"Lily!" a desperate cry rang out.
The young succubus had almost slipped through the door when she heard Grey call her. Something seemed to tug at her, and she turned back, searching his face with hope. It was as if she was desperately looking for any reason to stay with him just a moment longer.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice tense.
"You... can you turn around? Just for a minute," Grey asked hurriedly, retreating into the corner of the cell.
Lily couldn't help but frown, not understanding what was going on. Still, she obeyed. She thought he was about to tell her something personal. Something the others shouldn't hear, but instead she heard only strange noises. First the sound of fabric tearing, then the scrape of wood, and some indistinct muttering.
"..."
Even at the moment of parting, her foolish neighbor showed his crazy side.
She waited patiently.
A moment later he approached her and held out a small handkerchief tied into a knot.
"Give this... to the owner of 'Venus's Embrace' as soon as possible," Grey asked, looking at her with sincere expectation and a silent plea. "Please."
Lily silently shifted her gaze from Grey to the knot, then nodded grimly. "I promise."
She carefully took the bundle, as if afraid she might damage something fragile. It was the last request from her friend. She didn't want to let him down.
Grey nodded with visible relief.
Monica, who had already disappeared into the doorway, called out:
"Lily, Sheryl, hurry."
The succubus hesitated for one more moment, studying Grey's face as if trying to memorize something. Then she turned sharply and ran after her friend.
"Be careful!" Grey shouted after her.
The door slammed shut behind them, and the world filled once again with a hollow silence.
The following days dragged by painfully slow.
Without the familiar voices of Sheryl and Lily, the cell felt twice as empty. The grim walls pressed on his mind with their silence. Being a withdrawn person, Grey barely spoke to others. But to himself, constantly. Most often he sat in the corner of the cell, legs pulled in, whispering into the void.
Sometimes his words were logical and to the point. Other times his voice shifted slightly, and his words grew stranger.
"Heh, you're really lucky you don't know what the internet is," he muttered one day, staring at the ceiling. "I'd work twice as hard just to have a show playing in the background or put on some headphones with music. Anything's better than this dull boredom. Hahaha." He laughed sarcastically, but then his face turned puzzled.
"Sometimes I really think I've gone insane. What the hell are you even talking about? A show? The internet? Headphones? It sounds like the rambling of a madman. Words without meaning. Like you're just trying to invent a new spell."
"Backwater idiot. I don't even know where to begin... Well, let's say... the internet is a worldwide web. A kind of space where you can connect with the entire world. You can always find fresh memes there, funny videos, or catch up on the latest news."
Grey spread his hands in surrender.
The longer he talked to his Alter Ego, the less he understood him. In a single sentence, the other could use three strange, unfamiliar words, and to explain them, he would need five more.
"I've definitely lost my mind," Grey clutched his head. "Just recently you said there are no gods, no monsters, no magic in your world. And now... now you're telling me about some web that covers the entire world. Not only that, it creates a separate space for communication and exchanging information. Do you even believe the nonsense you're saying?"
"..." the earthling didn't answer right away.
It was genuinely difficult to talk to someone from a completely different era.
They understood each other's language, but the gap in their thinking was absolute. What was normal on Earth sounded like complete madness here. And the opposite was just as true. Their rules and beliefs felt utterly savage to him.
The deeper he sank into this magical world, the more he wondered how he had managed not to expose himself during the short time he had lived in the boy's body.
"Hey, hey, don't blame me for your own ignorance! If you had access to the internet, you would've found your mother a long time ago. And don't start with that 'blah-blah, my world is more logical' nonsense! Vampires become morally dependent on the blood of their victims? Honor and dignity are the highest virtue, while half the population are mindless slaves! And the gods... I don't even have words... You're an all-powerful being who's been around since the world began, and you still care about prophecies? No thanks, I'll pass!"
Prisoners and guards passing by kept throwing strange looks at the boy, quickening their steps. Gracchus and even Quintilian couldn't help but feel a chill when they noticed his state.
As if oblivious to it, Grey kept chatting carefree:
"So a smartphone is like a magic mirror, right? Where jesters entertain the people with performances."
"Well, if you simplify it that much..." the other replied reluctantly.
He and his Alter Ego couldn't care less what others thought of him. They didn't try to justify themselves or explain anything.
It was even better if they saw him as insane. Maybe someone like that wouldn't be considered an innocent soul and wouldn't be suitable for the ritual. And the fact that Quintilian now avoided him was a pleasant bonus.
Without Sheryl and Lily, Grey argued and cursed at himself with complete abandon, as if it were the most entertaining thing in the universe.
Somewhere in the city, five blocks away from the slave camp, life flowed very differently.
The famous brothel "Venus's Embrace" was a luxurious villa in an antique style. High ceilings, marble columns, walls adorned with bas-reliefs of dancing nymphs. For a city on the outskirts of the Magical Empire, bearing the contemptuous name "Thorn's Cloaca," such luxury felt almost like a mockery. Too bright, too expensive, and far too out of place.
The most desirable place was the top floor.
A warm, pleasant dimness reigned there. The air was filled with the scent of incense mixed with a faint trace of alcohol. A thin haze spread across the smooth marble floor, like morning fog that had wandered in by mistake. It felt as if the very atmosphere was soaked in sweet charm.
On a wide couch, as if half-asleep, lay the owner of this establishment.
Lady Veronika.
