The secondary dining hall of the castle was a concentration of understated opulence. In the center of the room stood a long, polished walnut table, meticulously set for five people. Exquisite porcelain plates with gold rims, crystal chalices reflecting the candlelight, and silver cutlery arranged with geometric precision created an almost sacred atmosphere.
Arkon escorted Hayjin inside, inviting him to sit on one of the high, velvet-upholstered chairs. Shortly after, Zhilian made her entrance, gently supported by Isabelle, followed by Wren and her exceedingly rigid maid, Riko.
However, before the court waiters could even serve the first course, Arkon stopped at the head of the table and turned to the group with an apologetic smile.
"Please forgive me," the sage began, adjusting the wide sleeves of his robe. "Unfortunately, I will not be able to dine with you this evening. The sages of the Council await me for an urgent meeting regarding border security and the reports on the damage sustained by the tower. I must leave you, but I am certain you will be in excellent company. Hayjin, Zhilian... try to rest."
With a final nod, Arkon turned and left the hall, letting the heavy wooden doors close behind him with a dull thud that seemed to mark the beginning of a very long evening.
As soon as the sage was gone, a total, deathly, and suffocating silence descended upon the table.
The only audible sound was the faint metallic clinking of the waiters serving a pumpkin and wild vegetable soup, followed by small cuts of roasted meat fragrant with herbs. Zhilian stared at her plate with a weary expression, barely moving her spoon without any real appetite. Wren watched her sister with a worried frown, while Riko and Isabelle stood just behind their respective princesses, stiff as two stone statues, their gazes fixed on vacancy.
Hayjin felt his social anxiety rapidly rising to his throat. That ceremonial silence was literally driving him insane; accustomed to dining with the chaotic and noisy manners of his own home, that rigidity was medieval torture to him.
Determined not to let the atmosphere crush him, he grabbed his spoon and tried to break the ice by addressing Isabelle and Riko directly.
"So..." Hayjin began, his voice echoing far too loudly in the empty room. "Great weather tonight, right? I mean, not that you can see much from in here, but the air is crisp. Isabelle, tell me, that cloth you were dusting with earlier... is it made of some magical material or is it just simple silk? No, because you were cleaning with such crazy fervor, I was worried the mahogany might catch fire at any moment."
Isabelle didn't move a muscle in her face. She merely raised her right hand slowly, joining her thumb and middle finger, and then executed a sharp, disdainful flick outward, as if to banish his voice from the air. Then she placed her hand behind her back again, ignoring him completely.
Hayjin swallowed a sip of the soup, not discouraged in the least, and turned toward the other maid.
"And you must be Riko, right? How long have you been working here at the castle? It must be exhausting chasing after Wren all day. But do you have some kind of maid academy where they teach you not to blink? Because I swear I haven't seen you close your eyes once since I walked in. Is it a concentration technique, or is the castle's air conditioning just too strong?"
Riko didn't answer. Instead, she slowly turned her head toward him and gave him a harsh glare, pinning him with two gray eyes loaded with a contempt so icy it could have frozen the soup in his plate.
Hayjin, now fully in silence-panic mode, kept talking rapidly like a broken record, with no intention of stopping, hoping that one of them would break eventually.
"No, because I was also wondering if the royal kitchen uses normal salt or if they import it from somewhere else. And this meat? Is it venison? Or maybe wild boar? You know, we hunt a lot back where I'm from, but it never has this... aristocratic flavor. Oh, by the way, is there a curfew in this sector, or can I take a stroll in the garden after dinner? No, because I wouldn't want the silver guards to use me as target practice, thinking I'm a thief. Though, to be honest, with these clean clothes you gave me, I look almost like a civilized person, don't I?"
The monologue continued for a good two more minutes an uninterrupted stream of bizarre questions and nervous jokes that bounced off the marble walls without receiving a single syllable in response. Isabelle kept making small disdainful gestures with her fingers, while Riko looked on the verge of drawing a hunting dagger just to make him shut up.
Realizing that with the two maids he was just flogging a dead horse, Hayjin surrendered. He let out a long, exasperated sigh and limited himself to looking at Wren, who sat directly opposite him.
The little girl was watching him with wide golden eyes, clearly amused by the whole scene. Seeing that the boy had finally gone quiet, Wren decided to take matters into her own hands. Without saying a word, so as not to be overheard by Riko, she began making rapid hand gestures to him.
First, she brought the fingers of both hands together, opening and closing them rhythmically to mimic a mouth talking aimlessly ("You're talking too much and making no sense!"), then she pointed her thumb at the rigid figure of Riko behind her, making a frightened face and mimicking a slit throat with her index finger ("Look out, she's going to kill you if you don't stop"), and finally, she pointed at the plate of meat, mimicking the motion of eating quickly ("Just focus on eating!").
