I'm A Servant?

l admit, when I first walked into Cain's mansion, I expected something far more sinister. Dark halls dripping with blood, a dungeon full of screaming and dying prisoners, maybe even a grand, over-the-top torture chamber with an iron maiden in the corner for aesthetic.

Instead It looked normal, too, normal in my opinion. How dare this blonde-haired prick pretend to be a normal human being and not some Imperial vampire?

The floors were polished mahogany, the furniture was elegant but not gaudy, and the whole place smelled faintly of citrus and spice. How ridiculous is that? There wasn't a single screaming soul in sight. Hell, when we first arrived, I had glanced around and muttered, "Huh. No bloodstains or racks of torture devices? I must've walked into the wrong house. Lucky me."

Of course, one of the servants, an old woman named Marta, smacked the back of my head and hissed, "Watch your tongue, boy."

That was my first day. A week and a half later, I was still adjusting, albeit terribly. I was still pissed about my perfect escape plan being obliterated last week. 

I had waited until the dead of night, when the rain fell in heavy sheets, drumming against the rooftop like a war march. The storm was my cover each drop masking my footsteps, each gust of wind muffling the sound of the window unlatching. I timed every movement with the rhythm of the rain, slipping down the trellis outside my room, landing as lightly as I could on the drenched grass below. The gate was the tricky part, but the storm worked in my favor. The downpour drowned out the sound of my steps as I slipped through the gap in the fence I'd scouted two days prior while fetching vegetables for the evening stew from the garden.

For a moment, I actually believed I'd done it. I was outside. Free. I started running a violent grin overtaking my face. 

Then, just as I made it halfway down the darkened street, the wind shifted. A violent gust howled past me, and in an instant, he was there landing like he was some damn super hero.

Cain landed in front of me, as if he'd been waiting the entire time for me to try it, the storm bent around him. The rain lashed the street, soaking me to the bone, but not a single drop touched him. His wind magic deflecting the water, leaving him completely dry. 

He looked me over, and instead of anger, there was only amusement in those nasty bright blue eyes of his. "Really, Ayato? Third night in, and you already think you can slip away?" He sighed, shaking his head disbelief. "I don't mind a little entertainment I find you amusing truly, but please don't mistake my kindness for weakness."

I clenched my jaw, dripping and defeated, but before I could muster a retort, Cain gave me one last look. Then, with a burst of wind, he launched himself back into the night sky, disappearing into the storm, leaving me alone to trudge my way back soaked, miserable, and cursing his name the entire way.

"You call that scrubbing?" Doran, a lanky servant in his thirties, frowned down at me, pulling me back to reality as I dragged the rag half-heartedly across the floor. "You'll have to do it again if you don't put some effort into it."

I leaned back on my heels, wiping fake sweat from my brow. "Oh no, whatever shall I do? The great and mighty Doran has deemed my cleaning skills unworthy."

Doran rolled his eyes and chuckled humorlessly. "Sarcasm won't get you out of work."

I sighed dramatically before dunking the rag back into the bucket. "You say that, but I have to at least try."

Marta, who had been overseeing the kitchen prep, poked her head into the hall. "Less talking, more scrubbing, Ayato."

I cursed under my breath but did as I was told.

Later that evening, I was pulled into the kitchen because why wouldn't I be, where an older cook named Harkin shoved a knife into my hand and pointed at a pile of vegetables. "Chop those."

I twirled the knife in my fingers and grinned at him. "Sure. But just so we're clear, man, if I lose a finger, I'm blaming you. Just want you to know that."

"Just chop."

Turns out, I was a terrible cook, but really that's to no fault of my own; everything in the outskirts I ever ate was something I had stolen. By the end of the lesson, I had burned my sleeve, nearly stabbed myself twice, and somehow managed to catch the venison completely on fire. We'll never know if I did any of that on purpose, though. Anyways, Harkin put the fire out before it could spread, but he still gave me a long, weary look.

"You're banned from the stove."

I shrugged and grinned. "Yeah, that seems fair."

By the end of the second week, I had fallen into some sort of routine half-ass cleaning, fetching, and occasionally tripping over rugs while carrying trays of food. You know the usual servant work. Cain was right about one thing this was for sure better than the mines. 

One evening, just after the sun had dipped below the horizon, I carried a tray of steaming tea to Cain's study as ordered by that witch Marta. The house was quiet, the glow of lanterns flickering softly along the halls. I adjusted the tray in my hands and knocked once before stepping inside.