She looked less like a woman and more like a dream one never wished to let go of.
Her lashes trembled softly over half-closed eyes; her lips were relaxed, as if ready for a kiss, and her dark hair lay carelessly scattered across the pillow, falling in soft waves.
She stretched lazily and gracefully, like a satisfied cat after a pleasant sleep.
Then, resting her elbow on a feather pillow, she lifted her head with a small, almost childlike hand.
There was more temptation in that careless motion than in the dance of a hundred courtesans.
She wore only the thinnest white tunic. The light, weightless fabric traced every curve of her body without exposing it, as if hinting at a secret one could study endlessly. Her shoulders resembled statues of ancient goddesses; her chest was soft, like ripened fruit; her legs were long and slender, as if carved from ivory.
Everything about her seemed beautiful. As if nature itself had embodied the very idea of beauty in this woman.
But her face drew the most attention. Time seemed to have forgotten it existed. Calm lips, the gentle line of her cheekbones, the faint shadow of a smile all spoke of a woman not meant to be understood, but to be admired.
Veronika absentmindedly traced her finger along the thin rim of the jug.
In her dark, deep eyes swirled a languid, refined boredom, the kind that belonged only to those who knew the world too well.
At times she glanced toward the window, where the nightlife stirred, and then a faint, mocking smile touched her lips. As if she wasn't looking at the city streets, but at a book she had long since finished.
She was so far removed from reality that she didn't notice the door quietly opening.
On the threshold stood another woman, her head bowed low. She was almost as beautiful, but not quite. Her features were delicate, her movements careful, her eyes large, with a faint, hidden violet glimmer. It was as if she tried to seem smaller than she truly was.
Lily's mother, Lydia, stepped inside without raising her gaze. In her hands she held a small, worn bundle.
Without changing her pose, Veronika lazily let her eyes pass over the newcomer. For the first time, a flicker of emotion appeared in her otherwise indifferent gaze. It wasn't contempt or anger, only a trace of curiosity, a hint of mockery, and a faint, almost merciful amusement.
Lydia sank to her knees before addressing her in a soft whisper:
"My lady, a message for you."
Hearing her subordinate's words, Veronika almost lost the flicker of interest that had just appeared.
What could be amusing about yet another confession from her endless admirers? There were enough such messages to fill the entire building, all the same, cloying, overflowing with praise and ridiculous vows of eternal love.
However, the plain appearance of the bundle made her hold her gaze on it a little longer.
"How unusual... I don't recall leaving the house lately. Some poor soul decided to be creative?" she thought with a hint of irony.
Still pondering, she lazily set her glass aside to take the parcel. Then she unfolded the cloth, paying no attention to the dirt or dust.
Inside lay a single silver coin, simple and darkened with age, along with a crumpled piece of paper, clearly written in haste.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on Veronika's beautiful lips.
Such an opening... one could call it intriguing.
She picked up the note and began to read.
"Most esteemed Lady, I humbly address you with a request.
My name is Alexander Greyrot. To my great misfortune, I have found myself in the position of a slave, also known as Alex or Grey. My story is quite simple. I was forcibly taken by people I was powerless against. That is how I ended up in Harmon's hands.
My life is in danger. I fear what is to come. Having no other hope, I dare to beg for your help.
My price is but a single silver coin, which I humbly attach to this letter. You are free to reject my excessive demands. In that case, this coin shall serve as atonement for troubling Your Excellency.
If, however, you find within yourself even a trace of compassion for my unfortunate fate, I ask you to purchase me from Mister Harmon. In return, you will receive my deepest gratitude, as well as the devoted and diligent service of this humble one in the role of your subordinate.
I can read and write, I am trained in arithmetic and the basics of the sciences, as I was raised in a noble family, though now only a shadow of my lineage remains.
I sincerely believe I would be of great use to you.
If, by your fair judgment, my modest offer seems inappropriate, I beg you to forgive my boldness and not withdraw your kindness from the two little girls who have come under your care.
With the deepest respect and hope,
Alexander Greyrot."
Veronika studied the letter thoughtfully, then slowly set it aside. For a second, her gaze drifted in the direction of the slave camp, hidden behind narrow streets and dense rows of buildings.
"What an interesting child," she thought lazily, a faint smile touching the corners of her lips. "I didn't expect to find anything more entertaining than usual in this hole."
Casting an amused glance at Lydia, Veronika leaned back against the couch. Her slender fingers traced circles along the armrest as she pondered without any real hurry.
"On the other hand... I came here to recover and rest. It hardly suits me to get involved in worldly squabbles. Why spoil my mood?"
For a moment, her brows drew together in thought.
"Though... I am so bored... And I've never liked those pompous idiots... What could possibly happen?" she murmured, almost purring with quiet pleasure.
The longer she considered it, the more appealing the idea became.
Faint sparks of light, almost capricious curiosity flickered in her dark eyes.
"It's not often you come across such a charming and... educated child with such an amusing story," she thought, idly playing with a lock of her hair. "In a world where every second person can barely string two words together... it would be a sin not to take a closer look at such a treasure."
"We shall see," she decided. "If fate wishes to entertain me, it should try a little harder."
She waved her hand. "Buy him out. This should be amusing."
The decision was made with the same effortless grace as a wave rolling onto the sand, without strain, without haste, as if everything in this world obeyed nothing but her whim.
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