And that's that. Nezavek dissolves into shadow, not walking away but simply ceasing to be present. One moment he's there, the next he's part of the darkness between pillars, gone without transition.
Mikaere watches him go, or watches the space where he was, then turns that gaze back to me. "Follow."
Not a request. He starts walking, each step deliberately placed to make minimal sound despite his massive frame. I follow, keeping three paces back. Far enough to react if he turns hostile, close enough not to lose him in this maze of impossible architecture.
"Don't look too long." Mikaere says it without turning. "Human minds aren't equipped to process paradox. You'll give yourself an aneurysm trying to understand."
"How long have you served him?" I ask. Information gathering, not small talk.
"Since before the Shift."
"That's vague."
"Two thousand, four hundred, and twenty-three years." He still doesn't turn. "Six hundred thousand, and seventeen confirmed kills in his defense."
"And you've never failed?"
"Never."
"Everyone fails eventually."
He stops. Turns. The movement is fluid despite his size, too smooth for something made of stone. This close, I can see crystalline veins beneath his surface pulse in patterns that might be a heartbeat or might be something else entirely.
"You're threat number six hundred thousand, and eighteen." Each word drops like a stone into still water. "You'll attack within the week. Something clever, something you think we won't expect. You'll fail. The only question is whether you survive the failure."
"Confident."
"Experienced. Lord Nezavek has brought humans here before. Some for information about his enemies. Some out of curiosity about your species. Some because he thought theymight be... special." His gaze sharpens. "They all think they're different. That they'll be the one to find the weakness everyone else missed."
"Maybe I am different."
"You're not." He resumes walking. "Although you're the fourth he's tested for compatibility in my service. The others... didn't work out."
"Compatibility?"
"Nothing that concerns you. Yet."
We continue through the twisted architecture. "There are areas of the realm you cannot access. The master's private studies, the deep vaults, the meditation chambers. Attempting to enter them would be... unwise."
"Define unwise."
"Fatal."
"To me or to him?"
"To you. To him... inconvenient."
"Just inconvenient?"
"Cleaning interdimensional security systems is tedious."
The corridor opens into something that stops my tactical assessment cold.
It's not a library. It's what would happen if knowledge became architecture. The space soars impossibly high, shelves rising into misty darkness that might go on forever. Books float at various levels, orbiting slowly like paper planets around invisible suns. Stairs spiral in directions gravity shouldn't allow, leading to reading nooks that exist in their own pocket dimensions.
The smell hits me: old paper and lightning, ink and eternity. The air is thick with words, like breathing in stories.
In the center of it all, something that might once have been a woman materializes from dust motes and forgotten words.
