Sleep had came to the boy without hindrance, a first in what seemed like millennia.
His mind, quiet against the backdrop of that stillness, remarked upon things subconsciously.
What it would take, and what it already had.
To become strong. Capable of steering the ship himself. Instead of baring loss after loss.
Was there some sick ruse at play here? The idea struck a chord within the boy. Of course it did. He was a child, and as such, he saw things in childish ways. Everything was black and white, without a possibility of interpolation between those two states.
So when his mother died, he blamed himself. Just as he did for his father's passing.
However, there were more factors at play. Not only had that man taken Yovin's family from him completely, but so many others as well.
The suffering of hundreds. A fire left to squander away in the sequestered forests of Lativa.
And the man at it's center.
In Yovin's childish mind, he yearned for that singular ambition. Unaware of the consequences, ambivalent towards the lengths he would need to traverse.
That pursuit was the last imprint on his mind before the dreams ended, followed close behind by the lapping touch of the sun.
Hindered by the curtains drawn against vertically imposing windows, it's grandiosity shimmered between metal furnishings and paintings of queens and cavalries. But the room could easily be seen, even as Yovin attempted to rub the tiredness from his eyes. It was like peering through rain-coursed oblates.
From his place on a mattress large enough to accommodate a man three times his size, Yovin took notice of the sun, the light, and the room they illuminated. The early morning gave the opulent looking place a sense of hopefulness, even as the pit in Yovin's stomach threatened to consume him whole.
He was alone. In a place he didn't recognize, the wounds he swore he had nowhere to be seen, the pain that inevitably followed mute. From one impossibility to the next, the boy's mind warped against the stimuli.
The sun was bright, almost too much so. It reminded him that the world continued to turn regardless of his feelings. Night would fall to day and so forth.
What would this day bring? More despair, even with little left to lose?
His curiosity, although peaked, bore in comparison to that feeling. The fear that gripped Yovin's arms and legs to the mattress as he stared wistfully at the lacquered ceiling above.
Before long, a series of light knocks emitted from the door, breaking the silence that pervaded the room Yovin idly remarked upon. The sound broke his malaise, raising himself aloft just enough to apply his attention towards the direction.
"Young Master, May I come in?"
The words were foreign to the boy. Young Master? That phrase was loaded with potential meanings. None of which could be suited to Yovin, son of a Farmer as he was.
Instead of an answer, Yovin merely responded with silence, his inner turmoil and the confusion cast by his new surroundings siphoning his ability to form a coherent remark.
A few more knocks this time, slightly gentler, followed by a period of silence from the person at the other side.
Then, methodically so, the door eked open, Yovin's stricken eyes peering towards the lengthening gap that emerged between the door and it's frame. Suspecting the person to be hostile towards him, he began to quiver slightly in unconscious fear.
However, his expectations were dashed completely.
"Young Master?" Peeking behind the earthen face of the door, a woman appeared. Her eyes, filled more with hesitance than hostility, caught the sunlight pouring into them beautifully, lighting the amber-colored irises within ablaze. The fear that threatened to bleed from Yovin's throat instead caught inside of it.
Moving closer to the mattress, the linen fabric of her functional gown hid a figure that could be mistaken for a young girl, perhaps was so, but at this point in time Yovin couldn't determine either.
"Sorry to wake you. Does your body feel okay?" Her lips pursed into a warm smile, the eyes that shone with the sun's fury softening as they perceived the boy. It confused Yovin to no end. In fact, this entire situation bordered so sinisterly close to insanity that he couldn't reason why he should fight it, and instead answered her as obediently as he could muster.
"Y-yes. Thank you." His voice quivered, throbbing with embarrassment and disjointedness.
"I'm glad. Again, sorry for waking you. The Mistress would like to speak, if you wouldn't mind getting ready." The Woman sat herself on the edge of the mattress, closer to Yovin than any person of the opposite sex had ever been. He could feel his face getting hotter.
However, his curiosity was a greater burden. Mistress? What was going on?
In fact, when Yovin tried to recall the previous day's events, his mind failed to grasp onto those particular memories. The details remained, such as his father's death. But the pain... the anguish had lost some hold on his psyche. Like a cloud dissipating from overhead.
The smog was gone, and every second created even more distance. What the hell was going on?
"You okay? You've been staring at me for a while, Young Master." The Woman cooed, her mouth curving into a mischievous grin, the auburn stalks of hair flowing down onto her shoulders accentuating her sensuality.
Yovin felt a new disturbance cloud his mind. An odd sense of vulnerability completely foreign to that of being left orphaned. This person, their mistress. Even the wounds he sustained being completely healed.
He was in these people's debts. And as such, there would be a point of sale in the future. Maybe that time was now. Even though he had nothing to give except his life.
"I don't understand.... What is happening? Why am I here? What do you mean by Young Master?" Yovin's tone, first beginning as a pitiful gasp, grew into a swath of anxious pleas. His legs and arms were now free, the terror of that night returning as he rose from the mattress and turned to face the Woman.
His questions were obvious ones. Anyone in his position would ask them. A stranger looking at him with such a loving gaze, his body free of damage, the feeling of loss slipping from his mind. None of it made sense.
