Episode 9: Unsettled Dome

  Chapter 026 - Servant Grief

  “Alright, ladies!” the Housekeeper shouted, her voice cutting through the crowd of maids gathered around her. Every gaze fixed on her within the large chamber. They stood like unorganized statues, waiting to hear orders. Lefaulta stood among them, hands resting firmly on her waist.

  “Let’s kick the hall into full stride! Each station has its duties! Feed these fine lads, cleanse the halls, straighten the courtyards, and remove every trace that slaves have ever laid hands on. And if you find any slave hiding inside these walls, send them away. You know the drill. Go!”

  Her orders echoed against solid walls as chandeliers loomed overhead. The women dispersed with practiced order, each rushing to their station.

  The kitchen roared with steam and fire, its chimney belching smoke like a factory. Storerooms clattered as servants rummaged through supplies. Outside, maids swept and scrubbed away the chaos left by the rebellion: bloodstains, scorched tiles, shattered stones, and sometimes a body or two—dead or alive.

  Deeper inside, armor rang as it was polished and mended, steel glowing under enchantments. Maids practiced the precise magic drilled into them by officials, ensuring every blade and breastplate gleamed to perfection.

  Lefaulta and her group had rougher work. They tackled carpets ruined by soldiers trampling mud and blood through the halls. It had been days since the outrage in the land of the poor. The social eruption had expanded too far, slipping into the rich and even in Armiton. Though with resistance by the soldiers, voices lessened gradually. And today, it was all about cleaning the mess. Magic was too volatile near delicate things like pots, glass, and fabrics. So instead, it was broom and rags.

  Lefaulta herself was ordered to mop the marble floors. Unlike the others, she worked in chains. Iron cuffs dug into her wrists, raw from years of infection and strain. Her Rapid Healing AP helped with short-term comfort. But with constant strain on her wrists, it became more work than aid. Though not all magic was useless. Sometimes she used her telekinesis magic to carry the bucket or push the mop, but it drew sharp, judgmental looks from the other maids, as if she were some dangerous criminal.

  She supposed she was. At least in their eyes. She’d expected nothing less ever since the major rebellion ten years ago. As one of the leaders in the resistance that failed to protect children, she found this “punishment” almost merciful. After her capture, officials had interrogated her relentlessly, expecting retaliation. Instead they found her spirit hollowed out, her eyes dulled, her voice muted. Something had broken her, though she never confessed it. Some guessed the truth from fragments of her testimony.

  In the end, instead of the slave market—where the Triumvirate circle wanted her sold—she was bound to the Armiton headquarters, forced to serve the very ones who had slaughtered her Lady and the child.

  As Lefaulta turned a corner, mop in hand, she found herself in another long marble hall. A few maids finishing their work noticed her and quickly slipped away, whispering as they went. Soon, she was alone. The silence pressed in, heavy and sharp… until the Housekeeper appeared from behind.

  “A miserable servant,” the Housekeeper said, her footsteps echoing as she approached from behind. “Even after all these years, you still refuse to be our servant. Ain’t that a misery?”

  Lefaulta turned, chains clinking with the motion. Her eyes were hollow, pupils dark. “I am your servant. I’ve done everything you asked, so why do you question it?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The Housekeeper closed the distance. She stood a foot taller, her skin rough, her face etched with the history of struggle. Her eyes cut sharp as blades. “It’s a pity,” she said firmly, “to see a lady like you corrode. We clothed you, fed you, bathed you… And still, you cannot crack a smile. We are a bundle of straws inside a shed, protected from winds. But for some reason, one straw doesn’t want to be in our shed.”

  Lefaulta’s expression didn’t change. She only sighed and returned to her mop, strokes hitting the marble in hard, uneven thuds. “You should focus on your girls. Sounds like they need more discipline than an average slave.”

  The silence thickened, broken only by the drag and thump of the mop. Then, the Housekeeper’s voice cut through it. “Remember who kept you from being sold.”

  Lefaulta froze.

  “She is the one you should obey, not the one you call your Lady. You, me, all the maids here—we were spared by Luminar’s mercy. She is the strongest, and yet the most merciful. And you stand here with such restraint. She may be gone, but her order remains. Best keep your act straight before she returns, because I cannot help you in the face of order.”

  Lefaulta’s grip on the mop tightened.

  The Housekeeper pressed on. “She will know when one is under her command. Her perception is unmatched. In other words, she leaves no room for deceit. I say this for your own good. Take it or leave it. But remember that no lie is hidden from her.”

  With that, the Housekeeper turned, heels clicking as she vanished around the corner. Her dress disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lefaulta alone with silence and her thoughts.

  Her head shook slowly, as though in denial, but the truth weighed on her: Luminar had saved her.

  After the decree, when the last infant was slaughtered, the districts became a field of ash and smoke. Wherever one looked, there was a dead body. The placement of the bodies told a brutal story. Most men had died in the frontlines. Unsurprisingly, every child under the age of one perished. And some women died alongside them, with arms holding what remained as their child. One could make a story from it, a history written across pages.

  The Bareground turned into a pyre, burning the bodies of slaves. Black smoke climbed into the sky, a grim testament to power unchallenged, authority unbroken.

  Lefaulta had expected to share that fate. She imagined execution beside Minsuer and the rest, and she welcomed it. As a result, her days in the cell kept her mind oddly at peace. In a way, death felt like a shortcut from her failures to protect everyone. Despite her system screaming warnings about her failing health, she ignored them. She had nothing left to prove.

  Then, instead of death, they dragged her from her cell and hung a price tag around her chest.

  She remembered the despair in that moment. Now, death appeared more like a gift than something inevitable. But nothing changed about the level of her consequences… until Donnor appeared.

  He stopped the auction, brandishing a decree signed in Luminar’s own hand: all captives would be spared. Not sold, but kept to serve under her command.

  That was when she knew Luminar had been her savior, whether she liked it or not.

  And yet, as Lefaulta clutched the mop, she fell to her knees with hands trembling and teeth clenching. Her knees buckled, and she pressed her forehead against the wooden shaft.

  Tears fell freely. Her thoughts tore her apart. There were two sides: Luminar and Serana. On one side stood Luminar, the only one who had rejected the decree and spared her. On the other hand, Serana, her Lady and the promise she had made… to raise the unborn child, to see him live as a worthy son. That promise was ashes now, and silence was all that remained.

  She wept until the sound hollowed into quiet. Wiping her face, she closed her eyes. In the crushing stillness, she began to sing. Her voice cracked, but the lullaby carried through the halls, frail yet piercing. It was the song she had sang for the child while he was still in the womb. The song meant only for him, who would now never hear it.