Zay and Naomi approached a tall, weathered building with a sign hanging overhead, gently swaying in the wind. Carved into the wood in fading silver paint were the words: Moontide's Tavern.
Zay glanced up at it before turning his eyes toward the building itself. It was constructed from dark gray stone, its edges rounded by years of rain and wear. Warm light flickered from the windows, and muffled voices, laughter, and the occasional clink of glass spilled into the street. Without hesitating, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Naomi lingered just outside for a moment longer, her eyes narrowing. The presence that had been trailing them throughout the evening suddenly vanished, as if it had never existed. She frowned. Something about it felt wrong—but she didn't sense any immediate danger. Reluctantly, she followed Zay inside.
The two made their way to the front counter, where a stout bartender with a thick beard and a tired expression greeted them. Zay reached into his coat and laid four silver coins onto the counter.
"Two days. Two nights," he said.
The bartender gave a nod and slid over a small iron key, its tag etched with the letters B9.
Zay took the key and turned toward the staircase, rubbing his eyes as a long yawn escaped him. "I can't wait for this sleep…" he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I swear, I'm gonna be out for a whole day."
He climbed the wooden stairs slowly, boots creaking with each step, until he reached the second floor. The hallway was dimly lit by a few wall sconces, casting flickering shadows across the narrow corridor. He moved past the doors one by one, reading the faded numbers until he finally stopped in front of B9.
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. Naomi hadn't followed him up.
With a tired sigh, he turned around and made his way back toward the stairs, unwilling to leave her alone for too long.
—
The tavern's air was thick with smoke and sweat, the scent of spiced rum curling through every breath. Laughter echoed from the far tables, and boots clacked heavily across the warped wooden floor. Naomi stood quietly near one of the support beams, a faint mist curling at her feet—subtle, unnatural. Her long blonde hair shimmered slightly beneath the lanternlight, and her eyes, dark pink and glinting like crystal, remained fixed ahead—cold, unreadable.
A man pushed through the crowd, his white tunic loosely tied at the chest, revealing a hint of bronzed skin. He had sharp cheekbones, short golden hair, and eyes the color of a clear sky—but there was a smugness behind them, something hungry.
"Well now," he drawled, stepping too close. "A beauty like you shouldn't be standing around alone. Come with me for the night, and I'll give you a time you'll never forget."
Naomi turned her head, slowly, precisely. Her eyes locked on his, the dark pink deepening like dusk bleeding into midnight. She raised a hand with practiced grace, fingers poised like she might pluck something unseen from the air.
"No," she said flatly.
The man chuckled, undeterred. "Oh come on, don't be like that. Everyone has a price. What's yours? A few gold? I can make it worth your while."
Her expression didn't change, but her voice grew colder. "I already have a room—with my master."
The word made his lip curl.
"Master?" he repeated, scoffing as his eyes swept over her. "You a servant girl? Or is this some kind of game? I could show you something better than whatever sad little lord you're tailing."
He reached for her arm.
Then everything shifted.
Naomi's aura pulsed. Invisible to all others, it slithered out like smoke made of a snake. It gripped him before he even realized anything moved at all, sinking into his thoughts like ink spilling through water. His fingers froze mid-motion. His pupils dilated.
In an instant, the tavern vanished for him. He stood in a golden hall, towering piles of coins at his feet, wine flowing in crystal streams, and women—dozens of them—called his name from velvet couches. A throne rose at the end of the chamber, and atop it, he saw himself—robed in silk, a crown of emerald on his head, every pleasure at his fingertips.
He laughed. He reached. He devoured.
But the deeper he waded into the dream, the more it consumed him. The wine turned to ash. The women melted into smoke. The gold burned in his hands. The throne cracked beneath his feet. Desire became panic. Joy turned to suffocation.
He clutched his chest, gasping for air. The pressure was unbearable—like invisible hands tightening around his lungs.
Outside the illusion, Naomi stood still, her aura a ghostly shimmer that nobody around them could see or feel. Patrons passed by as if nothing were happening. The tavern noise continued. But the man in front of her was trembling, sweat dripping down his neck, his breath hitching in shallow bursts. His knees buckled.
He collapsed to the ground, his eyes widened as his chest stopped moving, his heart ceased beating, and his body lay lifeless.
Naomi opened her mouth slightly as a trail of silver aura drifted from his body and into her mouth, and she swallowed it, licking her lips.
'Greed and lust from these... things always taste amazing,' she thought to herself, a slight, satisfied smile curling her lips. With a graceful pivot, Naomi turned toward the staircase, her boots brushing softly against the wooden floor. Her steps were light but unhurried, almost floating as she began her ascent, one hand gliding along the rail while her fingers absentmindedly flexed and relaxed.
As she reached the halfway point, Zay—several steps above her—glanced down.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice low but curious. He'd caught the tail end of her smile before it vanished.
Naomi blinked, the question catching her off guard. Her head tilted slightly as her lips parted, but no words came at first. She quickly straightened her posture, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and looked up at him.
"Nothing happened at all..." she replied softly, almost too quickly, before tightening her lips and continuing up the stairs.
Zay frowned faintly, glancing past her to the first floor below. The sound of mugs clinking, drunken laughter, and the pluck of instruments drifted upward. He sighed and turned back, continuing toward the second floor.
They reached the top and turned down a narrow hallway, dimly lit by flickering lanterns spaced evenly along the walls. Zay stopped at a door marked B9, pulled out the iron key, and slid it into the lock. With a soft click, he twisted the rounded handle, and the door opened inward with a faint creak.
He stepped inside, Naomi close behind, then shut the door behind her.
The room was modest but warm. Two beds sat side by side with a wooden nightstand in between, each bed crowned with a modest pillow and a folded blanket. A small brown table with two chairs stood near the window, where three candles were already lit and flickering softly. Two more candles burned on either side of the nightstand, and one rested atop a narrow shelf near the door.
"Sure do make sure there's light in this building, don't they?" Zay murmured, more to himself than anyone else. It was a habit—talking aloud when someone else was nearby, even if he wasn't expecting an answer.
Naomi tilted her head. "I suppose so, master. I'm unsure," she said, walking toward the bed on the left. She reached out, her fingers brushing across the soft mattress. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. She turned to face Zay.
"Are you sure... I can sleep on something like this? Isn't it too soft?"
Zay walked over to the second bed, pressing his palm against the fabric. It gave way easily, plush and unfamiliar.
"I don't see what's wrong with it. It's a bit too soft for me, personally, but it'll do, right?"
Naomi watched his face closely. Her eyes narrowed, scanning every twitch of his mouth, every shift in his expression, every hint of intent in the way his body moved—but there was nothing. No hint of lust, wanting, greed, or any desire whatsoever.
She blinked.
'A human without... a desire? How is that possible?' she thought, stunned, unsure how to process the complete absence of something so constant in others. Her aura, still faintly stirred from earlier, faded like mist under sunlight.
Without a word, she stepped backward and let herself fall onto the mattress. Her arms flopped limply at her sides, and for a moment, she simply lay there, breathing in the warmth.
It had been months since she'd felt softness beneath her. Her legs, once bound in chains for hours on end, now stretched out freely. She turned her head to the side, eyes half-lidded, as the weight of exhaustion finally overtook her.
End of Volume II