Leonidas stared up at the looming mansion that belonged to Ceruviel with a mix of trepidation and awe. The home was a towering demonstration of hedonistic indulgence, exactly like he’d expect from his eccentric mentor. It was built up to four storeys high, and boasted gothic architecture mixed with the greco-roman thematic rampant throughout Dawnhaven’s original Haelfenn construction projects.

Its grounds, such as they were, were walled on four sides—wider than they were long, though he estimated that the front gardens alone must have been at least one hundred yards from the gate to the front door.

Members of the Duskguard stood in attendance as an honor guard around the manor’s walls, and scarlet pennants flew from the pointed tops of its victorian-esque tower-rises along several points. The walls surrounding the manor were perhaps five yards high, and built from solid granite blocks that were seamlessly fitted together.

Windows adorned every level of the construction aplenty, with several balconies at the second level of the mansion, and floor-to-ceiling glass doors and windows adjoining those balconies to the building proper.

The roof tiles were colored a royal purple, and banners of a magenta hue—perhaps representing Ceruviel’s psionic talents—hung from multitudinous locations across the exterior.

“{It is good to see that at least some things still surprise you,}” Ceruviel said as the immense gates swung inward, and the carriage trundled forward along the paved driveway leading toward the mansion’s entrance.

“{Plenty of things about this new reality surprised me,}” Leonidas said with a dry look for the older elf.

“{Perhaps, but none too overtly. Your stoicism has been something of a frustration for me at times, I have to admit,}” Ceruviel said while smiling at him in amusement. “{Even the sheer amount of gold I spent on outfitting your wardrobe merited no more than a sigh of consternation, of all things.}”

“{You sound disappointed by my lack of melodrama,}” Leonidas observed while glancing out of the window again at the decorations and meticulously maintained garden designs they were passing.

“{I am nothing if not a lover of entertainment, dear Achilles,}” Ceruviel said by way of answer, and then shrugged her bare shoulders. “{And outside of the arena, and the occasional Adventure or foray into the wilds of this new world, people are the most reliable source of that entertainment.}”

“{I will endeavor to be more wide-eyed and slack-jawed, then.}” Leonidas replied with a quiet snort, and then looked toward the door when the carriage pulled in around the large circular arrival point, built around a massive fountain that he assumed was fed by magitech.

The fountain itself was the base of a large, fifteen foot statue that seemed to depict an ancient warrior in elaborate plate armor, sword held aloft.

Before Leonidas could ask questions, the door to the carriage was pulled open and he was greeted by what appeared to be a Butler in full attire, and a human one at that. He was above average in height, at a rough six feet and two inches, and had black hair shot through with bright silver. His cheeks were clean-shaven, but he had one of the most amazing and perfectly waxed handlebar mustaches Leonidas had ever seen.

“{Greetings, young master,}” the man said in British-accented Haelfennyr, “{and Welcome to the Latherian Estate.}”

Leonidas really did let his jaw fall open this time, and Ceruviel laughed happily from opposite him when she saw it.

“{Yes! That is exactly what I wanted!}” the Duchess exclaimed gleefully. “{Who knew that all it would take to achieve the result was Jefferies?}”

“{A pleasure to be of service, madam,}” the Butler, Jefferies, said calmly, and then gestured for Leonidas to disembark. “{This way, young master.}”

Leonidas accepted the instruction wordlessly and disembarked from the carriage with a mixture of continued shock and sheer awe at the absolute perfection of the man’s mustache. Almost automatically, he reached back to offer his hand to Ceruviel, who accepted it and stepped out after him, and then patted him on the arm approvingly.

“{Well done, Achilles. You can stop treating me like that now, though. There’s no watching eyes here that we need to worry about. I scour the minds of my staff and attendants every moment they’re near me.}”

Leonidas blinked out of his bewitched admiration of Jefferies’ mustache, and then nodded in acknowledgement to Ceruviel’s words. When he did, he noticed properly that they were not alone—and was momentarily alarmed by how he’d missed that fact.

His time on Elatra had honed his senses to a razor’s edge, and yet he’d completely missed the lineup of maids standing in white and purple attire in two neat rows leading to the stairs preceding the opened double doors of the mansion. Shock momentarily stole his response from him, and it was only Ceruviel’s light tap on his arm that snapped him out of his distraction.

