The Master''s final instructions echoed in Thirteen''s mind as he stepped out of the office. The heavy "Emerald Thirteen" token, felt like a physical anchor in his hands, grounding him in this strange new reality. He was Thirteen now, no longer Wei Feng, the street urchin. The transition was jarring, like shedding an old skin for one that didn''t quite fit. The wooden corridor outside the office stretched before him, dimly lit and seemingly endless, branching off into a confusing maze of passages. The air was thick with an unfamiliar blend of scents: roasted meats, pungent spices, and the warm, resinous aroma of aged wood. It was a world away from the stench of the alleyways he had called home.
A tremor of nervousness, a stark contrast to the forced bravado he had displayed before the Master, ran through him. Now, alone, the sheer size and complexity of Respite''s Hearth overwhelmed him.
The sounds of the tavern, previously muffled, now surrounded him: the distant clatter of dishes, hushed conversations, the rhythmic thumping of something heavy, and a low, persistent hum that seemed to vibrate through the very wooden structure of the building. He took a tentative step, then another, his bare feet padding softly on the worn wooden floorboards, which creaked gently beneath his weight.
The architecture was bewildering. The corridor branched off into smaller passages at odd angles, some leading up a few steps, others descending into darkness. Arches and alcoves punctuated the dark, polished wood walls, some holding flickering oil lamps that cast long, dancing shadows, others revealing glimpses of rooms beyond—a flash of movement, a sliver of light, a snatch of conversation. It was like navigating a labyrinth built within the heart of a vast, ancient tree.
He passed a doorway that opened into what seemed to be a bustling kitchen. The sudden shift to stone walls and floors was jarring, the air cooler and echoing with the clatter of pots and pans. Figures in green robes moved with practiced efficiency, their faces obscured by the steam rising from large pots and pans. The air was thick with the aroma of spices and roasting meat, making his stomach rumble with renewed hunger. He hesitated, wondering if he should ask for directions, but the intensity of the activity and the sharp, focused movements of the staff made him think better of it. He didn''t want to interrupt or draw attention to himself.
He pressed on, turning down a narrower wooden passage that seemed to lead deeper into the building. The sounds were muffled here, and the air felt cooler. He passed another doorway, this one leading to a dimly lit room filled with rows of shelves. Books, scrolls, and strange-looking artifacts lined the shelves, their outlines blurred in the shadows. The scent of old paper and ink hung heavy in the air. It looked like a library, or perhaps a study of some kind. He longed to explore, to lose himself in the world of knowledge that had been his father''s domain, but he knew he had to follow the Master''s instructions. Baths first.
Lost in thought, he almost bumped into two figures coming around a corner. They were women, both middle-aged, dressed in the same green robes he had seen in the kitchen. Numbers hung from their belts: “Eighty-eight” and “Sixty-one.” He stopped, unsure of what to do. "Excuse me," he said hesitantly. "I''m looking for the baths." The two women exchanged a glance. Eighty-eight raised an eyebrow. "The baths? You''re new, aren''t you?" "Yes," Thirteen admitted, clutching his token tighter. "The Master told me to go there." Sixty-one nodded. "Ah, yes. The new one. Come with us."
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They led him down a series of winding wooden passages, the floorboards creaking beneath their feet. They didn''t speak much, but Thirteen could feel their eyes on him, assessing, curious. He tried to appear confident, but inside, he was still a bundle of nerves. He wondered what they thought of him, this ragged boy from the streets suddenly thrust into their world. He wondered about his contract and thier’s, about the hundred years, about the blood. Finally, they stopped before a set of heavy wooden doors. Sixty-one pushed them open, and the shift was immediate again: the wood gave way to cool stone, and the sounds of splashing water and hushed voices filled the air.
The baths were vast, a cavernous space lined with gleaming stone, filled with the sound of splashing water and hushed voices. Marble gleamed in the soft light of oil lamps, and steam rose in swirling clouds from numerous pools of varying sizes. The air was thick with the scent of fragrant aromas, herbal scents, and clean linens. Staff members in green robes moved about, attending to the needs of patrons who lounged in the pools or sat on benches wrapped in towels. It was a scene of unexpected luxury, a stark contrast to the squalor of the streets he had known. He had washed in cold, dirty water from buckets or puddles, if he was lucky. He had never seen anything like this. The sheer opulence of the baths was almost overwhelming, a sensory overload after the simplicity of his previous life.
His guides nodded and left him.He spotted a tall slim woman standing observing the chaos, her back to him. She was tall and imposing, and her green robes seemed to be of a more intricate design than the others. A single number hung from her belt: “Eight.” He approached her cautiously. "Excuse me," he said again.
The woman turned, and Thirteen felt a jolt of surprise. She was beautiful, with a regal bearing and an air of detached authority. Her eyes were dark and piercing, and her expression was cool, almost indifferent. "You are the new servant?" she asked, her voice clear and precise. "Yes," Thirteen replied, feeling suddenly self-conscious in his tattered clothes. "The Master sent me to the baths." Eight nodded. "The staff baths are over there. Visitors use the main chambers." Her gaze swept over him, taking in his rough-spun clothes and bare feet. He sensed a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps pity, perhaps curiosity, perhaps even a hint of disgust. She quickly looked away, as if she had revealed too much. “Hurry along then, you don’t want to be seen here by any of the VIP visitors.” She directed him towards a less opulent section of the staff baths, indicating a smaller, more secluded area. He felt a mix of gratitude and unease. There was something about her that made him feel small and insignificant.
He found a vacant tub and began to undress, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability as he shed his tattered clothes. He had never been so exposed. It felt almost foreign. As he stepped into the steaming water, a wave of heat washed over him, easing the aches and pains that he hadn’t even realized he had. He sank down, letting the water envelop him, and closed his eyes. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax, to forget about the labyrinthine wooden corridors, the enigmatic Master, the weight of the contract.
He was just a boy, bathing in warm water, a simple pleasure he hadn''t experienced in years. But the sense of peace didn''t last long. A harsh voice shattered the quiet. "Well, well, what have we here?" Thirteen opened his eyes to see an elderly woman standing over him, her face etched with lines and her eyes sharp and piercing. She wore the same green robes as the other staff, but hers were even more worn, more faded. A number dangled from her belt: “Eighteen.” "I''m here to bathe," Thirteen said, trying to sound confident. "So I see," the woman said, her voice rough. "But do you know the proper protocol?" "Protocol?" Thirteen asked, confused. "Yes, protocol," the woman snapped. "There are rules here, boy. Strict rules. First, you will scrub. Scrub as if your life depends on it. You have half a decade of grime to remove, and I will not have you fouling my baths." She handed him a rough scrubbing brush and a bar of strong-smelling soap. "Scrub," she repeated. "And when you are done, I will add the herbs."
Thirteen began to scrub, his skin already red and raw from the hot water. The woman watched him with hawk-like eyes, making sure he didn''t miss a spot. He scrubbed until his arms ached, until his skin felt like it was on fire, until he was sure he couldn’t scrub anymore. "Enough," the woman finally said. "Now, for the herbs." She pulled out a small bag and dumped the lot into the water”.