Hayjin looked at her for a moment, then decided to play along and responded with equally pantomimed and exaggerated gestures.
He brought a hand to his mouth, pretending to sew it shut with an invisible needle and thread, then joined his hands as if in prayer, looking at the ceiling with wide eyes in mock terror ("Please, save me from this silence"), and finally pointed at Isabelle with a tilt of his chin, imitating her signature disdainful snap of the thumb and middle finger, exaggerating the movement until it looked like a ridiculous caricature.
That silent and absolutely absurd pantomime did not escape Zhilian. The princess raised her eyes from her plate and, seeing Hayjin imitating her maid's aristocratic gestures with a completely bewildered face, she couldn't help herself. A small shudder passed through her shoulders and Zhilian smiled slightly, an amused and finally relaxed expression illuminating her weary face.
However, not everyone present appreciated the bizarre display.
Along the walls of the room, motionless beneath the silver candelabras, the royal honor guards watched Hayjin's behavior closely. The soldiers, accustomed to the almost religious rigidity of court etiquette, stared at the boy with narrowed eyes, visibly disgusted by such a lack of nobility.
In their eyes, this common boy was nothing more than a crude, uneducated adventurer a foreign and irritating element profaning the solemnity of the royal table with childish grimaces and a way of speaking worthy of a suburban tavern. Their fingers tightened around the shafts of their silver spears, but the princess's presence and Arkon's warning forced them to remain motionless, compelled to endure this deplorable spectacle in silence.
Dinner concluded as soon as the last silver plate was cleared away by the servants, but for Hayjin, the ceremonial torture was far from over. As soon as Zhilian, visibly exhausted, was escorted back to her rooms by an apprehensive Isabelle, the doors of the dining hall closed again, leaving the boy alone with the two maids.
Riko positioned herself in front of him, crossing her arms over her immaculate white apron. Her gray gaze was as sharp as a scalpel.
"Since you have demonstrated so little familiarity with the basic rules of decorum and nobility during the meal," Riko began, her voice devoid of any warmth, "I find it highly educational for you to understand how this household is managed. Sage Arkon has granted you hospitality, but that does not exempt you from making yourself useful. You will help clear the remaining gold and silver tableware and clean the glassware in the scullery. Move it."
Hayjin stood slack-jawed, pointing a thumb at his chest. "Me? Clean? But I'm a guest of honor! Arkon explicitly said that..."
Before he could finish the sentence, Isabelle stepped forward with a stealthy pace, interposing herself between him and Riko. She raised her right hand to chin level, joined her thumb and middle finger, and delivered her sharp, disdainful snap of the fingers outward, as if to erase his protests before they could even take shape.
"The sage's words do not cover laziness, plebeian," the small maid decreed, looking down at him from the peak of her meter-and-forty stature of pure superiority. "Consider it a privilege. Touching the tableware that has served Princess Zhilian is the highest aspiration your miserable existence could ever hope for. Take that tray and see to it that you don't drop anything, otherwise I will use my magic to make you end up like dust under the furniture."
Hayjin let out a long, resigned sigh, running a hand through his messy black hair.
"Incredible," he thought, grabbing a heavy silver tray laden with crystal chalices. "I survived a dungeon, faced death I don't know how many times, and now I find myself washing dishes for a little girl with a grandeur complex and a maid who looks like she stepped out of a bureaucratic nightmare. Congratulations, Hayjin. Excellent move staying here."
The scullery of the private sector was a cold environment, dominated by large gray stone basins filled with hot water and lemon-scented soap. Riko had stepped away to tidy the main pantries, leaving Hayjin and Isabelle alone before the steaming basin.
The boy, having removed his elegant shoes so as not to slip on the damp floor, rolled his white shirt sleeves up to his elbows. He began rinsing the dishes carefully, well aware that a single broken piece of royal porcelain would spark a diplomatic incident. Beside him, Isabelle took the wet dishes to dry them with a fine linen cloth, moving her hands with a nearly hypnotic precision.
Hayjin, unable to bear the silence for more than two minutes, decided to try an approach.
"Listen, Isabelle," he began, keeping his gaze focused on the soapy water. "I wanted to ask you something. How long have you been Zhilian's maid? You seem like much more than a simple castle employee to me. I mean, the way you protect her... it's as if it's a vital matter for you."
Isabelle didn't answer right away. She continued drying a crystal chalice with slow, circular movements. Then, with a practiced motion, she paused, raised her free hand, and executed her swift, disdainful snap of the fingers in mid-air once more, then repositioned her hand behind her back in an impeccable posture.