What the hell was going on with his mind?

“{Right. Sure,}” he said abruptly while trying to reorganize his thoughts, “{how many staff are there, exactly? This place is palatial, Ceruviel. Unless you have a massive family you have not told me about, this estate is far too large for one person!}”

Ceruviel snorted at him quietly when he spoke, and stepped forward with a gesture for him to follow. When she did, the maids—some of which were non-elves of all types, he noticed—slipped into perfect and synchronized curtsies. A surreal sense of disbelief filled him when it happened, and Leonidas quickly fell in on Ceruviel’s left flank, while Jefferies moved ahead to stand diligently at the door, and await her entrance.

“{The Estate houses more than just residency for myself and my guests, Achilles,}” the Duchess stated matter-of-factly while striding forward and smiling at the maids fondly. “{It houses my staff, my direct retainers, a garrison of the Duskguard, a private armory, ballroom, bath house, training area, entrance hall, dining hall, kitchens, and various smaller crafting alcoves, as well as a fully functional stables.}”

“{Of course it does,}” Leonidas said while gathering his wits, and focusing on steadying his bewilderingly inattentive mind. Jefferies bowed politely when the two entered the double doors into the dark-marbled entrance hall of the mansion, and Leonidas was greeted by the sight of ten foot high ceilings, an immense double-staircase at the far end of the hall, and multiple smaller but barely less ornate doorways on each side of the hall leading to different parts of the mansion.The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“{You will receive a full tour of the amenities and facilities later,}” Ceruviel said while leading the way toward the far staircase without pausing. “{For now, I need a bath and some distraction. Jefferies will show you to your rooms. You will be housed near me, but far enough away that you won’t run the risk of chancing on anything… untoward.}”

Leonidas took a moment to parse what she was saying, and then remembered the Duchess was a self-styled hedonist with a very, very liberal approach to sex and other such indulgences—and his cheeks heated immediately.

“{That would be preferable,}” he muttered in second-hand embarrassment, and inspired a laugh from Ceruviel.

“{I cannot wait to see which of those girls break you in first, Achilles,}” his mentor stated slyly. “{Synthra or Aylar, I wonder which it’ll be?}”

“{You have an overactive imagination,}” Leonidas said firmly, and with total belief in the statement. The idea that he’d ever end up with Synthra was insane, not to mention the damned Princess. Just because he had his Ambition and a desire to make Dawnhaven a sanctuary, did not necessarily mean he needed to do it the way she was suggesting.

There were other avenues for him to explore, he thought to himself while ascending the stairs quickly with Ceruviel and Jefferies, there had to be.

A traitorous moment of weakness took hold of his mind, however, and he imagined what the Princess might look like under her chiton—and then grimaced. The moment he had the thought, his mind flashed back to Lyara, and the feeling of cold water returned with force. The Princess might have lacked Lyara’s particular endowments, but the similarities were enough to haunt him.

His pulse quickened for reasons far removed from Ceruviel’s desires, and he abruptly realized they’d reached the third floor landing.

“{Here is where I leave you, Achilles,}” Ceruviel said with a firm look and matching tone. “{Go to your room, settle in, and take your rest. This will be your last day of it. Tomorrow morning, we will begin.}”

Leonidas looked down at his pale-skinned mentor, and then simply nodded in acceptance. When he did, her purple eyes narrowed slightly.

“{Your mind is in turmoil again,}” she observed critically, “{but I promised I would not pry. I simply hope you will correct the imbalance before we begin tomorrow.}”

Leonidas stiffened somewhat at her words, and simply nodded wordlessly.

“{Good,}” Ceruviel said before nodding to the butler, and unceremoniously striding forward down the corridor connected to the landing, and then taking a right at the end.

“{Our path lies on the left fork, young master,}” Jefferies said calmly while striding forward, “{if you will follow me.}”

“{Yeah. Thanks,}” Leonidas said while following the Butler down the corridor, and trying to stabilize his thoughts. Ceruviel had seen through him, again, like he was made of glass. Be it her psionic gifts or simple experience and intuition, his mentor had detected the turmoil in his mind as easily as one might spot an encroaching storm.

