Lidia's lips twitched in a semblance of a smile, utterly devoid of warmth. "Yes, yes. Flattery noted. Though," her icy gaze flicked to Silas, a subtle edge entering her tone, "refrain from antagonizing our guest henceforth, Silas. Your primary function, after all, shifts to… safeguarding him in my stead for the foreseeable future."
Silas's mask of smugness didn't quite slip, but it froze. His eyes, usually alight with arrogant amusement, went flat and cold as river stones, fixing on Jay with an unnerving, assessing stillness. He gave a single, sharp nod. "Understood, Miss Lidia."
She turned back to Jay, stifling a theatrical yawn, boredom radiating from her like cold mist. "The Devourer's acolytes," she stated matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather, "will inevitably seek you. It is a temporal certainty, not a possibility. My apprentice," she gestured dismissively towards Silas, "is optimally equipped for your protection. A superior selection to the suboptimal assets typically recommended by the Council's… geriatric contingent." The pride was back, sharp and clinical.
Reaching into a drawer of her alien-looking desk, she retrieved a small object and tossed it carelessly towards Jay. He fumbled, catching it – a heavy bronze ring, cold against his palm. It was shaped like a serpent consuming its own tail, the Ouroboros, its tiny scales finely detailed, its eyes tiny chips of obsidian. "A communication conduit," Lidia explained, already shuffling papers, her attention clearly waning. "Exert influence upon it as you would when attempting to perceive a mind. Crude, but functional for your level. Contact me only for pertinent queries."
She waved a hand towards Silas, not bothering to look up. "Now, if you would, Silas. I have a considerable volume of novel data to process."
Silas's chillingly cold expression melted back into that familiar, infuriatingly soft smile as he turned fully to Jay. "Of course, Miss Lidia." He pivoted smoothly, facing Jay directly. "Your destination, Mr. Boron? The Matriarch permits reasonable transit within the city confines." His tone was polite, almost deferential, but his eyes held the faintest glint of challenge, of amusement at Jay's predicament.
Jay stared at the heavy bronze ring in his hand. A tracker? A leash? Probably both. He sighed, the sound heavy with bone-deep exhaustion and the sour acceptance of the utterly bizarre. This was his life now: haunted by soul-worms, dissected by ice-eyed researchers, and babysat by a smug teenage teleporter with a side gig in pit-fighting. He slipped the Ouroboros ring onto his finger. It felt alien, cold, and vaguely constricting. "The apothecary," he said, his voice rough. "Cole's place. I need to see… an old friend." And maybe something strong enough to make me forget I'm wearing a snake ring and have a human pit viper for a bodyguard.
Silas's smile didn't waver. "Cole's Apothecary. A known location. Hold still, Mr. Boron. Transit can be disorienting for the… unaccustomed."
He didn't offer a hand. He simply *stepped* forward, closing the distance impossibly fast. Before Jay could flinch or protest, Silas's fingers brushed Jay's forearm – a contact brief, cool, and utterly devoid of warmth.
The world didn't fade. It shattered.
Not like Lidia's psychic Weave. This was physical. A sensation of being pulled in infinite directions simultaneously, the metal walls, the yellow lights, Lidia's indifferent figure – all fragmenting into blinding shards of impossible color and gut-wrenching vertigo. There was no sound, only a terrifying pressure that squeezed his lungs and threatened to pop his eyes. He felt utterly, terrifyingly unmade.
Then, solidity slammed back into him with the force of a punch. Cold, damp cobblestones under his boots. The familiar, overwhelming stench of the canal – rot, fish, and wet stone. The raucous sounds of Dockmarket Alley: shouts, bartering, the clang of a blacksmith.
Jay staggered, his stomach lurching violently. He barely managed to stumble two steps before doubling over, bracing his hands on his knees, retching violently. Nothing came up but bile and terror. His head pounded, vision swimming.
He heard Silas's voice beside him, sounding irritatingly unaffected. "Disorientation is common after the first few times. It diminishes with exposure. Welcome to Dockmarket, Mr. Boron."
Jay spat onto the cobbles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the bronze serpent ring glinting dully. He glared up at Silas, who stood perfectly composed, not a hair out of place, observing Jay's distress with detached interest. Ahead, the familiar, slightly crooked sign of Cole's Apothecary Shack creaked in the damp breeze. Sanctuary felt miles away, guarded by a smiling, spacetime-bending viper. Taking a shaky breath, Jay pushed himself upright, ignoring the lingering nausea and the cold gaze of his unwanted shadow. "Right," he rasped, steeling himself. "Let's get this over with." He started walking towards Cole's door, acutely aware of Silas falling into step silently beside him, an ever-present, unnerving reminder that his life was no longer his own.
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