The Life After Death

  Chapter 23: The Collector's Embrace

  The bar was silent.

  The heavy scent of sweat, stale alcohol, and cheap tobacco clung to the air, mixing with the grit of sand that had been carried in by the wind. The dim lighting cast long, jagged shadows across the cracked wooden floor, the flickering glow of oil lanterns illuminating the worn faces of mercenaries and outlaws who had long since abandoned the concept of law and order.

  My throat burned with thirst, my body still reeling from the relentless heat of the wasteland. Yet, as I stood at the entrance, I knew that weakness was not something I could afford to show here.

  The bartender, a wiry man with a scar running down his left cheek, continued wiping down the stained glass with the rag that had likely seen better days.

  The bartender barely glanced at me as he spoke again, his tone dry and expectant. "I said water ain't free, kid. You deaf or just slow?"

  I exhaled sharply through my nose, then shifted my approach. I leaned slightly onto the counter, widening my eyes just enough to make myself look pitiful. "C'mon, old man," letting my voice take on the most innocent tone I could manage. "I'm just a kid, dying of thirst here. You wouldn’t let me shrivel up into a husk, would you? Please?"

  I even added a slight quiver to my lip for good measure.

  The bartender stared at me for a long moment, his scarred face unreadable.

  Then, to my surprise, he let out a low chuckle. "Nice try, kid. But I don’t give a damn how old you are." He leaned against the counter, shaking his head. "Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today."

  He grabbed a rusted tin cup and filled it from a dented canister before sliding it across the bar toward me. "Enjoy. But don’t expect charity twice."

  I caught it just before it spilled, staring down at the cloudy liquid. Hardly refreshing, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I lifted it to my lips, taking a slow, measured sip. It tasted of metal and dust, but the relief was immediate, soothing my parched throat even as the tension in the room remained thick.

  As I took another sip, I caught movement beside me.

  Two men, both seated at the bar, leaned in slightly. One had a crooked nose and a scar running down his left cheek, while the other was lean, wiry, and missing two fingers on his right hand. They exchanged glances before turning their attention to me.

  As I focused on them, I instinctively reached out with my senses. The mana around them was weak—almost pitiful. Their manahearts exuded a faint presence, confirming what I already suspected. Dawn stage. All of them. Not a single one among them had strength worth fearing.

  I exhaled slowly, my grip on my cup loosening slightly. Whatever intimidation they thought they had over me had just lost its bite.

  "New face in town," Scarred Face muttered, swirling the drink in his cup. "Where’d you crawl out from, kid?"

  I glanced at him, then at his companion, before shrugging. "Just passing through."

  The wiry man snorted. "Passing through where? You lost, or just stupid? Ain’t nothin’ but sand and death in all directions."

  I sighed, setting my cup down. "Or maybe I just enjoy the scenery. You know, the endless dunes, the occasional rock—real breathtaking stuff."

  Scarred Face chuckled at that, though his eyes remained sharp. "Funny. But jokes don’t answer questions. You runnin’ from someone?"

  "Not yet."

  The wiry man leaned in, eyes narrowing. "That so? 'Cause you sure as hell don’t look like a kid with a plan. And you ain’t got the sunburn of someone who's been out here long. So what is it, huh? You steal somethin’? Kill someone?"

  He tapped his fingers on the counter. "Or you just another poor little bastard who wandered in thinking this place had a future?"

  I exhaled, giving him a dry look. "Oh, you got me. I’m actually a runaway prince escaping a doomed kingdom. Or maybe a legendary bounty hunter hiding from my past. Or—wait for it—maybe I just really wanted a drink."

  The two men exchanged glances before Scarred Face let out a low chuckle. "Smart mouth on you. That’ll get you killed around here."

  The wiry man smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah. Unless it gets him somethin’ worse."

  A chair scraped against the floor behind me. The heavy-set man who had been silently watching from the back of the bar finally stood.

  He was bigger than the others, his thick arms crossed over his chest, eyes sharp and sun-worn. The way the two men at my side glanced toward him told me all I needed to know—he was their leader, or at least the one they answered to.

  He took a slow step forward, stopping just behind me. "Haven’t seen you around before," he rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of someone used to being listened to.