Jefferies’ footsteps became his guidestone while they walked, and Leonidas felt himself drifting again. Detaching, almost, from the reality around him. He felt inordinately exhausted, suddenly, after arriving in Ceruviel’s home—and everything from the moment he’d first met the Dusk-Lord until that very moment felt like someone else’s life.

By time Jefferies led him down the left fork of the corridor’s end, and stopped in front of the large double-doors to his own apartments to usher him in, Leonidas had to be addressed twice before he realized the Butler was speaking to him.

“{Pardon?}” he asked while snapping out of his fugue.

“{We are here, young master. I was explaining your amenities, but I think rest is the most important thing for you at present,}” the Butler said with a carefully assessing grey stare. “{I will ensure the maids are nearby if you have need of them. You need only pull the golden cord by your bed. Elsewise, I shall leave you to your rest.}”

The Butler bowed when Leonidas nodded, waited only until he’d entered the rooms assigned to him, then closed the doors and left.

Leonidas came back to himself after the doors closed long enough to step through a small entrance corridor, past an outer guest area, and into a second set of doors to the room proper. There, he barely even spared a glance for anything else after spying the immense four-poster bed, and instead beelined for it immediately.

A growing sense of unease, discomfort, and nausea was building in him—and on top of it all was a mounting, and overwhelming sense of exhaustion. He felt short of breath, suddenly, and like his mind was compressing. If he’d been asked what had caused the sensation, why it had abruptly eventuated, or what had triggered it, he’d have been wholly unable to say.

It was half in a dream, half consciously that he pulled off his jacket, tore off his tie, removed his shoes, and slid out of his pants. Attired only in a silk shirt and briefs, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at his naked hands.

Blood met his gaze, coating his fingers and palms in red, thick, and oozing liquid.

Another sharp, shallow breath escaped him and he blinked—and the blood was gone. Leonidas felt his chest tighten, and he squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden pressure, a pain, a gnawing feeling in the center of his stomach and sternum. It was impossible to put into words what it felt like, and his head almost seemed to contract and expand at the same time when he reached up, unthinking, and gripped his black hair in his fists.

He needed to talk to Lyara, he realized. She’d know what to do. She always knew what to do.

His eyes snapped open, and he turned to look at the elf—and then froze.

She wasn’t there. He wasn’t on Elatra.

Leonidas’ eyes turned back toward the door to his apartments, and he felt chills roll through him. First his body, then his blood, and then back along his spine. His fingers twitched, his lips spasmed, and he fell backward onto the bed. Something was wrong with him, he realized. Something was very, very wrong with him.

His [Cataclysm Core] growled in his solar plexus, and Leonidas took slow, steady breaths in an effort to calm what was suddenly a torrential rage of energy demanding to be let loose. He couldn’t let it out. He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let it free.

Why?

Because it’s dangerous.

Why?

Because it’s not safe.

Why?

Because I can’t control it.

Why?

Why?

Why?

Leonidas’ eyes closed, and he distantly heard someone sob. Who was crying? Why were they crying? Why were they sad? Couldn’t they see he had his own fucking problems?

Leonidas raised his hands and shoved his palms against his eyes.

“I dunno what to do, Lyly,” he said into the silence of the air, pronouncing the nickname as ‘Lily’ the way she’d loved. “You were here, and now you’re not. I think I’m going crazy.”

Why?

“I think it’s hitting me. I think it’s hitting me. I think it’s hit—hitt—I think I’m alone, Lyly.”

Why?

“I think I’m alone for good, this time.”

Why?

“I wish I’d died.”

Why?

“I wish I could die.”

That fucking crying was still happening, he thought irritably. That annoying idiot was still weeping, sounding like the world was ending, sounding like his lungs were bursting, sounding like his life was dead. He was still crying, and he was hoarse from screaming, and it was loud, and it was quiet, and it filled his head. He hated it. He hated them. He hated himself.

He hated living.

He hated, hated, hated.

Leonidas sank into darkness.

Why? Why? Why?

“Because,” he said into the black, “I wish I had died.”