Seth drifted into a deep sleep, his consciousness sinking into a vast void that stretched endlessly in every direction. Silence wrapped around him, oppressive and unbroken. There was no light, no ground, no sky, only a suffocating expanse of nothingness that left him weightless and adrift.
Then, faintly, a single droplet echoed, its sound rippling through the void like a disturbance on still water. The unseen ground beneath him trembled with the resonance, and the emptiness began to shift. Slowly, shapes emerged—faint and ethereal at first—then solidified into towering walls, intricate columns, and sweeping arches.
He stood in a massive hall, vast and imposing. It was unmistakably the Gray Palace.
Seth's crimson eyes widened, his breath catching. The intricate designs, the sheer magnitude of the space, and the cold, commanding presence of the hall—it was exactly as he remembered.
Why am I dreaming about this place? he wondered, a cold unease creeping into his chest. The vividness of the dream unsettled him; it felt too real to be a mere fabrication of his mind.
A soft poke on his back jolted him from his thoughts. He spun around sharply, his heart pounding, to find a familiar form—a clump of shifting, amorphous hair that seemed to tilt upward toward him.
"Zasha?" Seth said, startled.
The creature, the Gray Palace's ever-enthusiastic servant, rippled with excitement. "Welcome back, Master's guest!" Zasha exclaimed, its tone warm and almost cheerful.
"You…" Seth started, struggling to find his words. "Am I dead again? No, that can't be—right?"
"You needn't worry," Zasha replied, its voice soothing. "You are not dead."
"Then what is this? Why am I here?" Seth demanded, the unease in his chest growing heavier.
"It seems Master has personally pulled your soul here," Zasha explained, as if the answer were self-evident.
Master? Seth's pulse quickened. Why would he summon me? Was this truly a dream, or something more?
"This is indeed within your dream," Zasha clarified, as though sensing his doubt. "But Master says you are in danger."
"Danger?" Seth repeated, his brows knitting together. "From what? I don't think I've made any enemies—yet."
Zasha's tone darkened. "Something dangerous has turned its gaze upon you."
"What does that even mean?" Seth asked, frustration creeping into his voice.
"Master has seen a force beyond mortal comprehension attempting to pierce the veil he placed upon you," Zasha explained gravely.
"The veil…?" Seth muttered, trying to piece together the cryptic revelation.
"You made a contract with Master," Zasha continued. "That bond connects you to his power, but your body cannot fully contain it. Energy spills from you, unrestrained, making you visible to those who seek to harm Master or anyone associated with him."
Seth frowned, the weight of Zasha's words pressing heavily on him. "So this veil… it's like a shield?"
"The veil suppresses the energy radiating from you," Zasha confirmed. "The blindfold Master gifted you is made from the same fabric as Master's veil. Without it, your presence would shine like a beacon to those hostile to Master."
Seth's mind flashed back to the moment he had touched Clark—the raw jolt of energy that had surged between them. His crimson eyes narrowed. "That explains the reaction when I touched Clark," he murmured.
"But it's more than just your energy. The danger comes because many are hostile to Master. Anyone connected to him becomes a target."
Seth exhaled sharply, the weight of the revelation settling on his shoulders. "Who are these enemies? Who's targeting me?"
Zasha hesitated, its form rippling as if caught in an internal struggle. "I am not permitted to speak their names. But they are entities akin to gods in this world. They have hunted Master ever since he claimed the Lord of Death's authority in the underworld."
Seth's breath caught. Gods? The Lord of Death's authority? His thoughts swirled. This is far more complicated than I imagined.
"What am I supposed to do?" he asked, raking a hand through his silver hair.
"Become Master's vessel," Zasha said simply.
Seth froze, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Master's vessel?"
"It means becoming Master's incarnate," Zasha explained. "The closer you align with Master, the more power you'll be able to wield. Master has already granted you permission to use the Feather in Flames, tied to one of the twelve seats. With it, your strength will grow."
Seth's expression hardened. This is an incredible deal… but how did I even get into this mess? No… I already know. I walked straight into it.
He let out a sharp breath, his frustration spilling over. "I still have so many questions, but I don't think I can take all the answers at once. Just tell me—how do I avoid this danger?"
"Face it. Don't hide. Master prefers to show his power to his enemies."
Seth raised an eyebrow. "You want me to attract more attention? What happens if I actually die?"
"Are you afraid of death?" Zasha asked, its tone almost childlike in its curiosity.
"Of course I am," Seth snapped. "This is my second chance at life, and I have my own vision for the future."
"You needn't worry," Zasha assured him. "Master will not allow you to die. Not yet."
