The guard takes me to a beautiful building at the center of the neighborhood—a real estate office. Valazam Estate Firm.
He guides me inside.
The estate agent is already there, seated behind his desk. He is a thin man with a narrow moustache, a leather folio tucked tight against his chest as if it might escape. His coat is decent but worn at the cuffs, polished just enough to pass inspection. When he notices the guard beside me, he straightens immediately.
"Ah—good Sunday," he says, bowing his head slightly.
"Good Sunday," I reply.
The guard nods once and steps away, already satisfied. His attention returns to the street outside.
The agent exhales quietly and opens his folio as we walk further in. Paper rustles. Inked diagrams. Property layouts. Seals stamped in dull red wax.
"I would like to purchase a house," I say.
"There are several vacant houses in this area," he replies, keeping his voice low. "What kind of house would you like?"
"A newer one."
"I'm sorry," he says quickly. "We don't sell newer houses to random people, even if they're rich. However—there is an older house available." He hesitates, then adds, "The former owners left abruptly. No disputes."
"I'll take it," I say.
He blinks. "You don't wish to inspect the house first?"
"That won't be necessary."
Relief flickers across his face. He nods and pulls out a contract.
As he explains the terms, I sign where he points. The process is smooth, efficient. When he places the keys into my hand, they feel cold but welcoming.
By nightfall, I will belong here.
"I'll hold on to these documents, Monsieur—" He glances down at the papers. "Thadeo Owright?"
"Wait. Why?"
"I need to receive at least a single installment first," he explains. "Consider it proof of commitment."
"I see."
"About the payment?" he asks, clearing his throat.
"I'll pay it in a single installment."
"HAHAHAHA!" His laughter erupts, echoing through the office. "You're funny."
"I'm serious."
"—One thousand phens in a single installment?" His expression hardens, disbelief draining into caution.
"You'll have it by night."
Silence stretches.
Then I turn and leave the office, walking back through the neighborhood toward the exit—keys weighing lightly in my palm, the first piece of the board already claimed.
As I am about to cross the neighborhood vaporgates, a carriage rolls in from the opposite side.
Not the common kind.
Its frame is lacquered obsidian-black, polished to a mirror sheen that reflects the mist in warped streaks. The wheels are trimmed with pale silver bands, etched with geometric sigils. Even the suspension moves too smoothly, gliding rather than rattling.
The horses are tall and well-fed, coats brushed to perfection, their harnesses dyed deep crimson and threaded with gold wire. A crest is mounted on the carriage door—stylized, ornate, unmistakably expensive.
Guards nearby lower their heads as it passes.
The carriage disappears deeper into the neighborhood.
I approach one of the guards.
"Whose carriage is that?"
"Oh, that?" he says casually. "It belongs to Monsieur Xandar. Xandar Valazam."
"Xandar? Xandar Valazam?"
He nods. "A generous man. Always donating to those less fortunate."
"Can I meet him?"
The guard taps my shoulder once, firm but not unfriendly. "Just because he's generous doesn't mean he's always available."
"I suppose it's not my time to meet him."
"Don't be disheartened, Monsieur," he says reassuringly. "Next Sunday he'll be hosting a party. You may attend."
"But—"
"Anyone who lives here is always welcome," he adds before I can finish.
I nod. He nods back.
I pass through the vaporgates, leaving the rich neighborhood behind. The air thickens again, soot reclaiming the streets of the Northern Outskirt.
I flag down a carriage.
"Valazam Hotel," I tell the jarvy.
The carriage moves, wheels cutting through the smog, the city closing in around us once more.
After a while, it arrives.
I enter the hotel as usual and head straight for the reception desk in the lobby.
"Is your manager here?" I ask.
"He should be arriving shortly," the receptionist replies. "Would you like me to leave a message for him?"
"No need—"
"Are you looking for me, Monsieur Len?" a voice cuts in.
I turn.
"Monsieur Mynar," I say, lifting a hand in greeting.
He approaches, extending his hand. I take it and shake, firm and brief.
"Is there something you need?" he asks.
"I just want to have some tea."
He raises an eyebrow. "That's unexpected. You usually leave immediately and start your day. You've never socialized before."
"Promotion changes a man," I shrug.
He chuckles softly. "That is certainly true."
We sit on a bench near the large window overlooking the street. Time passes quietly. We talk about daily matters—weather, guests, repairs, small inconveniences. Mundane things. I make sure none of my words stray anywhere near the truth.
He seems to enjoy our talk.
The light outside shifts. Day fades into dusk.
Ashlynn enters the lobby among other guests. I notice her immediately and call out.
She looks my way and walks over. I stand and pull her into a brief hug.
"Wait by the elevator," I say.
"Okay," she nods, heading off.
I turn back to Mynar.
"It was a pleasure spending time with you, Monsieur Mynar."
"Likewise, Monsieur Len."
As our conversation ends, I focus on my left eye.
A pulse. Quiet. Internal.
Abyssal Eye awakens.
My gaze meets his for a fleeting moment. He doesn't notice. He won't remember this instant. But his next dream will not be his alone.
I smirk faintly, turn away, and walk toward Ashlynn.
Together, we return to our room on the upper floor.
We enter, side by side. Ashlynn seems brimming with energy, a subtle spark lighting her movements.
I settle by the desk while she stretches out on the bed.
"How was your day?" I ask.
"It was fun," she answers, her tone bright, carrying the weightless lightness of someone fully satisfied.
She begins recounting her day—the usual chatter, little moments strung together.
"You're not spending time with Tanya?" I ask.
"I do, but—"
"But?"
"I don't think you'll be interested."
"How so?"
"Her fiancé—Xandar, invited me to a masquerade," she says, a faint playful tilt to her lips. "But I already know you'll be busy. I told him I would come alone."
"I see."
"Just in case you might say yes," she teases, rising and walking toward me, lips bitten lightly in thought.
Her gaze locks on mine, intent and teasing. Her hands rest on my shoulder. She rises, letting her legs drape across mine, thighs settling there deliberately.
"Len, my love, will you accompany me to the masquerade next Sunday?" Her eyes glisten with hope, the faintest tremor betraying her anticipation.
I lean in, voice low, intimate. "No."
"Aw, okay then," she sighs, a soft, fleeting disappointment brushing her features.
She rises and turns toward the bathroom.
I rise and step close, arms wrapping around her from behind.
"You forgot to ask the question that matters."
I press a kiss to the nape of her neck, lingering.
"Will you join me, my love?" she teases, voice warm, playful.
I guide her gently into the bathroom. We take our time, hands tracing familiar paths, holding each other close, savoring the quiet intimacy. Enjoying one another.
Afterward, we return to the bed for another round. The sheets are slick with a mixture of sweat and soap.
I finish satisfied, while Ashlynn feels loved. That's what matters.
I wait until she closes her eyes. It doesn't take long—she falls asleep soundly.
I dress quickly, slipping into a suit. I strap the cylindrical bag over my shoulder, then leave the hotel. Outside, I collect the rocks I need.
The bag fills just enough for what I require.
I call for a carriage and instruct the jarvey to take me back to the rich neighborhood.
To my new home.