The chamber reeked of perfume, smoke, and overindulgence. Velvet drapes in deep crimson hung from the high windows, muffling the sounds of the bustling district below. Pillows embroidered with golden thread were scattered across the floor, and silken sheets billowed softly where sunlight kissed them. A soft melody played in the background, strings, faint drums, and the occasional chime, elegant and sultry.
In the center of this lavish den reclined a corpulent old man, his double chin glistening from the wine he'd dribbled down his beard. Yossar Jvann, head of a minor but influential Myyrnii branch, chuckled contentedly as two women, draped in sheer silks and heavy jewelry, fed him grapes one by one, brushing their long, painted nails over his cheeks and neck.
"Ahaha! Easy now, sweet birds," he said, patting his round belly. "You'll have me burst like an overripe melon."
The women all giggled, their laughter light and calculated. Their makeup was flawless, their hair styled into sculpted waves pinned with glimmering ornaments, the unmistakable art of the Myyrnii women, bred for elegance, performance, and entertainment.
Yossar laughed heartily, his laugh bubbling from his throat like boiling oil. "Ah! What would a man do without such joys? You lovelies are finer than any feast."
A sharp knock interrupted the scene. The room quieted just a little.
A voice came from the other side of the grand doors. "My lord, I bring the report you requested."
Yossar raised a fat, bejeweled hand and flopped it lazily. "Well, don't leave the poor man standing. Let him in, let him in."
The doors creaked open and a tall, pale man in formal dress entered, bowing with precision. "My Lord," he greeted. "I come bearing the compiled documents regarding the individual you inquired about."
"Mm, yes yes. Proceed, dear boy," Yossar mumbled, waving his hand again as he bit into a grape. "Speak slow, though. My mind's floating in wine this morning."
Attendant:
"As you requested, my lord, the subject in question is a male of approximately twenty years. Records indicate no official birth registry, but testimonies gathered from residents of the lower western quarters confirm he was born in the outskirts of Velmora Hollow.
Yossar (rolling a grape between his fingers):
"Velmora Hollow, you say? Hmph. Dirt and dusk. Go on."
Attendant:
"For the majority of his life, he was kept hidden, shielded by his mother, a woman known in the region for her reclusive nature. It appears he did not make his presence known until recent months. His sudden appearance has... stirred no small amount of attention among the locals."
Yossar (smirking):
"Attention? What sort of attention can a hollow rat inspire?"
Attendant (without emotion):
"Curiosity, my lord, particularly of the feminine sort. The young man's physical appearance is said to be of an uncommon caliber. Tall, well-proportioned, with a countenance they describe as 'divinely sculpted.' But what most remark upon… are his eyes."
Yossar (raising a brow):
"Eyes?"
Attendant:
"Crystalline. A translucent shade of green that borders on luminescent. Witnesses claim they resemble carved glass, unnatural in their clarity. Some have called them seer's eyes. Others… blessings of the forgotten gods."
Yossar (a low, amused chuckle):
"Dramatic peasants. Always desperate for prophecy in a pretty face."
Attendant:
"Indeed, my lord. Regardless, the fascination with him has grown swiftly. Though he currently labors humbly, moving crates and merchant goods at the docks, his presence has become a regular topic of gossip across both lower and middle districts. Also, one of our informants mentioned something unusual... The lad is often seen speaking to trees. And birds. And, once, to a patch of morning-glories."
Yossar (laughs heartily, shaking his belly):
"Ha! By the stars, is he a forest prince or a madman?"
Attendant:
"Shall I continue the inquiry, my lord?"
Yossar (after a pause):
"Yes. But gently. I want to know why now, of all times, he has chosen to step into the light."
Attendant:
"As you will it, my lord."
Yossar plucks another grape with a smug grin.
The sun beat down mercilessly on Verrinport's dockyard. The scent of salt, sweat, and timber hung thick in the air. Zehron, shirt slightly damp at the collar, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. His muscles tensed with the weight of the crate he hoisted onto the cart, shoulders straining but movements still precise and steady.