"Not yet?" Seth repeated. "So, he'll let me die later?"
"I don't know," Zasha admitted. "But Master never allows his incarnates to experience true death."
Seth groaned. "Great. That's somehow both comforting and ominous."
"You're not the first incarnate, you know," Zasha added.
Seth's eyes narrowed. "Not the first? There was another before me?"
"Yes," Zasha confirmed. "Master created a clone of himself. It was his first attempt—a being with its own will and judgment. But Master deemed it defective and discarded it."
"Defective?" Seth repeated, his curiosity piqued. "Why was it defective?"
"I do not know," Zasha admitted. "Master does not speak of it often."
Seth's thoughts churned. If Master abandoned his own creation, what does that mean for me? What happens when I no longer meet his expectations?
"Well," Seth said finally, defiance creeping into his tone, "if I'm destined to be discarded, I'll live my life how I see fit."
At his words, the dream began to fracture. Cracks spread across the walls, jagged lines of light splintering the hall. Zasha glanced around, its form rippling with unease. "It seems someone is trying to wake you."
Seth nodded, offering the creature a small smile. "We'll meet again."
The cracks widened, and the dream shattered like glass as Seth's consciousness returned to the waking world.
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Seth woke to the sound of murmurs and the faint rustle of fabric. As his crimson eyes fluttered open, the blurred outlines of familiar faces came into focus. His chamber was filled with an odd mixture of relief and tension.
Royfield knelt beside him, carefully holding his wrist as if checking his pulse. Claire stood nearby, her face streaked with tears, her expression a mix of anguish and hope. Behind her stood Aiden, silent and stoic, though his tense posture betrayed his inner turmoil. Clark lingered by the doorway, his green eyes wide with disbelief, his body as still as a statue.
"Why is everyone in my chamber, Royfield?" Seth asked, his voice calm but laced with irritation.
Royfield opened his mouth to respond, but Claire stepped forward, her voice trembling. "My lord… I…" She wiped her tears, though they continued to fall. "I heard you were awake earlier and rushed to see you. But then you… you fell unconscious again."
Royfield interjected smoothly, his tone measured and respectful. "I apologize for the commotion, my lord. Miss Claire insisted on ensuring your well-being. When we found you unresponsive, it seemed as though—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It seemed as though you had stopped breathing."
Seth sighed, leaning back against the headboard. "I was merely sleeping," he said, his tone dismissive. "There's no need for this fuss." His mind, however, lingered on the warnings Zasha had given him. Something dangerous has turned its gaze upon me.
Aiden remained silent, his gaze fixed on Seth. The relief in his eyes was evident, though he stayed rooted in place, unwilling to speak. Seeing Seth lifeless had weighed heavily on him during the lord's absence, driving him to retreat into work and distraction. Now, with Seth awake, a flicker of hope returned to Aiden's expression.
Clark, on the other hand, appeared pale, his sharp senses allowing him to perceive what the others could not. The overwhelming torrent of bluish-gold mana spilling from Seth's body was raw, unrestrained, and far beyond what any human should possess.
This… this isn't normal, Clark thought, his chest tightening. What exactly is Lord Arlecia?
"Royfield," Seth said, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. "What time is it?"
"It is evening, my lord," Royfield replied promptly.
"Good," Seth said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Prepare my dinner. As for the rest of this… commotion," he gestured toward the group gathered in his chamber, "we'll address it later, during dinner."
He turned his gaze toward Claire, his expression softening. "Claire," he began, his voice gentler now, "I've heard you've done an excellent job in my absence. I'm proud of you."
Claire's tears paused momentarily, her wide eyes searching his face for sincerity. "Thank you, my lord," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"However…" Seth's lips curved into a teasing smirk, his tone taking a mischievous edge. "It seems you didn't keep your promise."
Claire froze, her relief quickly replaced by confusion and wariness. "Pardon, my lord?" she asked cautiously.
"You know what I mean," Seth replied, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement. "It seems you've earned yourself… a present."
Claire stiffened at his words, a nervous chill running down her spine. "A… present?" she repeated hesitantly.
Seth's smirk widened slightly, but he offered no further explanation. Rising from the bed with fluid grace, he turned to Royfield. "Let's go."
Without another word, Seth strode from the room, his presence commanding as ever. Royfield followed close behind, his expression unreadable. Claire remained rooted in place, trembling as she replayed Seth's words in her mind.
Behind her, Aiden finally exhaled, a weight visibly lifted from his shoulders. Clark, however, stayed silent, his thoughts racing as he tried to make sense of the storm of energy he had seen emanating from Lord Arlecia.