The journey to the Northern District was a punishing ordeal. Endless days of travel through snow-drenched landscapes left me physically and mentally drained. The cold was unrelenting, biting through the thick cloak I'd been given like it was made of paper. Every breath crystallized in the air, and every step seemed to sink into the unforgiving snow.
Leila's convoy moved with the precision of a military operation. Her soldiers rode in tight formations, their weapons always within reach. I was kept in a separate carriage, flanked by armed guards. Their watchful eyes never left me, though they said little. Whether their silence was due to discipline or disdain, I couldn't tell.
The Northern District loomed in my mind like a myth come to life. It was known as the Hand of the Empire, home to its most loyal and disciplined soldiers. The region was a paradox of elegance and ruthlessness, its rulers as revered for their sophistication as they were feared for their power. This was the heart of the Empire's strength, and I was being dragged right into it.
When we finally arrived at the Duke's estate, I was struck dumb by its sheer magnificence. The fortress rose out of the snow like a monument to human determination, its towering walls and gleaming spires a stark contrast to the bleak landscape. Flags bearing the silver wolf crest of the Northern Duke snapped in the icy wind.
Inside, the estate was no less awe-inspiring. Grand halls stretched endlessly, their walls lined with intricate tapestries and suits of polished armor. Chandeliers hung like constellations from vaulted ceilings, casting a warm glow over the cold stone floors. Every inch of the place screamed power and wealth, but also discipline—a reflection of its ruler's iron will.
Before I could take it all in, I was escorted to a small, sparsely furnished room. A table and two chairs were the only adornments, and the air felt heavy with expectation.
The door opened, and an old man entered.
"My name is Alfred" he said.a man who commanded respect without trying. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his presence filling the room effortlessly. His gray hair, streaked with black, framed a face weathered by years of war and duty. Deep-set eyes scanned me with the precision of a soldier assessing a potential threat.
"You must be Jack," he said, his voice low and measured.
I nodded. "That's me."
He didn't sit. Instead, he loomed over the table, his gaze sharp enough to cut. "Lady Leila has instructed me to determine whether you are trustworthy—or a liability. I suggest you cooperate fully."
I swallowed hard. "Understood."
"Good." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
I obeyed, feeling the weight of his scrutiny as he took the opposite seat.
"Start from the beginning," he said. "Who are you, and how did you end up in the Eastern District?"
I hesitated, my mind racing. The truth was unthinkable—that I was a man from another world, dragged into the pages of a novel I barely remembered. Even if I tried to explain, it would sound like the ravings of a madman and I wasn't looking to be thrown in an asylum before I could do anything.
"I don't know," I said carefully. "I woke up in the Eastern District with no memory of how I got there. I was tied up, about to be sold. That's all I remember."
Alfred's expression didn't change, but his silence pressed on me like a vice.
"And before that?"
"I was…" I trailed off, grasping for something plausible. "I lived a normal life. Nothing worth mentioning."
"Convenient," he said, his voice dripping with skepticism.
"It's the truth," I said quickly. "I'm just trying to survive."
Alfred leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Lady Leila sees potential in you, but I don't trust you. Not yet. Step out of line, and you'll learn firsthand why the Northern District has no patience for liars."
"Understood," I said, keeping my tone neutral.
He stood, his towering frame casting a long shadow. "Someone will escort you to your quarters. Keep your head down, and don't test my patience."
Later, as I was escorted to the estate under the watchful eye of a servant, thinking to myself this isn't usually how the stories go feeling pity for myself. I encountered someone who radiated quiet intensity. Marie, Leila's daughter, was like a younger, more reserved version of her mother. Her pink hair fell in soft waves around her face, and her ruby eyes glimmered with intelligence same as her mother same as mine.
"So," she said, her voice laced with disdain, "you're my mother's new toy."
Maybe it was the stress of everything or me feeling powerless I snapped. I bristled. "I'm not anyone's toy."
She tilted her head, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Mother does love collecting strays. You'll be discarded when she grows bored."
"Listen, princess," I snapped, my patience fraying. "I've been through hell, and I'm not in the mood for your spoiled attitude. Maybe try talking to me like a person instead of a pet."
Her eyes narrowed, and I thought for a moment that she might retaliate. But before the situation could escalate, a servant appeared, bowing deeply.
"Sir Jack," he said. "Lady Leila requests your presence in her chambers."
Marie shot me one last glare before stalking off without another word.
Leila's chambers were a study in opulence. The walls were draped in rich purple silk, their shimmering surface catching the light of a massive crystal chandelier. A roaring fireplace dominated one side of the room, its mantle adorned with silver candelabras and carved wolf motifs.
The centerpiece was a massive four-poster bed, its velvet curtains drawn back to reveal plush bedding in shades of red and gold. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of the mistress's refined tastes.
Leila reclined on a velvet chaise near the fireplace, a glass of wine in hand. She wore a flowing gown of deep crimson, its fabric clinging to her form in a way that exuded both elegance and authority.
"Jack," she said, her voice smooth and inviting. "Come in."
I stepped inside, feeling the weight of her gaze as she studied me. She gestured for me to sit in a chair opposite her, and I obeyed.
For a moment, she said nothing, letting the silence stretch until it became almost unbearable. Then, a slow smile curved her lips.
"So," she said, her tone teasing. "How is my new toy?"
Her words sent a chill down my spine, though I couldn't tell if it was fear or something more unsettling.
"I'm not a toy," I said, keeping my voice steady.
Her smile widened, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh, Jack. You'll learn soon enough that you're not dealing with ordinary people anymore."