  I lowered the cup, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Haven't seen me before? Guess that makes two of us." I took another slow sip of water before continuing. "Didn’t realize I needed an invitation to be thirsty."

  The man grunted, rolling his shoulders. "Funny. But see, kid, strangers don’t last long out here. And ones like you? They don’t just pass through."

  I chose my words carefully. "I got separated from my group. Just looking for supplies before I move on."

  He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "That right? A little thing like you, out here alone?" His eyes flicked to my robes, then to my dagger. "Don’t look like you’d last two days in this place. You sure you ain’t been dumped here, boy? Maybe someone got tired of lookin’ after you?"

  The men beside me snickered, and I let out a slow breath. "Trust me, if someone dumped me here, it wasn’t because they were looking after me."

  That earned a few chuckles from around the bar, though the leader’s expression remained unreadable. He stepped closer, his broad shadow looming over me. "You ain’t no merc. You ain’t no trader. And you sure as hell ain’t a local. So tell me, kid—what are you?"

  I let my lips quirk up just slightly. "Thirsty."

  A few men chuckled at that, though the amusement was short-lived. Their leader, however, was not laughing. His grin faded, replaced with something colder, more irritated. His hand twitched at his side before balling into a fist.

  "Smart mouth on you, huh? Let's see if it still runs after I break your teeth."

  His punch came fast, but I was faster.

  I twisted, the rush of wind from his swing brushing past my cheek as I kicked off the stool and landed lightly on the bar table. My dagger flashed into my grip, its tip hovering just above his throat. A slow smirk tugged at my lips as I tilted my head.

  "Temper, temper," I mused. "I thought we were just having a friendly chat."

  The room tensed. The men at the bar shifted, hands inching toward weapons, the air thick with the promise of violence.

  Then, before things could escalate, a sharp voice cut through the tension.

  "That’s enough."

  The sound came from the back of the bar, firm yet smooth, carrying an edge of quiet authority. The hooded figure that had been sitting in the shadows now stood, their cloak shifting slightly as they stepped forward.

  The way they moved—controlled, deliberate—made it clear they weren’t just another desperate wanderer.

  The leader of the mercenaries paused, his fists still clenched, his eyes flicking toward the voice. The other men shifted uncomfortably, like they knew better than to ignore whoever had just spoken.

  I stayed balanced on the table, dagger still in hand, watching as the figure’s hood remained low, concealing their face.

  "Now, now," the figure’s sultry voice cooed, "is that any way to treat our guest?"

  The room shifted.

  As the figure stepped into the dim lantern light, they reached up, grasping the edge of their hood. In one smooth motion, the hood was pulled back, revealing a woman beneath it.

  The atmosphere of the bar changed instantly. The men stiffened, their postures straightening ever so slightly. Some looked away entirely, avoiding her gaze. Others let their eyes linger, drawn in by something beyond their control.

  She was stunning in a way that felt almost unreal—like something sculpted by the gods to tempt and destroy in equal measure.

  Long, raven-black hair cascaded down her back, adorned with golden threads woven intricately through the strands. Her deep amber eyes shimmered under the low light, framed by dark lashes that made every glance feel intentional.

  A teasing smile curled her lips, as if she knew exactly how much power she held in the room.

  But it was her attire that made my throat dry for an entirely different reason.

  A thin, barely-there robe draped over her body, tied loosely at the waist, leaving much of her bronzed skin exposed. The fabric clung to her in ways that were deliberate—every movement revealing glimpses of curves and bare flesh beneath.

  Gold cuffs adorned her wrists, delicate chains connecting to rings on her fingers—each step she took causing them to glint.

  I forced myself to maintain eye contact, even as every primal part of me urged otherwise. Yet, beneath the allure, something else gnawed at my senses.

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  I cannot sense her manaheart.

  Not even a flicker. Either she was suppressing it flawlessly, or she was on a level where such things didn’t matter. I shouldn’t underestimate her.

  She leaned in slightly, the scent of jasmine and something sweeter—something dangerous—wafting from her skin. "A lost traveller, all alone in such a cruel place?" Her fingers traced my shoulder lightly before sliding away. "How tragic."

  I cleared my throat, shifting my stance. "I can manage."

  She gave a knowing glance at the mercenaries, her lips curling in amusement as she caught them ogling her. "Come, let’s not entertain so many prying eyes."

