The elegant dining room of the upscale restaurant buzzed with activity. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the crisp white tablecloths and polished silverware. The melodious clink of spoons against fine china plates mingled with the gentle murmur of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter from the well-dressed patrons.
Amidst this refined chaos, Cyrus sat rigidly at a small table, his face partially obscured by an oversized menu. His eyes, sharp and attentive, darted across the room, fixating on two figures seated at a distant table. He leaned slightly towards his companion, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What could they be talking about?" Cyrus mused, his curiosity evident in the slight furrow of his brow.
Beside him, Neno's hand trembled visibly as he lifted a delicate porcelain cup to his lips. "We shouldn't be here," he muttered, his eyes wide with apprehension.
Across the room, the objects of their attention sat facing each other, oblivious to the scrutiny. The man, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit that spoke of wealth and influence, sat with an unnatural rigidity. His eyes darted nervously around the room, as if expecting danger to materialize at any moment.
In stark contrast, his companion exuded an aura of confidence and power. The woman, strikingly beautiful, had eschewed traditional feminine attire in favor of an exquisitely cut men's ensemble. A sleek black umbrella rested against her chair, a silent sentinel. She reclined with casual elegance, one leg crossed over the other, her posture a study in relaxed authority. Her hair, a cascade of molten gold, tumbled down her back in luxurious waves.
Thanks to his unnaturally keen hearing, Cyrus managed to catch fragments of their hushed conversation.
"Believe me, it wasn't my fault. I didn't call the bureau," the man insisted, his voice tinged with desperation.
The woman's response was cool and measured. "The island is located in a separate domain. How did they get in without someone's help from within? I'm curious."
"I'm not sure, but someone might have betrayed us," he replied, his words tumbling out in a rush.
Her patience visibly fraying, the woman's voice took on a dangerous edge. "You're lucky your father is someone important," she said, punctuating her words by slamming her glass onto the table with enough force to make the nearby cutlery rattle.
The man, apparently named Marko, raised his voice in frustration, heedless of the other diners who studiously pretended not to notice the brewing confrontation. "Why are you so angry? You got out with little more than a bruise. It should be nothing for the arrogant lion, is it? It can't be for that coward, right?"
Abruptly, Marko stood, his chair scraping loudly against the polished floor. "My father wants to meet with you. He will explain everything. I can't stay here." Without waiting for a response, he rushed towards the exit, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.
In a surreal moment that left Cyrus blinking in disbelief, more than half of the restaurant's patrons rose as one and followed Marko out, leaving the once-bustling dining room eerily quiet.
Cyrus found himself frozen, acutely aware that his continued presence was now glaringly obvious. He managed an awkward smile as the woman's piercing gaze settled on him, her delicate features twisting into a frown of displeasure.
"I'm disappointed, Neno," she said, her voice carrying clearly across the now-empty space.
Neno, visibly wilting under her disapproval, quickly pointed an accusatory finger at Cyrus. "It-it was his idea," he stammered. "He wouldn't stop asking why you met with Marko."
Cyrus, attempting to salvage the situation, rose to his feet. "I was a little worried," he explained, his words tumbling out in a rush. "We can't trust him. Why meet him now?" He moved towards her with open arms, a hopeful smile on his face.
The woman sidestepped his attempted embrace with fluid grace, leaving Cyrus to stumble forward, arms clasping nothing but air. A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he stood rooted to the spot, acutely aware of how foolish he must look.
Her face remained impassive as she glanced at him, then turned away. "Marko's father has invited us," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "We can't keep him waiting." She strode towards the exit, her movements a clear signal for them to follow.
Cyrus and Neno exchanged worried looks before falling into step behind her. "She doesn't seem really happy to see me back," Cyrus muttered, a note of dejection in his voice.
The trio exited through a shimmering portal, emerging moments later into a vastly different scene. They found themselves aboard a magnificent vessel, its sleek hull cutting through azure waters that stretched to the horizon. Transparent sails billowed overhead, catching the rays of the setting sun and diffracting them into a dazzling array of colors.