Cain glanced up from his desk, raising an eyebrow as I set the tea down. "You haven't broken anything today. I'm impressed."

I smirked, folding my arms. "Give it time; the night is young after all."

He chuckled, shaking his head before reaching for the cup. As he took a slow sip, I watched him, my mind spinning with the thought that if I had poisoned that cup, he would be dead. The thought came unbidden, almost casually. Just a few drops of something potent enough to kill him, nothing flashy, just effective. Wouldn't that be something? I smile to myself. 

Cain let out a quiet chuckle, snapping me back to reality. "You really should work on your poker face, Ayato."

I blinked. "What?"

He swirled his tea, giving me an amused look. "You were dreaming about poisoning me, weren't you?"

I scoffed. "That's ridiculous. I was just lost in thought."

He raised his eyebrow with a look of disbelief taking over his features; after taking another slow sip, he spoke. "Right. I'm sure you were deeply reflecting on your life choices, not calculating how much venom it would take to kill me." He set the cup down and leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. "Hate to break it to you, but there's no poison in this city you could get your hands on that would actually kill me."

I rolled my eyes in irritation. "Damn. And here I was, so close to committing murder."

Cain laughed, his eyes sparkling in a disgusting way. "Good effort, though."

Cain leaned back in his chair, cradling his teacup as he studied me. "The Rite of Manifestation is in a week. Looking forward to it?"

I sighed, setting the empty tray against my hip. "Oh, absolutely. I can't wait to stand in a room full of nervous kids, bathed in divine light while some ancient force decides if I'm worth anything. Truly, a dream come true." "Not only that, but if I am chosen for some sick comedy act, you will force me on a first-class ride to the capital to be brutalized in some sick magic academy. I'm so positively thrilled with this." 

Cain laughed. "You make it sound so dramatic."

"That's because it is. Some people never recover from the Rite of Manifestation; reactions vary from mental breakdown to extreme existential dread." I flashed him a dry grin. "Sounds like a great way to spend my day."

Cain chuckled again, swirling the tea in his cup. "You know, most people are honored to undergo the Rite; it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity after all. Even the poorest peasant is guaranteed the right to stand before the Gods. And if chosen to bear a mark, they are given status and purpose in life. Why do you dislike it so much?" 

I tilt my head in confusion, then I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, I don't know, Cain. Maybe because being an elite just means becoming a well-dressed attack dog for the king, I won't deny that your black robe is quite the sight to behold. Maybe because the so-called 'chosen ones' spend their lives killing whoever they're told to, no questions asked?" My fingers curled into fists at my sides as the familiar anger came rushing in. "Or maybe just maybe it's because the same damned Inquisitors who serve that 'divine order' who serve his majesty the King had the power and authority to murder my parents."

Cain was silent for a moment, his disgusting bright blue eyes studying me, weighing my words. Then, instead of the dismissive response I expected or, worse, an angry one for talking ill of not only the Inquisitors but King Malik himself, he simply leaned back and smiled at me.

"Once you have power," he said matter-of-factly, "you can always forge your own path, Ayato."

I scoffed. "Oh, sure. Because the Empire is so well known for letting Elites just do whatever the hell they want."

Cain chuckled, setting his cup down. "You'd be surprised. Power bends the rules in ways most people don't realize." He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp. "You might hate the system, Ayato, but if you're strong enough, you won't have to follow it."

I frowned, but I said nothing. I didn't want to admit that, for just a second, his words made something twist deep inside me, something dark and angry.

Cain exhaled, stretching his arms before giving me a lazy smile. "Well, as much as I enjoy our little philosophical debates, I do have actual work to do." He gestured vaguely at the papers scattered across his desk. "So, unless you've suddenly developed an interest in imperial tax reports for this beautiful coastal city we find ourselves in, I'm afraid our conversation ends here."

I rolled my eyes. "Tragic. I was just dying to discuss trade tariffs."

Cain smirked. "I'm sure. In the meantime, you're free to spend your last week wandering the mansion. Read a book, take a walk, and please try not to set anything else on fire." He leaned back in his chair, watching me with that same unreadable amusement. "The next time we meet will be on the day of the Rite of Manifestation, so prepare yourself."

"Whatever, it's not like I have a choice," I mutter. 

"Indeed." His smile widened. "Now get out of my office."

I didn't need to be told twice. I turned on my heel and walked out, resisting the urge to slam the door behind me. One week of freedom left. One week before everything changed for better or worse.

But as I made my way back to my room, Cain's words floated in my head. 

"If you're strong enough, you won't have to follow it."

What did he mean by that?