A familiar voice called out behind him.
"Zehron!"
He paused, turning to see Orien jogging toward him, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. Vaelen followed close behind, less breathless but clearly urgent. The two stopped a few paces away.
Orien placed his hands on his knees, panting.
"Damn, you're hard to chase down."
Vaelen stepped forward, clasping Zehron's arm in a half-serious, half-playful grip. His tone was more serious than usual.
"Did you do something? Piss off Jorvan somehow?"
Zehron furrowed his brows, confused.
"No. Why?"
Vaelen glanced back at Orien, then looked Zehron in the eye.
"He's looking for you. Asked me to find you immediately. Said it was urgent. Looked… off. Serious as hell."
Zehron looked between the two of them and gave a small nod.
"Then I should go."
He turned to leave, but Vaelen caught his arm again, this time firmly. His voice dropped, lined with genuine concern.
"Zehron. Be honest. If something's happened, if you did anything, we'll figure it out. Just don't keep it to yourself."
Zehron looked at his friend for a moment, then shook his head with a faint smile.
"I haven't done anything. But thank you, Vaelen. I'll be fine."
Vaelen reluctantly let go.
"Alright… just don't let that greasy bastard corner you alone."
Zehron made his way across the yard, weaving through carts, sacks of grain, and other dockhands until he reached the wooden steps that led to Jorvan's office. The door stood shut, a worn brass plaque hanging unevenly above it.
He knocked once, firmly.
"Zehron. Reporting, sir."
There was a brief pause before Jorvan's voice answered, unusually polite, almost strained.
"Come in
Zehron opened the door, stepping into the office. The scent of scented oils and incense lingered in the air, odd for the usually musty and cluttered space. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dimmer light, and he saw Jorvan standing stiffly by the side, back straighter than usual, hands nervously clasped before him.
But Zehron's gaze didn't rest on Jorvan for long.
Across the room, seated comfortably on a plush chair lined with velvet, was a portly, well-dressed man with rings on every finger and a jeweled chain resting on his bulging chest. He was flanked on either side by two women, draped in rich fabrics, their hair pinned in elaborate coils, each of them radiating the style and decadence associated with the Myrrnii clans. Their gazes immediately fell on Zehron. One smiled, slow, assessing. The other tilted her head, eyes glinting with amusement.
The portly man's lips stretched into a grin, his fingers idly stroking his beard as he leaned slightly forward.
"Ah," he said, his voice like velvet over wine. "So this is the boy."
Jorvan, nearly stuttering, gestured toward Zehron.
"Y-yes, my lord. This is the one you were searching for. Zehron. He works in cargo transport, strong, dependable... never caused any trouble."
Yossar regarded Zehron silently for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching as if amused by something. He leaned back, one of the women automatically popping a grape into his mouth.
"Step forward, boy," he said, chewing slowly. "Let me see you properly."
Zehron obeyed without hesitation. His posture remained straight, face unreadable, though his senses sharpened. He could feel the women's eyes crawling over him, and Yossar's stare wasn't just that of a curious noble. It was measuring.
"Light green eyes," the noble murmured with interest. "Just as the reports said. How peculiar. And quite the talk, I hear. Your name's on more tongues than I expected, Zehron."
Zehron didn't speak. He knew better than to respond to flattery that wasn't really flattery.
Yossar chuckled softly, plump fingers drumming the arm of his chair.
"Well-mannered, too. I like that."
He waved a lazy hand in Jorvan's direction.
"You've done well to inform me, Jorvan. There may be… opportunity here. And we wouldn't want such a flower blooming in the dark, would we?"
Jorvan bowed his head quickly, almost too deeply.
"Of course, my lord," Jorvan bowed again, keeping his eyes low.
Yossar Jvann turned his head toward him with a lazy flick of his jeweled hand.
"Leave us. I'd like to speak with the boy alone."
The order was clear. Jorvan didn't hesitate, he bowed once more, quickly, and slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Now it was only Zehron and the three members of the Myrrnii clan.