So why did she look so sad?
"Young Master... I'm sorry. The Mistress wanted to be the one to explain once you woke up."
And in an instant, that forlorn expression completely transformed back into the jubilant gaze she first gifted Yovin. Standing from the edge of the mattress, she walked with a measured posture towards the large wardrobe that waited patiently in the corner of the room, it's ears probably burning under the talk of meetings.
"And you're finally awake. So let's make sure you look your station." The Woman's words were timed with the wardrobe doors swinging open as she yanked them dramatically.
Yovin felt his ego deflate, his curiosity crumble away. What a bizarre situation to be caught in. He was of a mind to fight it to the bitter end, but hearing this Woman's kind urgings, not to mention the attractive way she carried herself, he began to consider a more passive approach.
However, he still had to ask.
"Umm... What's your name?"
The Woman stopped what she was doing, rifling through a collection of acutely prepared sets of dress shirts and pleated garments, and turned to meet Yovin's curious gaze.
"Alya, Young Master. And it's a pleasure to finally meet you." Her words were matched with a slight bow, indicative of a life trained in the ways of pedantry. It made Yovin uncomfortable, but he wasn't familiar enough with this person to interject, even if she seemed to be quite familiar with Yovin.
~
The hall leading towards the Sanctum gave a heightened air of royalty compared to the room Yovin had been staying in. Flanked on each side by a retinue of patiently observant servants, dressed in similar garb to Alya, the surreal amount of glamour and artistry present here made his head hurt trying to process every foreign sight and sound.
The space was gargantuan, with ceilings reaching 30 meters in height, whilst the polished quartz floor stretched impossibly onward in each direction, their climaxes impossible to discern. Every step the two had taken appeared to simply fade away into a forever cadence of distance that never seemed to dissipate. The well-pressed clothing Yovin had been asked to wear made the walk that much more daunting.
He was used to much more passive garments, easy to work and play in, but these were made primarily for the sake of showing one's status. Gold inlets seamed into the cuffs of his white tunic, alongside the stiff pleated pants that held not even a speck of dust on them made every step of his weighty.
"Sorry if the clothes are kind of tight. I didn't have much in the way of shaping them." Alya responded as she took notice of Yovin's awkward movements. Her voice echoed resolutely within the massive bowels of the Estate, making her presence seem larger than what it actually was.
In fact, she was half a head shorter than Yovin. It didn't change the fact that she still intimidated him in a vague sense he couldn't really articulate if you asked him. Still, he didn't want her thinking he wasn't at least accepting of the situation.
"No worries... I've just never really wore clothes like this."
"I get you. I was the same before meeting the Mistress. You get used to it, though." That particular remark peaked Yovin's interest. But before he could ruminate on it, Alya tugged at his sleeve, her close distance causing his heartbeat to quicken slightly.
"That door ahead. The Mistress will be waiting." Alya pointed towards an unseemly looking lattice that seemed the least likely of doors that would lead towards a place such as the "Sanctum." It was a simple wooden slab with a doorknob attached to it, nestled unceremoniously amidst the vast stretch of bleach white granite walls.
"Don't worry. She's nicer than you would think." Her words were tinged with encouragement, beckoning me to take the necessary steps to cross the threshold.
In his mind, Yovin was anything but encouraged.
Once he stepped inside, he would finally learn of his fate. Awakened within the home of a mysterious benefactor, being called "Young Master" as if it was the most natural of titles for someone like him. Not to mention the fact that he no longer felt as if he was being cradled alongside death.
Whoever this Mistress was, surely she would come to collect. Whatever it is she wanted from Yovin, surely it would be something he couldn't give without a second thought.
Alya waited patiently, acutely aware of the nervousness that emanated from the boy that distanced the vicinity they had once shared. He reeked of self-consciousness, every movement he made within the short time he had been awake taken after what seemed like ample consideration.
She was aware of what befell Catarina. The slaughter that took place there. And as such, she felt his fear was warranted, if not expected. Anyone, especially a boy barely 13 years of age, would be shaken by such an event.
However, things would have to progress. For both their sakes. And in that way, Alya wished to give this boy the same push she was given all those years ago.
"It's okay, Young Master. Whatever happens in there, you're besides friends. That's the one thing I can promise you."
Yovin's gazed furtively matched the Servant-woman's eyes, obviously confused as to how quickly she had discerned the source of his malaise. His eyes were subdued, lips curved downwards in a slight frown, every facet of his appearance muddled with anxiety. Even the slight horns on his head seemed to tug downwards under the weight of his misgivings.
This stranger was giving him a hand in a roundabout way. Perfectly measured to keep a certain distance between them, even though she had shown him much more vulnerability just a few minutes ago in the room he had stayed in. Alya was being considerate to him, and as such, he felt he should return that consideration with at least the bare minimum of a response.
He picked his head up, looking intently at the door in front of both of them, before walking towards it, his arm extended towards the rusted doorknob that would parse it's frame.
Almost imperceptible, Yovin could hear Alya mutter something behind him before his entire figure evaporated from thin air, transported to another place as soon as he made contact with the door.
"Welcome home."