Refugee Camp II

"Frain..." The slave Wildren replied, keeping her dull gaze downward at the ground. Then Lupus glared back at the merchant, startling him.

"I, uh… I don't know," The merchant muttered, scratching his cheek nervously. "She was like that when someone traded her for a few credits."

"This is defective merchandise," Lupus said, her voice sharp and accusing. "If you'd cut her ears off, she'd be indistinguishable from a human. She's a disgrace to her kind."

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with implied bargaining. The merchant's smile faltered as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Jack, standing just behind Lupus, furrowed his brow. "Don't tell me she's actually going to buy a slave…" He murmured under his breath incredulously.

Then, without warning, Jack seized Lupus by the wrist and yanked her out of that wretched place. 

"Come on! Lupus, you're not seriously considering it," He said, his voice firm with disapproval, his steps hasten. If there was one thing he despised more than anything, it was slavery.

"Hey~hey…" She yelped, startled by his sudden boldness. Jack would never touch her willingly — at least, not until now. Somehow, this time, it felt different.

Lupus cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder, pitying the lioness Wildren, while the slave trader wiped his sweat in relief.

"Okay…" She murmured, falling in step behind Jack. His silent condemnation was palpable, and she had no reason to resist.

***

Eventually, they arrived at the entrance of House Tasmania. Lupus pushed open the double doors and strode inside. A soothing wave of lavender fragrance instantly enveloped them. The stark contrast between the interior and the chaotic streets outside was like stepping between two separate worlds, divided only by the elaborate massive oak doors.

Lavish lounges crowded the space, expensive leather suitcases and finely crafted baggage scattered over an embroidered carpet. Chandeliers of crystal brilliance adorned the high ceilings, casting warm, flickering reflections across elegantly dressed men and women.

Lupus sniffed a few times before exchanging a glance with Jack, a small smile tugging at her lips. He smiled back, though he was tired, weary. Together, they made their way towards the reception desk, where a man in a dark red suit and hat stood, dipping his head politely.

Just as they were about to check in, a cloaked elf shuffled forward, reaching the counter a fraction of a second before them.

Upon realising he had inadvertently cut the line, he turned and nodded in silent apology, then stepped aside with an extravagantly polite gesture.

"Oh, please, take your turn first, Sir Lunarius, Willhelm Mae Arden," Lupus spoke up with an unusual air of grace. She elegantly tapped her toe behind her bent leg, dipping her head slightly — an uncharacteristic display of respect among mages. Such formality was rare for her.

Jack, watching from the side, almost fell for her cuteness before catching himself, quickly turning away to hide the heat creeping up his face.

As Jack took a closer look at Willhelm Mae Arden, he realised he could never stand on equal footing with his goddess's favoured child. In every way, appearance, aura, refinement, he was utterly outclassed.

The incredibly attractive elf had dazzling green eyes, like the rarest emerald of Vinveil. His silky, long hair was tied back into a single ponytail, cascading down like a waterfall. His eyelashes were long and curled upwards like a crown, complementing his sharp monolid eyes. His face was finely chiselled, with subtle indentations along his refined jawline and high cheekbones — striking yet not overwhelmingly masculine. A Lunarius gold ring, engraved with the glyph of Ares, adorned his index finger.

He stood even taller than Jack, easily surpassing 190 centimetres, his posture exuding both regality and pride. As Willhelm and Lupus engaged in what seemed to be an animated discussion about arcane matters, their conversation was peppered with occasional chuckles.

"Well, don't mind if I do! I have quite the urgent need to keep myself in peak condition for the battles ahead," Willhelm said, flashing a charismatic smile. Lupus tilted her head up, her golden eyes meeting his.

"Then I'm most pleased to be of any aid," She replied, her tone lifting an octave higher.

"Haha, too bad Empress Aurora called upon warmongering mages instead of Renaissance ones," Willhelm quipped with a chuckle, amused by his own satire. Lupus simply nodded, her gaze never wavering from his.

"If she had, perhaps they could help the people outside — so many are starving, injured, lost… It's a tragic sight, yet who am I to judge the will of the heaven?" He added matter-of-factly, his voice tinged with genuine empathy.

Jack observed him in silent admiration. Such nobility… the perfect man, he thought, feeling the weight of Willhelm's effortless charisma.

Then, as if a puzzle piece had suddenly clicked into place, Jack understood the shift in Lupus's expression earlier, she must have recognised Willhelm immediately, not just his name and title, but everything he stood for. "She likes him… maybe even has a crush on him." Jack thought.

A cold realisation settled in Jack's gut, and he instinctively shrank back from the two of them; two people who seemed so perfectly in sync. If David were still alive, at least he would have had someone to relate to. Even if they weren't on the same level in terms of looks, they had shared a passion for technology, neuro-controllers, brain synapse algorithms, and precision navigation intelligence systems.

But here? Here, Jack felt completely out of place. Arcane terminology like essences and slots meant nothing to him but gibberish, ancient languages. He understood machines, not magic.

Though he stood just a metre away, it felt like a vast chasm separated him from them —kilometres apart in knowledge, status, and presence.

"Am I jealous? Jealous of Willhelm Mae Arden?" He scoffed inwardly. "You've got to be kidding me…" 

Yet, even as he denied it, the hollow feeling remained. He reached for the locket dangling from his neck, his fingers brushing over the faint digital-ink image of his son inside. The simple act grounded him, though it did little to ease the ugly emotion gnawing at his chest.

Willhelm, ever composed, nodded apologetically. "Well, I do believe I've taken up far too much of your time," He said smoothly, his movements as effortless as flowing river.

With that, he turned to the receptionist, sorted out his room. And, moments later, was handed a keycard. Without missing a beat, he departed naturally, as if the world simply moved with him.