I woke to the sound of Malakor negotiating reality with a hotel attendant.
"I assure you, sir," Malakor's voice filtered through the heavy oak door, strained and overly loud. "The previous resident... he was a man of peculiar habits. Scented candles. Ritualistic incense. He likely performed a cleansing ceremony in the bathroom. That explains the smell of burnt ozone and the... cracks in the window."
I stared at the ceiling. The gold leaf was peeling in strips, revealing the grey concrete underneath like necrotic flesh.
A cleansing ceremony.
The lie was clumsy. It was like trying to patch a cracked dam with chewing gum. In a universe governed by probability, such a weak fabrication created friction. If the attendant's skepticism outweighed Malakor's persuasion, the reality of the room-a suite devastated by a localized gravitational collapse-would become harder to hide.
"I see," the attendant's voice was unconvinced. "We will add the damages to your bill."
"Of course! My Lor... err, my employer is very wealthy!"
I closed my eyes.
Mortals and their social layer. It was Boring.
They navigated the world through lies and currency, ignoring the physics layer underneath where the true transactions occurred.
Few minutes later, a soft click from the door drew my attention.
Kael entered.
He carried a silver tray with a steadiness that defied the trembling I knew still plagued his hands. On it sat a pitcher of cream, a glass of milk, and a plate of refined carbohydrates.
The air in the room shifted. It curved.
It wasn't a visible distortion, but I could feel it. The space around Kael felt denser, heavier, as if his mere presence was pulling the room's center of gravity toward him.
He placed the tray on the small dining table, pulled out a chair and waited.
I sat.
The silence was heavy, but not empty. It was filled with his gaze.
He picked at a croissant, tearing it into precise, geometric pieces, but his eyes never left my face. They were wide, unblinking, and filled with a terrifying, innocent intensity.
My Luggage is malfunctioning, I analyzed, taking a sip of the milk.
The diagnosis was clear. During my resurrection, he had ingested a drop of my Divinity. It wasn't just magic; it was identity.
A dark thought crossed my mind.
Why not pour more?
If I flood his mind with the full weight of my presence, I could override his will completely. I could burn away this annoying, clingy affection and turn him into a perfect, mindless avatar. A true extension of my will.
I looked at him. At the way his fingers twitched when I moved, as if he wanted to reach out but was restraining himself.
No.
A vessel that is too full cracks. Just as this priest's body leaked blood from its ears last night, Kael's mind would shatter under the full load.
I needed a heat sink, not a mirror. I needed a filter to absorb the excess noise of the cosmos, not a reflection to amplify it.
I must tolerate his affection.
"Eat," I commanded.
Kael blinked. He put a piece of bread in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. But he didn't taste it. He was only performing the action because I had ordered it.
"You are not eating," I noted.
"I am full," Kael said. His voice was soft, lacking its usual metallic resonance. "I am full of... noise."
I pushed my plate away. Dealing with his issues would have to wait. There were larger threats.
"Explain the mechanics, Malakor," I said, turning to the priest who was hovering nervously by the door.
"My Lord?"
"This city," I gestured to the broken window. "It creates miracles. Elevators that climb the towers. Trains that ride gravity. Usage of magic comes at a cost, And the cost must be paid with body or… soul of the user… Who pays the tax?"
Malakor shuffled forward. He pointed a finger toward the window.
"There, My Lord."
I looked.
Piercing the smog and the neon clouds, a needle-like structure rose from the center of the city. It was black, sleek, and pulsed with a faint, rhythmic heartbeat of violet light.
"A Magic-Spire," Malakor whispered.
"It is a wireless grid. Every magical device in Zonia—every lamp, every engine, every anti-grav plate—has a Unique ID which is registered in Empires database. When a citizen activates a device, a request is sent to the nearest Spire."
"A request?"
"Yes. The Spire validates the ID and the effect gets applied on the device."
I narrowed my eyes. "Wireless miracles."
"We pay in Clons, My Lord," Malakor continued, his voice dropping. "But the real cost... the Plausibility Tax... is paid by the Source."
"The Source?"
"No one knows what it is. The Empire keeps it hidden. But it pays the metaphysical debt for billions of devices across the globe every second."
I stared at the black tower.
It wasn't a monument. It was an IV drip.
This city wasn't a metropolis; it was a patient on life-support, hooked up to a hidden enityt that was slowly bleeding out for them. An umbilical cord made of radio waves, feeding a civilization that had forgotten how to breathe on its own.
"Disgusting," I muttered.
I stood up and walked to the window. The glass was cold, and the sky of Zonia was full of artificial clouds constantly raining even amidst the day.
I felt a presence behind me. Silent. Close.
I didn't need to turn to know it was Kael. I could feel the warmth of him, the way the air pressure dropped slightly as he stepped into my personal space.
He didn't touch me. He just stood there, breathing in my rhythm.
I spun around.
Kael didn't flinch. He stood his ground, looking up at me. The top of his head barely reached my chin.
The height difference irritated me. It emphasized a dynamic I did not want.
I reached out and grabbed the collar of his coat and straightened it with a sharp, rigid tug.
It was a gesture of possession. A reminder of who held the leash.
"You are confused," I said, staring down into his blue eyes.
"You feel a pull and think its affection. It is not."
I leaned in closer.
"It is resonance, Kael. You are contaminated with my divinity. You are a moth confusing a lighthouse for the moon."
Kael didn't blink nor he did look away.
"I don't care, Master…" he whispered.
He took a half-step closer, closing the final inch between us. His chest brushed against mine.
"I just want to be close to you..."
I sighed.
The logic center of his brain had been rewired.
"Fine," I said, releasing his collar. "You may remain close to me."
Kael's shoulders relaxed, a tension leaving his frame that I hadn't realized was there.
"But," I added, my voice turning to ice. "Your mind must remain sharp. You are allowed to be irrational about me, Kael. But you must be a cold machine regarding everything else."
I grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at the Magic-Spire outside.
"The world is still a target. Can you partition your logic?"
Kael looked at the tower. Then he looked back at me.
"Yes, Master." he said. "Logic for the world. Devotion for you."
The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute.
I stepped back, breaking the intimacy. I brushed imaginary dust from my shoulders.
"Good."
I looked at Malakor, who was pretending to examine a stain on the carpet.
"We look like refugees from a basement," I announced. "Malakor. Kael."
I walked toward the door.
"We are going shopping. If we are to walk into the White City, we must look like we own it."