Chapter 224: Running From Sleep

Fabron had unfortunately sobered up by the time he got back to his room, but despite that, he still leaned against the door frame as he unlocked the door, stumbling inside his room.

I’ve only been awake a handful of hours and I’m exhausted.

But despite his exhaustion, the bed looked like the jaws of a predator, salivating at his approach.

A flush of adrenaline at the sight of the bed flushed the exhaustion out of his mind.

No. No, I should do something else. Something lordlike. Like paperwork, or counting coin, or whatever a Lord does.

His attendants handled all of that.

At the thought of his attendants, something visceral stirred in Fabron’s stomach, and he leaned against the wall, gasping, the world spinning as he struggled not to puke.

“Is something wrong, Master?” Lucas asked, the butler arriving beside him. “Perhaps you should rest.”

He could feel Aria’s slender fingers tugging on his hand, urging him towards the bed.

It was just a phantom sensation, but her message was clear. Summon me and release all you desire.

Desire? Hah. The thought of being held by the beautiful Aria turned his stomach again, bringing back the feeling of nausea in full force.

How much have I been sleeping these last few weeks? Twelve, fourteen hours a day? More? Sleep was an unending nightmare.

“No!” Fabron shouted, his voice cracking a bit more than he’d expected as he brushed off Lucas’s hand. A moment later he drew a deep breath and straightened. “No. I’ve slept too long already. Let’s take some time to see the sights.”

“…As you wish, Master,” Lucas said with a bow. “Please allow me to accompany you.”

“…I need a break.” Fabron said. A moment later, Lucas erupted into phantom flames, his skeleton highlighted by the ethereal fire as it was consumed.

A moment later, Fabron was alone, fully alone for the first time in months.

The number of attendants he was supporting dropped to the two remaining in his Stronghold.

Just dropping the number of manifested attendants to two was a huge weight off his shoulders, but there was still a little nagging drain at the edge of his perception.

You too. Fabron thought, dismissing them as well. In that moment, he simply didn’t care what little tricks Bakton might have waiting for him back at home.

It couldn’t possibly beat this sense of relief, Fabron thought, with a sigh as he splayed out in the center of the room, his back pressing against the pleasantly cool stone floor of the palace guest room.

Despite feeling like there were seven people standing over him, staring down at him disapprovingly, he couldn’t bring himself to give a single shit.

Fabron felt his eyes drifting closed, the world around him gradually dimming and fading away.

Fire.

Fabron’s eyes snapped open, his heart rattling against its cage, the sudden dump of adrenaline leaving him panting for breath.

No, don’t want that, Fabron thought, groaning as he dragged himself to his feet, taking far longer than he should’ve to straighten himself.

“I’m going out.” He addressed the empty room with seven ghosts invisibly staring abck at him.

Fabron retreated from the room, half-trotting down the opulent hallway, grateful that none of the other Lords in attendance saw him.

With a grunt, he started tearing off the opal-studded vest, getting it halfway unbuttoned and untucked before he thought better of it.

He had to wear his full set through town anyway in case someone jumped him. He would be like a walking beacon strolling through Zodiac’s Stronghold regardless of whether or not he was wearing the fancy vest.

Fabron glanced down and realized that ghostly hands were guiding his fingers to effortlessly re-button the vest and tuck it seamlessly back into his pants, causing his hair to stand on end.

He picked up the pace, going from a half-trot to a full run, darting past the startled guards at the entrance.

They weren’t there to keep people in, and they already knew who he was, so the guards simply shrugged and returned to their boring duty as Fabron sprinted into the night.

Fabron skidded to a halt near a local tavern, his hard boots clicking on the crystal cobblestones they slid across. The scent of manure wafting from the farmland in the center of the lent a sense of realism to the scene.

This is real. I am here. Fabron reminded himself, savoring the smell of animal shit.

Better than burnt flesh. Better than the dreams.

What…were the dreams, anyway?

Fabron knew he was suffering while he slept, but he couldn’t remember what he dreamed about. Every time he thought about it –

Fire and Death

Fabron’s mind touched something horrible and his recoiled from the memory, unwilling to subject him to even the ghost of the horror.

“GAH!” Fabron smacked his temple with his palm, once, twice, three times, trying to beat the horror out of his mind, but no matter where he went, it seemed to follow.

Or…I’m carrying it with me. Fabron thought, glancing down at the ring under his glove. He tore off the popinjay glove and inspected the ring under the pale light of the pleasure district’s central crystal tower.

A signet ring, the outside studded with Fire opal, and a band made of gold with motifs of burning leaves.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The detail was inhuman. Literally. Nothing human could’ve made it.

And the signet depicted in the center of the ring? Seven flaming skulls.

That should’ve been warning enough.

For a brief instant, Fabron was tempted to take off the set and vanish into the night, his fingers inching towards the ring, even as the seven ghosts placed their hands on his arms, subtly pulling him back.

…No. Fabron thought, relaxing his hand, which went limp by his side.

Bakton would find me eventually and that would be the end of old Fabron. Bakton was less than happy with the damage he’d done in Bakton Keep, and he’d marked Fabron for death.

Taking off the set was a death sentence. Just slightly delayed.

Not to mention, I still need to get revenge on William Oh.

Even now, the rage festered in his guts as he thought of the time he spent cleaning up the kid’s mess.

Treat me like a slave? Drop a giant stone shit on Bakton’s lawn and expect me to haul it away? I’ll burn away your limbs, seal you in a coffin with the remains of everything you love and throw it in a pyre.

A faint voice in the back of Fabron’s mind argued that Bakton was the one who’d enslaved him, and only because he’d tried scamming someone. Cleaning up William Oh’s battle had been incidental. If there hadn’t been a melted lump of glass to dispose of, his foreman would’ve found some other humiliating task for him to do.

Shoveling shit, cleaning out grease traps, butchering animals, hauling freight. There would’ve been something for the Debt Slave to do. Probably worse than mining glass.

And yet that faint voice couldn’t erase the indignant anger he felt towards Wiliam Oh, irrational as it might’ve been.

“Bah, I need a drink,” Fabron muttered, straightening and heading towards the tavern.

The moment he set foot inside, the normal chatter of the inn dropped to nothing as all the patrons stopped and stared at him.