Knock. Knock. Knock.
Before the sound could properly fade, an unruly interruption cut through—a wet, percussive sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in the chest.
BLURP!
Ashan cast an annoyed glance at the perpetrator. "Sorry, Captain!" The voice was thick, slurred, apologetic without meaning it.
BLURP!
"Tomorrow we were having a wild party!" Cheeks flushed deep red. Body swayed like a ship in stormy seas. In unsteady hands—a wooden box, clutched like treasure.
Blurp.
"Come."
The voice beyond the door was flat. Female. Familiar.
Ashan pushed forward. The scene hadn't changed. Solna reclined on her couch, her body arranged in practiced elegance. Behind her, the same two guards—bulky, silent, radiating hostility. The same incense curled through the air. The same dim lighting cast the same shadows.
But gazes had shifted. Where before there had been curiosity and contempt, now something sharper lurked. "Brat. You actually came back." The guard on the left—scarred, eager for violence—did not finish his thought.
Ashan took his seat. Did not wait for invitation. Did not acknowledge the words.
Solna's face tightened. Disgust flickered—there and gone. Guards' hands drifted toward weapons.
Ashan signaled Toric with his eyes. Subtle. Quick. Toric, swaying gently, lurched forward and deposited the wooden box on the low table.
Solna reached for her chilim. The long stem rose to her lips. A drag. Smoke curled. "What is it?" Annoyance edged her voice.
"Open it. Find out."
The flatness of the reply hung in the air. "Such arrogance!" The scarred guard's voice cracked with fury. He took a step forward.
Solna's hand rose—languid, unhurried, absolute. "Calm yourself. Open the box."
Her eyes never left Ashan. Measuring. Calculating. He came back. With something. Claims it solves my biggest problem. The question—does it work? And what price will he demand?
The guard approached the box. Fingers tapped the wood—listening, testing. Leaned close. Smelled. Satisfied, he opened it and positioned it before his mistress.
Solna's eyes flickered.
These are...
The guard could not contain himself. He reached in, withdrew one of the objects. Turned it in the light. "The texture... like goat meat. And the shape..." Recognition dawned. His face colored.
"DICK!" Toric's shout shattered the moment.
The guard's flush deepened to purple. "You bastard—"
"Quiet, Toric."
"AYE, CAPTAIN!" Hands clamped over mouth with exaggerated obedience.
Captain. Solna's thoughts raced. This brat? Captain of the man who killed Thruston? The rumors said Toric was the leader. The fighter. The champion. But he just called this child...
Her expression hardened. Guards exchanged glances—surprise, confusion, reassessment.
"As you've seen, this invention is called a condom." Ashan let the word settle.
"Condom?" Solna's uncertainty bled through. What can a piece of cured meat possibly achieve?
"If you're as intelligent as I believe you are—" Ashan's emphasis was delicate, almost insulting—"you've already recognized the shape matches the male reproductive organ. It also stretches. Wear it over the organ. Perform the act. No pregnancy."
Silence.
"BULLSHIT!" "He's lying, Mistress! This is—there's no way—"
Solna's hand rose again. The ruckus died instantly. She took a long drag. Exhaled. Set down the chilim with deliberate care. Then she leaned forward. "What are the failure rates?"
Ashan's lips curved—barely, slightly, a ghost of satisfaction. "Twenty to thirty percent."
Solna did not respond immediately. Should I test? What do I lose? A few women. A few nights. If it works—if it actually works—the efficiency gain is enormous.
But why does this brat seem so certain? So calm?
Everything he's said so far has been true.
"Bring the girls."
The command was quiet. Final. One guard left. Returned moments later with three women. They bowed to their mistress. Kept eyes lowered. Postures perfect—tidy hair, pleasant fragrance, clothing that highlighted curves. Everything a brothel required.
Their expressions told a different story. Exhaustion. Pain. Nothing more.
Solna gestured lazily. "These three have survived one labor each. Another pregnancy, and they're useless to me." The women's heads dipped lower.
"Then today's their lucky day." Ashan's voice carried no irony. "Why not let your guards and Toric test the materials with them?"
"NO!" Both guards spoke at once. "Mistress, we can't leave you alone with—"
"ENOUGH." Solna's voice cracked like a whip. "I can handle myself. Pick one of those things and go."
Shoulders slumped. Guards grabbed a condom each and followed the women. "Hehe. Been too long." Toric beamed with drunken joy, snatched a condom and a woman's hand, and disappeared through a side door.
The room emptied. Two remained.
Solna studied the boy across from her. If this works—if this actually works—the problem becomes production. Materials. Labor. I can't make these myself. I'd need—
"Now that we're alone." Ashan's voice was relaxed, almost conversational. "How about I teach you the production process? Materials needed. Steps involved."
WHAT? Solna's eyes widened. Are my ears playing tricks? He's just... giving this away?
But Ashan did not wait for permission. He began describing—detail by detail, step by step. The sourcing of materials. The cleaning process. The curing. The shaping. The finishing. Solna listened. Asked questions. Received answers—complete, honest, total.
Why? The question gnawed at her. Why is he telling me everything? Why hold nothing back?
Two days ago, Branth came to me. Begged for help killing Toric. This brat must know. Or at least anticipate. They need a shield. Someone to stand between them and the Master's remaining forces.
That shield is me.
He's buying my favor. My protection. Even the two of them can't fight both factions alone. And if they had organization backing—if they were Hunter Union or Rajyam agents—they wouldn't need me. So they're alone. Vulnerable.
That's why he's giving me this. To win me over.
But... The image flickered in her mind—the boy's calm eyes. The flat voice. The absolute certainty. Something's still wrong. I can't name it. Can't touch it.
Is it just paranoia?
Outside the closed door, in rooms separated by thin walls, tests began. Soon, the first results would return. And the balance of power on Ogefil would shift forever.