oh, I am," Imius replied lightly. "It's just doing better work than whatever crawled out of yours."
Chairs scraped.
The boy stood.
A voice cracked through the hall like a snapped bone.
"Sit."
The word landed heavy.
From behind the central counter emerged a thick-set man with arms like carved stone and a face permanently shaped by disappointment. His tunic was reinforced with plated leather, apron etched with culinary sigils, sleeves rolled high enough to reveal burn scars worn like honors.
This was Karkos the Generous.
A title he had given himself.
"Sit," Karkos repeated, glaring at the boy. "Or I serve you something that fights back."
The boy hesitated—then sat.
Karkos turned to Imius. "Pretty mouth. This is a place for eating, not peacocking."
Imius bowed. "My apologies, Master Karkos. Some ingredients were spoiling."
Karkos snorted. "Then chew faster."
His gaze shifted to Nocth—and paused.
"You look lost," Karkos said.
"I am," Nocth replied honestly.
Karkos grunted. "Good. Means you haven't ruined the taste yet."
He slammed a dish down—a layered grain-sheet soaked in luminous sauce, topped with crisped protein and a wedge of crystalline sweetness.
"Eat," Karkos said. "Slow. This food remembers disrespect."
He stalked away, shouting insults that made his staff laugh a heartbeat too late.
Imius exhaled. "I adore that man."
Nocth took a bite.
Warmth spread—not memory, not clarity—but something steadier.
Presence.
Around them, the hall resumed its rhythm.
The Saevereth girl looked away first.
Nocth ate quietly, the world still foreign—but no longer pushing him out.
Imius watched him from the corner of his eye, smiling faintly.
For now, this was enough.