Cyrus leaned against the polished railing, watching the clear blue wake trail behind them as the ship maneuvered through the gently rolling sea. He followed Leora – across the deck, marveling at the opulent surroundings. Plush seating areas were artfully arranged amidst lush greenery, with delicate lanterns swaying gently in the sea breeze.
On one of the luxurious loungers reclined a man whose presence commanded attention. Despite the few wrinkles that lined his face, he possessed an extraordinary handsomeness that time had only enhanced. Dressed casually in a flowing beach shirt and tailored shorts, he exuded an air of relaxed authority, a crystal tumbler held loosely in one hand.
Leora approached, closing her black umbrella with a soft click. "Greetings, senior," she said, her tone respectful but not subservient.
Cyrus observed the exchange curiously from a few paces back, his mind racing. This man, Marko's father, radiated wealth and power in a way that made Cyrus reassess his understanding of Leora's own family's standing. It seemed there were depths to this world he had yet to fathom.
The man waved a hand casually. "No need for formalities, friend. Please, have a seat."
As Leora settled herself gracefully into a nearby chair, Cyrus and Neno remained standing, unsure of their place in this tableau. The older man clapped his hands sharply, and suddenly the deck was alive with movement as a group of people emerged from below.
Cyrus tensed, his fingers twitching as he prepared to cast a defensive spell at the slightest provocation. Was this another of Marko's tricks?
His concern quickly shifted as he realized the newcomers were guards, roughly manhandling a battered figure. They shoved a man to his knees on the deck – Prid, Cyrus realized with a jolt. Prid's body was a canvas of bruises and cuts, his face pale and bloodied. He coughed weakly, spitting blood onto the immaculate deck as he clutched at his chest with trembling hands.
Marko's father rose, sauntering towards the kneeling man with the easy confidence of a predator approaching wounded prey. "The human mind is fascinating, don't you think?" he mused, his tone conversational. "Sometimes we do things that go against common logic, with total disregard for consequences. When I was young, before all this," he gestured vaguely at their opulent surroundings, "I met a woman. She was... there are no words to describe how she was. Angelic, maybe? Or perhaps demonic? I can't really remember. What I do recall is nearly losing everything."
He paused, taking a measured sip from his glass before crouching to meet Prid's pain-filled gaze. "The sages over time have called it 'emotion.' What a sophisticated word. I call it control. Yes, that's what you get when you give in to anger, hatred, pain – and the most destructive of all, love. I saved you from certain death, you who take so much pride in your code of honor. And still, you betrayed me."
Prid's forehead struck the deck as he prostrated himself. "I am willing to pay with my life for my fault," he croaked. "I did contact the bureau, but I never helped them get in."
Rising smoothly, Marko's father turned to Leora, extending a hand with exaggerated courtesy. She hesitated, glancing briefly at Cyrus before allowing herself to be led closer to where Prid knelt.
With another sharp clap, a guard approached, struggling under the weight of an abnormally large, double-edged sword. The man's veins bulged with the effort of carrying the massive weapon.
"You came to my house, and my stupid son couldn't take proper care of you," Marko's father said to Leora, his tone almost paternal. "You're going to be married soon. As a token of my sincerity, you can have his head as amends."
A guard deftly removed Leora's umbrella, replacing it with the unwieldy sword. She gripped the hilt, her expression unreadable.
"Leora!" Cyrus cried out, taking an impulsive step forward. "He's a bite, just like us!" His advance was immediately checked as the surrounding guards raised their weapons, their intent crystal clear.
Marko's father turned to Cyrus, a predatory smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I've heard many rumors about you. They call you the arrogant lion. A fitting reputation if you are to join our family, but I'm curious if you're worthy of such a name."
With that, he stepped aside, leaving Leora standing before the kneeling Prid, the massive sword gleaming in her hands. The tension on the deck was palpable as all eyes turned to her, waiting to see what she would do next.