  She turned and walked toward the back of the bar, where she had been seated before, casting a smirk over her shoulder. I hesitated for only a second before following, feeling the weight of curious stares lingering on me. The low murmurs of the men resumed, but none dared to intervene as she led me deeper into the dimly lit corner.

  Her smile widened as she sat down at the table, gesturing to the seat across from her. "Sit, let's talk properly."

  She leaned back slightly, settling into the chair with effortless grace. Her amber eyes studied me with quiet amusement. "I am Liora. And you are?"

  I hesitated, instincts screaming at me that this woman was far more dangerous than she appeared. Still, I answered. "Emrys."

  Liora’s lips parted slightly, as if tasting the name. "Emrys," she repeated, her voice like silk over steel. "Strong name for someone so young… and so capable."

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she didn’t give me the chance.

  Liora tilted her head, her eyes never leaving mine. "I’ve been watching you since you walked in, Emrys. You certainly know how to make an entrance."

  I raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly back in my chair. "Can’t say I had much of a choice. Your welcoming committee seemed eager to make introductions."

  She chuckled, the sound warm yet layered with something unreadable. "They’re territorial. But you… you’re something different. A traveller? A survivor? Or just a boy lost in the wrong place?"

  "Does it matter?" I replied, keeping my expression even. "I’m just here for a drink."

  Her smile deepened. "A drink and what else? No one comes here by accident, Emrys. I wonder…" She leaned forward just slightly, her voice dropping to something softer. "What is it you’re really looking for?"

  I held her gaze, feeling the weight of her words press against me.

  She wasn’t just prying—she was studying me, reading between the lines, searching for something. And yet, despite the intensity, there was an undeniable warmth to her tone, like she was luring me in, making me feel safe even while she dissected me piece by piece.

  She reached across the table, her fingers brushing lightly against my wrist. "You’re strong. I saw what you did back there. But strength alone doesn’t keep someone alive out here. You need…" She paused, letting the words linger. "Trust."

  Her touch was light, almost comforting. She leaned forward slightly, "you're not from around here, Emrys. I can’t help but wonder… why are you here?"

  I exhaled, shifting slightly in my seat. "That depends. Where is ‘here,’ exactly?"

  Liora smiled, tracing a fingertip along the rim of her cup. "A bedridden town where mercenaries and the lost come to waste away. A place no one remembers, and no one cares for. We’re in the region of Flintshire, just shy of a two-month journey from the city."

  She studied me as she spoke, gauging my reaction. "And yet, you—so young and capable—end up here? That’s interesting."

  Flintshire!? My stomach tightened at the name.

  Asmodean, how the hell did the rift put me here! I hadn’t just crossed a border—I had been thrown halfway across Aether.

  Liora noticed the flicker of realization on my face and tilted her head. "And what about you? Where do you come from, Emrys?"

  I hesitated for half a second before giving a simple answer. "Verdant Vale."

  She raised an eyebrow, her smile widening as she licked her lips. "Mmm… now that is interesting. Handsome men don’t usually come from the complete opposite end of Aether. How did you find yourself here?"

  I met her gaze but didn’t give her more than I had to. "Luck."

  She chuckled, low and smooth. "Lucky indeed. But luck alone won’t get you far out here. You must be tired, hungry… I imagine you need more than just water."

  Her voice dipped into something softer, something that felt oddly reassuring. "Come with me, Emrys. I can take you somewhere safer. My home is a night’s ride away, and from there, I can get you to a better place before we figure out what’s next."

  I hesitated, something in the back of my mind warning me that this felt… too convenient. Too easy. Liora had control of this situation, and that alone made me wary.

  But then again, what were my options? Staying here meant dealing with mercenaries who’d likely rob me the first chance they got. Wandering alone meant starvation, dehydration, or worse.

  She had offered me a way out, and while I didn’t trust her fully, I knew I couldn’t afford to be reckless either.

  Besides, if she had truly wanted to harm me, she wouldn’t need to lure me away—she could’ve handled me here and now.

  I glanced around the bar again—the mercenaries still watching, the stale air thick with danger. Did I really want to stay here? To fend for myself in a wasteland where I had no supplies, no direction?

  No. Better to take my chances elsewhere.

  I nodded. "Alright."

