The waters heat scalded against his skin, immediately contradicted by buckets of freezing water pouring over top his head by the man.
To the boy, it was both of immense discomfort and an oddly undeniable feeling of refreshment.
It made him feel alive.
It wasn't too long until the washing came to a close — the man reaching for a towel and tossing it, along with a bundle of clothes, straight to the boy.
"Get changed," he murmured, turning his back and beginning to march out of the room, "I'll wait outside. Come to me when you're done."
Upon inspecting the clothes, they were notably quite clean and tidy. Without a doubt, he could immediately make out this was no poor set of attire, but rather a luxury set of items most went without.
It's craftmenship was undeniable — not a single seam existing on its surface as the strands of cloth weaved together so well that they're nearly incomprehensible to the naked eye.
The texture was that of fine silk, morphing into his hand and providing an odd sense of safety to him.
Without wasting a second, he dawned the clothes and shyly poked his head out the door.
The man gave an approving nod. "Good. Follow me."
As they paraded down the hall, the boy attempted a second examination of the signs marking the doors, though the man never slowed.
On top of that, much to the boys surprise, the man turned on his heel nearly as soon as their journey began, halting himself before a dark wooden door to their right.
The only sign he could make out — marking the room directly across from his own — was questionably labeled 'patches.'
He couldn't ponder much on the observation before the man started eyeing him down with a glint of expectation.
Sensing his intentions, the boy briskly walked over and pressed his body against the side of the door; His hand reaching down and gently twisting the metal knob as it began to lurch open.
Blessing his eyes was a rather quaint bedroom — decorated sparsely — only with a small white bed sitting to the left, a tall wardrobe comfortably lodged between the end of the bed and the back wall, and a small wooden chair that looked as if it was made centuries ago.
The walls themselves were completely unadorned with decorations, save for a single narrow window that centered itself against the back and streamed in a constant ray of moonlight.
Notably, it provided quite a humble view of a dimly lit garden.
"This is where you'll be staying," the man murmured, hand stroking his chin as he spoke, "It's not much, but it should be enough for the time being."
The boy gave a relaxed sigh. After the cold of night, desolate streets and the scalding bath, he finally had a chance to rest. A chance to allow for his mind to catch up.
He sat himself down atop the compressing bed, nearly ready to collapse and end his horrific night with a shallow rest.
The only thing which snapped the boy out from his sleep-fueled thoughts was the sudden reappearance of the man's voice.
"Tell me boy… can you remember your name at the very least?"
The boy subtly shook his head.
"I see. Well then, since you don't remember, I'll take charge and name you myself." The boy gave an expecting glare as the man continued: "You shall be named Nephyr. It suits you… and your new role."
"Nephyr…" the boy murmured under his breathe, turning his head to the floor with a hollow stare.
"What? You don't like your name?"
"No- it's not that… Nephyr is fine." The man gave a weary look, prompting the boy to speak once again: "I am Nephyr."
"Very well. Then consider yourself officially integrated into the family. I expect big things from you, Nephyr. Big things indeed."