Chapter 11: World of Vaeltherium
The warm water had rinsed off the exhaustion and terror of transmigration, but it hadn't cleansed the uncertainty gnawing at his chest. After drying off and taking one last reluctant glance at the unfamiliar familiar face in the mirror, he stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped around his waist.
The maid who had prepared his bath was waiting just outside, hands neatly folded in front of her, eyes downcast in respectful poise. Upon his arrival she lifted up her gaze from the ground and looked straight at him. Seeing her piercing gaze he started to get uncomfortable and under the guise of folding his hand, he covered his bare chest. Her gaze was piercing and uncomfortable making him suddenly cold.
"Would you like me to assist you in dressing, young master?" she asked gently, voice soft as a breeze but trained like a professional.
He blinked. Then, reflexively took a half step back.
"Ah—No!" he said quickly, then added awkwardly, "I mean, no thank you. I'll do it myself."
"As you wish." She nodded with neither surprise nor offense.
He moved to the wardrobe which looked like an entire room, a polished black armoire etched with silver vines and the same ominous insignia he'd seen on the bed's headboard: a coiling serpent biting its own tail, surrounded by black flame. The emblem of the Demios clan.
He pulled the doors open and was immediately greeted by a row of clothes that screamed nobility. Black, crimson, and dark silver tones dominated. He chose a high-collared shirt, form-fitting trousers, and a long coat trimmed in deep red, the inner lining patterned with faint ember-like trails. The coat's shoulder bore the Demios insignia, crisp and embroidered with eerie precision.
As he slipped it on, he felt something inside him—whether it was discomfort or acceptance, he couldn't tell. But one thing was clear— he looked like a gothic prince. No... like a vampire lord out of an old novel.