"So, let me get this straight," Zenith started, trying to make sense of his new reality. "I'm like a human version of an all-you-can-eat buffet in a world of starving vegans?"
Saphira didn't even blink. "More like a treasure chest that everyone wants to unlock."
Zenith raised an eyebrow. "Well, if I'm a treasure chest, I'm pretty sure I didn't sign up for this 'being hounded by everyone' gig. I mean, do you at least offer a warning label or something? 'Caution: One man, handle with care.'"
"Handle with care?" Saphira shot him a look. "Trust me, you're going to need the warning. And it's not just the 'handling.' It's the obsession."
Zenith blinked. "Obsession? You make it sound like I'm a limited-edition action figure."
"Not far off," she said with a slight smirk. "Except this 'action figure' can cause an entire society to have a meltdown. Men don't just exist here—they're practically a myth. Your presence here is like... a combo of Christmas, Easter, and the Fourth of July all rolled into one. Everyone's been waiting for you, and now they're not sure whether to celebrate or treat you like the last slice of pizza at a party."
Zenith stopped in his tracks. "Wait, wait, wait. They've been waiting for me? You mean, like, they have some kind of shrine to me? A 'Welcome Home, Zenith' banner? Some creepy little cult thing going on in the background?"
Saphira didn't even flinch. "Not exactly a shrine, but yes, there are some who'll think you're their divine intervention. The problem is, a lot of people will have... different ideas about what you're for."
Zenith winced. "I'm starting to feel like I'm not the protagonist here—I'm more like the misplaced guest at a party no one invited me to."
Saphira turned her head just enough to give him a sideways glance. "That's because you're not the protagonist here. You're the... solution to a very, very old problem."
"Great," Zenith muttered. "I've always wanted to be the solution to an old problem. Do I get a medal for that, or just a lifetime of people treating me like a walking miracle?"
Saphira's lips quirked. "The second one. The medal's probably being discussed as we speak, but don't expect it to arrive any time soon."
Zenith blew out a breath, exasperated. "So, what do I do? Just stand here and let people ogle me like I'm some kind of human zoo exhibit? Maybe I should get a sign that says 'Please don't feed the man' or 'Don't stare too long, or you'll break him.'"
Saphira shot him a look that clearly said she wasn't impressed by his theatrics, but the slightest flicker of amusement still played in her eyes. "I'm afraid it's not that simple. And let me tell you, the feeding thing? They might actually try."
"Feeding?! Like... feeding me what?" Zenith's mind immediately went to strange, uncharted territories. "What, are we talking actual food, or like, some weird, ancient ritual where I get fed grapes while being massaged by ten women? Because I'm not sure I'm prepared for that level of weirdness."
"Food. For now. But the rest... that comes later," she said ominously, leading him down another corridor. "This isn't a joke, Zenith. And don't get comfortable. You're not going to be here forever. This is just a temporary stop. We need to keep you safe until we figure out what the hell to do with you."
Zenith flopped onto a velvet couch that looked like it belonged in a royal palace. "Safe, huh? Yeah, sure. Safe from what? Angry mobs of women who think I'm some sort of cosmic mistake? Maybe I should wear a disguise. Like, a huge mustache or something. Maybe some sunglasses? That way, at least I'll feel like I'm trying to get through this unscathed."
"Good luck with that," Saphira said dryly, already halfway through the door of what seemed to be a ridiculously fancy bedroom. "You're not going to blend in, no matter how much you try."
Zenith followed her into the room, his eyes widening as he took in the opulence. "Wow. This is... not subtle. You sure this isn't the part of the Sanctum where you trap people and make them work for their freedom? Because I'm getting major I'm-a-prisoner vibes."
Saphira's lips twitched in what could almost be called a grin. "No, this is where you're going to stay. For now. It's the safest place for someone like you."
Zenith looked around, clearly unimpressed. "Right. Safe. No pressure or anything."
Saphira shrugged. "The alternative is you going out there and being treated like the last chocolate bar at a Weight Watchers meeting."
"Yikes. I'm not that delicious," Zenith muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I am great, but come on. They can't all be that obsessed with me."
Saphira crossed her arms, her expression turning a little more serious. "Oh, believe me, they will be. And you're going to have to get used to it. They're not just fascinated by you—they're desperate for any kind of interaction with a man. And I'm not talking small talk. I'm talking full-on attention. The kind you've never had to deal with in your life."
Zenith flopped back dramatically onto the bed. "Well, I've had some attention. I mean, I'm not exactly an unknown in my world. But this? This is next-level weird. Is there a manual I can read? Or do I just wing it and hope I don't get turned into a sacrifice?"
"There's no manual," Saphira said, heading toward the door. "But if there were, I'd tell you to read the Please Don't Die chapter first. And don't worry. I'll make sure you don't turn into a sacrifice... for now."
"Great. For now." Zenith muttered, closing his eyes dramatically. "I'm really looking forward to the not-dying part. Thanks for the clarity."
Saphira's laughter rang out as the door shut behind her. Zenith let out a long, frustrated sigh, staring at the ceiling.
"Okay," he said to himself. "So, I'm the last man in a world full of women who treat me like I'm a walking, talking miracle. This is going to be fun. Real fun."
He buried his face in the pillow. "I really need to stop waking up in weird places."