The morning light poured through the high windows, dust dancing in golden shafts as Akita moved through the stone halls of the manor like a shadow.
She did not speak especially did not resist.
She did as Virgil commanded.
The floors were scrubbed until her knuckles bled faintly through cracked skin. She polished the boots by the door, her own reflection warping slightly in the glossy leather. Every command given—no matter how demeaning—was met with a quiet "Yes, Master Virgil."
Akita's mind was quiet, lips tight as she carried a tray of fresh towels to the bath chamber. The scent of lavender clung to her fingers, and for a moment, she tried to imagine what it might feel like to soak in warm water without someone watching over her like a beast on a leash.
Her thoughts were interrupted by something strange—voices.
Not the usual murmurs of maids or the occasional grunt from the guards. These voices were elegant, deep, and deliberate. They came from the west wing—a place normally empty and silent.
She slowed her pace.
Two guards stood near the double doors leading into Virgil's study, stiff and armed. She could sense the shift in the manor's atmosphere—tense, coiled, like a storm waiting to break.
Someone important is here.
Akita turned down the corridor, walking slower as she passed the partially cracked door. Her ears strained to catch the conversation, her feet silent on the cold floor.
Inside, Virgil's voice was low and calm, but sharp as ever.
"…the council grows uneasy, Vicar. They believe the Tirade's patience is slipping. You know how delicate this alliance is. Especially for someone who's been by my brothers side long before his despair."
A chuckle followed. Smooth, elegant. Not Virgil's.
"Yes, but what is power if not a dance of illusions, Virgil? I didn't travel from the Cloud Kingdom to speak of fears. I came to hear your thoughts."
Akita paused.
Vicar, the Lord of the Cloud Kingdom—a name that made even the most seasoned warriors pause. A man known for his clever tongue and dangerously clouded morals. He ruled high above the mountains, where fog blanketed the ground and secrets were currency. From what she heard from former slaves is that he had more resistant for humans that any other lord they'd dealt with. Than again Lord Vicar never had a slave and never will.
"And you shall," Virgil replied. "But don't confuse my hospitality with carelessness. I did not bring you here so you could play games."
There was a silence. Then Vicar's voice dipped.
"You've taken on a slave, I see. The tribal girl." He sounded almost amused. "How very unlike you, Lord Virgil. A man that kills everything in his path yet holds something….dear to him perhaps…"
Akita stiffened where she stood, hidden in the hallway shadows.
Virgil's answer was delayed, his voice quieter when it came. "She's… difficult."
"Difficult?" Vicar laughed. "Or interesting? I saw the bracelet on her wrist. That's not just magic, it's possession. Are you sure you're not growing attached?"
"I don't grow attached," Virgil snapped. "She serves a purpose. That's all."
Liar, Akita thought bitterly, though her face remained calm.
"She listens now," he continued. "She obeys. I've made her useful, even if she doesn't know it yet. That's what a good master does—tames the wild."
"And if she remembers who she is?" Vicar asked, voice now edged with curiosity. "What then?"
A beat of silence.
"She won't," Virgil said simply.
Akita backed away slowly, heart drumming. She moved back toward the stairway, her tray still in hand. By the time she returned to the kitchen, her mask was back in place—stoic, unreadable.
The rest of the day passed in silence.
She washed, folded, polished, and swept. At one point she passed through the halls again and caught sight of Lord Vicar—a tall man dressed in pale silks, with long hair the color of a the sun that shined bright. His eyes met hers just for a second, and something in his gaze made her blood run cold like a Predator. Than a small charming smiled formed on his lip.
He said nothing, but the smirk on his lips told her everything.
Later that evening, the manor fell quiet again. The guests had gone. The torches were dimmed.
Akita sat on the floor beside the fireplace in the main chamber, her thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the bracelet on her wrist still glowing faintly in the dark.
Virgil entered without a word, his coat smelling faintly of firewood and wine. He glanced at her once.
"You've been obedient today," he said, his voice low. "Good."
Akita said nothing, her eyes fixed on the flames.
"I'm aware of what you overheard," he added casually, walking past her toward the bookshelves.
Her chest tightened. She didn't respond.
"I allow many things," he said, now pouring himself a drink. "But eavesdropping is dangerous, kitten. Especially when it involves men like Vicar."
Akita raised her eyes. "He scares you."
Virgil paused. His red eyes cut toward her.
"No," he replied. "He annoys me. There's a difference."
She almost smiled—but didn't.
Virgil took a sip of wine and walked toward the stairs. "You've done well today. That doesn't mean you're safe. It just means you've earned another day."
She watched him go, her fingers tightening around the edge of her blanket.
Another day, she repeated in her mind.Another day to survive.Another day to remember who she was.Because even if Virgil had forgotten, she hadn't. And the spirit of a warrior never truly dies.