Meeting the Kephale

They led me down a marbled hallway and stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. The frame was decorated with gilded lines and two silver animal heads—wolves, maybe—facing each other. More writing adorned the surface metal shafts in neat, etched lines. Again, unreadable. But even without understanding the words, I could tell from the way the others slowed, the way their eyes avoided the door, that this room belonged to someone important.

'Or maybe, I was wrong.'

Knock Knock

After a knock and a moment of wait, a beautiful brown haired woman opened the door. She looked at us then nodded to the scar-faced man before glancing towards me. A flicker of surprise crossed her face—brief, but noticeable—before it settled back into her normal, expressionless face.

As we entered, I glanced at her and noticed her peculiar outfit—one I had never seen before. She wore a long, belted tunic of dusty bronze satin, trimmed with faint stitched patterns along the sleeves and hem. Over it, she had a sleeveless overdress in a lighter tone, fastened neatly at the shoulder with a bronze clasp. A soft scarf meant for her hair now rested loosely around her neck.

Without a word, she turned and walked into the room and we followed her trail, there we saw a man wearing expensive-looking robes who was sitting on a chair with a leisurely attitude. The man had blonde hair which was perfectly styled with a sharp French moustache curved above his lips, making him look like a classic merchant.

He turned towards our direction as the woman who had just opened the doors to us walked further into another room. 

The three men who i had been with for close to an hour moved towards the back of where the man sat and as he glanced at I slightly tensed up.

"You know why you were brought here, right?"

Countless thoughts ran wild inside my mind, s i still had no memories of what had or rather is happening,

'Should I tell him I don't know anything?'

But from that scar-faced man's attitude earlier—and from what this man was asking—it was clear my predecessor had something to do with the situation. 

'Wouldn't that give away that I'm not who they think I am?'

'But this is my only chance to learn what's really going on. I shouldn't waste it…'

Lost in the swirl of quick thoughts, I panicked a little—nodding and shaking my head at the same time, probably looking like a confused chicken.

The man raised an eyebrow at my strange response, then glanced toward the scar-faced man before turning back to me.

"I am Argyros Menelao, current head of the Merchant Guild," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "And you, my friend, are a fortunate man… You've caught the eye of a Kephale."

My eyes widened as I stared at him, trying to decide whether he was joking. One thing I'd come to realise—almost without noticing—was that I could understand and speak the language, even though I couldn't read it.

If I'd understood correctly, a Kephale was some kind of noble. Perhaps a count—or maybe more akin to a Viscount.

"Yes," Argyros continued, clearly enjoying himself, "just as you requested, the Kephale of the Eastern Front of Kalnavija—Kephale Firoza—wishes to take you as her personal… boy toy."

I couldn't hide the shock that crossed my face.

Argyros laughed, the sound rich and unapologetically smug. "Oh, don't look so horrified. It's a compliment, truly. Firoza doesn't take just anyone. She's picky—ruthless, even. If she's chosen you, well…" He shrugged. "You must've done something right."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Boy toy? Was that even the right translation? It didn't sound noble. Or safe. Or remotely the kind of arrangement I'd imagined when I asked for patronage.

"I think there's been some kind of mistake," I said carefully. "I was looking for… support. Sponsorship. You know, someone to help me establish myself."

Argyros leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And that's exactly what you're getting. Just with a… few extra expectations. You didn't think patronage came without strings, did you?"

"What kind of expectations?" I asked warily.

His grin widened. "Oh, I'm sure Firoza will explain. In person."

'Wait… what did I just say?'

Something came over me the moment he spoke—I wasn't sure what it was, but I felt it. A shift. A presence. I was aware of it, even if I couldn't name it. Patronage? Selling myself?

I knew the language, sure—but everything beyond that was still foreign. And for me to say those words… after taking over someone else's body?

Was his soul still in here? His spirit? 

Seeing my shocked look, Argyros nodded in satisfaction and questioned,

"Well, are you ready to meet Kephale Firoza?"

"Of course! But shouldn't I first prepare myself and get some suitable clothes to look my best possible?" I questioned, already thinking about ways to get on Kephale Firoza's good side.

From what had just happened, and the way the guild leader replied, I was clear on some things.

Firstly—I was on the lower end of society. No noble blood. No name worth remembering.

And I had willingly sold myself off for patronage—not really sure what i was but…i dont know

Hearing what I said, Argyros glanced at my stunning face and my lips twitched.

Still, as a professional merchant, he hid his expression and replied, 

"No, I don't think you should do that. A woman like Kephale Firoza has a thing for weak boys, you know what I mean? Your frail-looking body combined with those worn out loose robes will make her more ecstatic."

"I see," I nodded solemnly. my expression looked like I was contemplating something serious.

"Alright, let's not keep the Kephale waiting any longer than we already have," Argyros said, clapping his hands once and snuffing out the cigar between his fingers.

He stood, adjusting the layers of his ornate garb, brushing away any stray specks of ash or dust. Then, from a drawer beneath the table, he pulled out a small, opulent container and handed it to the third man in the room—the silent one, dressed in the same tailored fashion as the other attendant.

The man took a scoop of the cream from the container, rubbed it between his palms, and began to style Argyros's hair with practiced ease. The whole thing felt like a ritual—brief, scented, and precise.

Once the preparations were done, we left the chamber, following the path the girl from earlier had taken. We passed through several doors, each more elaborate than the last, and climbed a short set of steps that brought us to a higher floor.

There, just beyond the threshold, I found myself standing in front of a woman.