"Your curiosity is as misplaced as your presence in this palace," the girl replied, her voice cold but lacking her previous hysterical anger. "My loyalty to Princess Zhilian cannot be measured by your crude parameters. I have been by her side since long before you or any other two-bit adventurer set foot in this kingdom. My task is to preserve her light amidst this pile of dust and hypocrisy they call a court."
Hayjin was struck by the seriousness of that answer. There was an immense solitude behind those words, something that resonated strangely with his own sense of isolation.
"I get it," Hayjin said, running a sponge over a silver bowl. "So she really is everything to you. Well, I understand, you know? Zhilian is... she's a special person. Even when we were down there, in the middle of that mess, she was always thinking of others before herself. I think she deserves someone who stands by her like that. Even if that someone has a decidedly difficult personality and a tendency to insult people for no reason."
Isabelle stiffened slightly. Her large, crimson-red eyes settled on the boy's profile, studying the seriousness of his light-brown face. For an instant, her mask of aristocratic coldness seemed to show a tiny crack.
"You have no sensitivity whatsoever, plebeian," Isabelle murmured, returning to dry the porcelain with slightly greater vigor. "But... at the very least, you show a glimmer of understanding for my lady's worth. It's the only decent thing that has come out of your mouth since you arrived."
Hayjin smiled faintly, heartened by that tiny step forward. He decided to push a bit further, taking advantage of the moment of relative calm.
"What about you, though? What do you like to do when you're not busy dusting furniture or threatening guests with death? You must have a hobby, right? I don't believe your life is just silk cloths and targeted insults."
Isabelle stopped dead in her tracks. She set the chalice on the wooden table with a sharp clack, turning completely toward him. Her plum-purple cloak billowed conspicuously, and the thin-tipped black tiara seemed to gleam under the lantern light.
She brought her right hand to her chin, executing her signature finger gesture, joining her thumb and middle finger before snapping them outward with a sharp elegance that expressed all her superiority.
"Your impertinence knows no bounds," the small maid hissed, though her tone was more vexed than truly angry. "I have no obligation to share my thoughts with a rankless individual like you. My existence is dedicated to perfection and the service of the crown. Hobbies are for the weak who have no purpose in life."
"Come on, I don't buy it," Hayjin teased her with a half-smile, continuing to rinse the last tray. "I bet that beneath that imperial maid armor hides someone who likes... I don't know, reading dramatic romance novels or secretly eating leftover pastries from the royal kitchens. I bet I'm right."
Isabelle blushed imperceptibly on her pale cheeks, a detail she immediately tried to hide by lifting her chin and crossing her arms over her chest, covering the conspicuous golden structure shaped like a stylized spine.
"Your assumptions are ridiculous and devoid of any logical foundation!" she exclaimed, snapping her head away so as not to meet his eyes. "I do not secretly consume pastries, nor do I waste time on frivolous readings. Now finish washing that tray before I decide your face needs a wiping with lemon soap!"
Hayjin chuckled, feeling that beneath all that bluster and ceremonial gestures, Isabelle was simply a young girl carrying an enormous burden, just like him. The bickering slowly died down as they finished the last pieces, giving way to a silence that, for the first time, no longer felt so hostile and suffocating.
Half an hour later, Hayjin was finally dismissed. He bid Isabelle goodbye with an ironic wave of his hand receiving yet another disdainful snap of her fingers in return and headed toward his private quarters in the wing for guests of honor.
The room was warm, enveloped by the red glow of the fireplace embers. The boy stripped off his light clothes and let himself fall onto the monumental bed, sinking into the pale blue silk sheets that smelled clean. The softness of the mattress was an immediate relief to his back and legs, which were still aching from the weight of his iron greaves.
Llying on his back, Hayjin interlaced his fingers behind his head, staring at the dark wooden beams of the ceiling.
The shadows cast by the fire danced across the walls, creating bizarre shapes that briefly reminded him of the dungeon corridors. He felt a slight shiver of anxiety force its way into his chest, but he banished it with a deep breath, focusing instead on the warmth of the room and the memory of Zhilian's smile and Wren's laughter.
"It's been an endless day," he thought, slowly closing his tired eyes. "Rhaegalur is gone, I'm stuck in this castle full of vipers, and I just spent the evening playing dishwasher for a pocket-sized maid who hates me. Still... Zhilian smiled. Wren is happy I'm here. Maybe, after all, it wasn't completely useless for me to stay."
He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket over his shoulders. As sleep finally began to claim him, driving away the specter of the Cult of the Brand and the ghosts of his past deaths, Hayjin whispered a final thought into the darkness of the room.
"Let's just hope that tomorrow... is a better day."