  She smiled, standing gracefully. "Good choice."

  Before long, we were riding out of the town in a horse-drawn carriage, the creaking of wooden wheels filling the silence as we crossed into the barren landscape. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, bathing the wasteland in golden light, stretching long shadows across the cracked dirt and jagged rock formations. Dust swirled in the distance, caught in the warm, dry breeze.

  Inside the carriage, it was just the two of us, the swaying of the wooden wheels creating a rhythmic creak beneath us. The dry air had started to heat up again, the afternoon sun baking the land as it descended.

  Sweat clung to my skin, my robe sticking uncomfortably to my back. Even Liora, with her effortless composure, had a slight sheen of sweat glistening on her bronzed skin. Yet somehow, she still looked infuriatingly flawless.

  My eyes flicked toward her more than once—purely by accident, of course. The carriage's slight bouncing sent subtle ripples through her barely-there robe, making it difficult not to notice certain… details.

  Every now and then, my gaze betrayed me, catching glimpses of her chest shifting with the movement, the curves of her body accentuated with every bump in the road.

  I quickly turned my head, heat rushing up my neck. Focus, damn it.

  Liora, ever observant, didn’t miss a thing. A knowing smile curved on her lips. "Oh? Something on your mind, Emrys? You seem a little… flustered."

  I cleared my throat, shifting uncomfortably. "It’s just the heat."

  She chuckled, low and sweet. "Mmm… of course." She leaned back, stretching slightly, allowing the fabric of her robe to shift just enough to make my situation worse.

  "You can rest if you want, Emrys. I know you’re tired." Her voice took on a softer, almost nurturing tone. "My lap’s quite comfortable, if you don’t mind."

  I blinked at her, unsure if she was serious or just enjoying how easily she could throw me off. Her teasing smirk told me it was both.

  I shook my head, exhaling. "I’ll be fine." Instead, I pulled my robe into a makeshift pillow, leaning against the wooden wall of the carriage as I closed my eyes.

  The warmth of the fading sun mixed with the rhythmic motion of the ride, lulling me into a sense of comfort despite my wariness.

  What felt like mere moments passed before I was shaken awake.

  "Emrys," Liora’s voice was softer than before, almost whispering. "We’re here."

  I blinked, rubbing my eyes. The deep navy of the night sky had replaced the golden afternoon glow. The air was cooler now, carrying the scent of dry earth.

  As I sat up, my gaze followed Liora’s hand, pointing ahead.

  A small, solitary cottage stood under the vast sky, nestled in the barren landscape. A soft flickering light glowed from within, casting faint shadows against the cracked dirt. In the distance, more small cottages were scattered sparsely across the land, their silhouettes barely visible under the dim starlight.

  I frowned slightly. "What is this place?"

  Liora smiled, stepping down from the carriage. "A home. To rest. Think of it as a rental."

  I followed her toward the entrance, my senses still half-dulled from sleep but alert enough to take in my surroundings.

  The cottage was modest—a single room with a woven mat spread out as a floor bed, a wooden tub resting to one side with a bucket of still water beside it. Against the far wall, a small makeshift kitchen stood, a simple table with a half-loaf of bread and a clay pitcher sitting atop it.

  The place felt… temporary. As if it existed only to serve a fleeting purpose.

  I exhaled, my body aching from the long ride. "So, just a place to rest, huh?"

  Liora’s smile remained, unreadable in the dim glow of the lantern. "It’s late. You should eat something, then wash off the dust from the road. You’ll feel better."

  I glanced at the small wooden tub in the corner and the single floor mat that served as a bed. "There’s only one tub… and only one bed."

  Liora let out a soft chuckle, untying the thin scarf from her neck. "Don’t worry, I’ll sleep outside."

  Something about that didn’t sit right with me. "No, it’s okay. I’m sure we can share." I coughed, looking away. "I mean, I don’t mind."

  She tilted her head, amused by my flustered response. "Such a fine young gentleman." She gestured toward the bread on the table. "Eat first. I’ll prepare the water."

  As I grabbed a piece of the bread, my stomach growling in approval, Liora reached for the tie of her robe.

  My eyes flickered up as her fingers traced the knot, her movements slow, deliberate—almost teasing. The fabric tensed as she pulled, loosening inch by inch, slipping from her shoulders with an agonizing grace.