Yossar leaned forward slightly, the gleam in his eye sharpened, not the dull indulgence of before, but something far more deliberate.
"Tell me, Zehron… do you have any plans for the future?"
Zehron stood still for a moment, then answered with quiet respect.
"I do not, my lord. I live as the days come."
"Hm," Yossar rubbed his chin, nodding slowly as if weighing the answer. "A clean slate then. Good. Let me ask you this, if I were to offer you a job… would you take it?"
Zehron's brows knit slightly, his voice level but curious.
"That would depend, my lord. On the nature of the work."
Yossar chuckled deeply, throwing his arms out as if to embrace the room itself.
"Oh, it's simple. Very simple! No backbreaking labor, no slaving under the sun, no crates or dust or aching bones. Instead, you'd be pleasured at every turn. Pampered. Treated like a gem."
One of the women beside him let out a sultry laugh, her fingers brushing along Zehron's arm as she passed. He flinched but his gaze still fixed on Yossar.
Yossar continued, his tone now warm and honeyed, almost too smooth.
"Though it may seem light, the work is of great importance to our clan's future. You would be… a symbol. A light. And the pay, of course, will not disappoint. Wealth, status, luxury. You'll be adored, remembered in the Myrrnii histories. Celebrated. You'll want for nothing."
Zehron's silence was careful. His eyes didn't waver, but a thoughtful stillness filled his frame. Finally, he spoke.
"Why me?"
Yossar blinked, slightly caught off guard. Zehron's voice was calm, but the question had weight.
"If the work is truly so important to your clan, why choose me? A Voidborn, no less?"
Yossar stood. The shift in his posture brought a different kind of energy to the room, intent, almost theatrical.
He walked toward Zehron with slow, deliberate steps, his voice now intense.
"Because we need someone like you. Not just any man would do. No… we've been searching for people like you for years, someone with your traits, your presence, your mystery. You're rare, Zehron. And it is that very rarity that makes you perfect for this."
He extended a hand, not to shake, but as if inviting Zehron into something greater.
"You're not ordinary. Don't let this village convince you otherwise. You're what this clan needs to rise to the next age."
There was a quiet that lingered after his words. Zehron looked at the hand, but didn't take it. His voice came low, but firm.
"I'll need to ask my mother."
Yossar paused.
And then…
"PffhhAHAHAHAHA!" The noble burst into a bellowing laugh, clutching his belly, nearly doubling over. The women joined in, giggling as if he'd just told the most absurd joke of the century.
"You, hahaha you'll ask your mother? By the gods!" He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "You're a grown man, and yet you still ask permission like a little duckling. How… precious."
Zehron didn't react to the insult, simply waited.
Yossar, still chuckling, waved his hand as if clearing the air.
"Very well. Three days. I'll give you three days. After that, no more."
He turned and sauntered back to his chair.
"Send your answer to House Jvann, South Gallery Estate, Upper Myrrnai. The postmen know the name. We always make sure of that."
He gave Zehron a final, knowing smile.
"I look forward to your decision, my little mystery."
Yossar gave a final smirk in Zehron's direction before turning to his companions.
"Well then, ladies, we shall take our leave."
The two women giggled, exchanging knowing glances as they moved to his side with the grace of court-trained nobility. One of them, tall and lithe with cascading silver-threaded hair, leaned closer to Zehron as she passed and let her fingers gently graze his shoulder, a mere brush, but enough to draw attention. She offered him a subtle wink, eyes glinting with playful mischief.
Zehron tensed slightly, his posture straightening. He didn't move or say a word, but the touch startled him in a quiet, internal way, foreign, uninvited, and utterly confusing. He wasn't used to such gestures. Not here. Not like this.
The other woman, wrapped in emerald silks, trailed her fingertips along the edge of Yossar's coat, chuckling softly as he grasped both their arms with theatrical flair.
"Ah, what a fine day," Yossar chuckled with amusement still in his voice. "I do so enjoy surprises."
He glanced back at Zehron one last time and gave him a smirk.