  And then, just as the robe slid past her hips, pooling at her feet, my brain finally caught up with what was happening.

  I choked, violently coughing as crumbs scattered across the table.

  For a split second, I was frozen, my brain refusing to register anything except the sight before me.

  Her skin was smooth, bronzed by the sun, glowing softly under the dim lantern light. The curves of her body were sharp yet delicate, a dangerous blend of strength and allure. Her collarbones dipped into the soft swell of her chest, her breasts full and perky, moving subtly with each breath.

  A thin sheen of sweat glistened along her toned stomach, trailing down to the delicate curve of her hips. Every inch of her was carved to tempt, and right now, I was losing badly.

  Liora arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh dear, are you alright?"

  I turned my head sharply, my face burning. "You… you could have warned me!"

  "Where’s the fun in that?" she teased, her laughter soft, almost musical, as she stepped toward the tub, the dim light accentuating every curve of her bare form.

  I clenched my jaw, forcing my eyes anywhere but in her direction.

  Liora dipped her fingers into the tub, testing the temperature before glancing back at me. "Come join me after you’re done eating. It’ll help you relax."

  I nearly choked again. "I-I think you should finish first."

  She laughed, the sound rich and playful. "Oh my dear, you have a peculiar mind for someone so young." Her eyes shimmered with amusement. "Think of me as a mother figure, just wanting to wash her son."

  I frowned, that felt odd.

  Her words were meant to be reassuring, but something about them lingered in my mind, stirring emotions I wasn’t prepared for.

  A mother figure? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, yet… there was a warmth in her tone that unsettled me in a different way.

  Unbidden, my thoughts drifted to my mother, to Elara, to Helena—the times they had bathed me, scolding me for playing too rough, for coming home covered in dirt. It was a distant memory, one I hadn't thought of in so long, yet it surfaced now with startling clarity.

  I didn’t fully trust Liora, not yet. But in this moment, her presence, her voice, the strange familiarity of it all—made me want to. And somehow, before I knew it, I had moved.

  Stripping off my clothes, I stepped into the tub, the warmth of the water immediately soothing my aching body. Liora shifted behind me, reaching for a cloth. "See? Not so bad, is it?"

  I let out a slow breath, tension easing from my shoulders as she gently ran the cloth over my back. "Relax, Emrys. It’ll be okay."

  The words hit me harder than I expected. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel like I had to be on guard. The warmth of the water, the quiet of the room, the soft touch against my skin—it all melted together into something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Comfort.

  When she finished, she wrapped her arms around me from behind, pulling me against her. Her bare skin pressed against my back, her breath warm against my ear. "You’re different," she murmured. "There’s something about you that makes me want to help you… to get you to where you’re going."

  I hesitated, then slowly reached up, resting my hand over her arm. "Thank you… this means a lot."

  Liora’s grip tightened slightly, as if savoring the moment. Her warmth, the steady rise and fall of her breath, was oddly reassuring. I felt my body start to relax, letting her words guide me into rest.

  Then, my brain betrayed me.

  Wait… I’m naked. And she’s naked. We’re in a tub. Together.

  My face turned red as the realization sank in. My body stiffened instantly, my thoughts spiralling into dangerous territory. Before I could even think about stopping myself, I jumped up. "I-I think it’s time to get out!"

  Water splashed as I practically vaulted out of the tub, fumbling for the nearest cloth. I grabbed it, drying myself in record time while avoiding looking in Liora’s direction. My hands worked hastily, throwing my clothes back on as I all but stumbled toward the sheets laid out on the floor mat.

  Behind me, Liora’s soft laughter filled the room. "You really are a peculiar one, Emrys."

  I turned slightly, my face still warm. "Thank you… for all of this." My voice came quieter than I intended, but the gratitude was real. Then, before she could tease me again, I lowered myself onto the mattress, exhaling deeply.

  Liora stood gracefully from the tub, water dripping from her body, pooling onto the wooden floor as she walked with effortless confidence. The dim candlelight flickered against her bronzed skin as she moved toward the small table. Without a word, she leaned over and blew out the flame, blanketing the room in darkness.

  "Rest well, Emrys," she murmured. "Tomorrow, we will go somewhere safer."