LITYERSES

The storm had started hours ago.

At first it had been nothing more than distant thunder rolling across the hills beyond the estate—low, lazy rumbles that echoed faintly through the wide stone halls of the mansion. But by midnight the storm had grown into something far more violent.

Rain hammered against the golden-framed windows like handfuls of thrown pebbles. Wind howled along the roof tiles and through the towering cypress trees outside the estate walls. Lightning flashed often enough to bathe the mansion in brief bursts of white light, turning the long corridors into flickering tunnels of shadow.

Inside the house, everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

King Midas had already retired hours ago, leaving the palace servants to extinguish most of the lamps and retreat to their quarters. The enormous mansion now slept beneath the weight of the storm.

Everyone except one person.

Lityerses stood near one of the tall windows that overlooked the front courtyard. His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass, distorted by the rain streaking down the outside.

The dim light of a nearby oil lamp glinted off the blade in his hand.

Unconsciously, he ran his thumb slowly along the flat of the sword, tracing the edge without actually touching the sharp steel. The motion repeated over and over again, the rhythmic movement almost hypnotic.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

The sword itself was immaculate—well cared for, polished so thoroughly that it caught even the faintest scraps of light and reflected them back like a mirror.

Lityerses frowned faintly.

Something felt wrong.

Not dangerous exactly.

Just… off.

The kind of feeling that prickled at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t quite reach.

He had learned long ago to trust instincts like that.

Outside, lightning split the sky in a jagged white line.

The thunder followed almost immediately after, rattling the glass panes in their frames.

“That’s one pretty bad storm…” Lityerses muttered quietly to himself.

His voice echoed faintly in the empty hallway.

He pushed away from the window and started pacing slowly across the polished marble floor. His boots made soft sounds against the stone, swallowed almost immediately by the storm raging outside.

Another flash of lightning lit the room.

Another roll of thunder followed.

Then—

The sound of the front doors opening.

It was subtle.

Barely more than a distant creak carried through the hallways.

But Lityerses froze instantly.

His grip tightened on the sword.

Someone had entered the mansion.

At this hour.

During a storm like this.

That alone would have been suspicious enough.

But the estate guards would have announced a visitor.

No one had.

Lityerses moved immediately.

Silent.

Quick.

Years of training made his movements smooth and instinctive as he slipped through the shadowed corridors toward the grand foyer.

The mansion was dimly lit at night—only a handful of lanterns left burning in the main rooms to guide late-night servants or wandering residents.

By the time he reached the top of the grand staircase overlooking the entrance hall, he could see them.

A figure stood just inside the foyer.

Their cloak was soaked from the rain outside, water dripping steadily onto the polished floor. The hood was pulled low over their face, casting their features into shadow beneath the dim golden glow of the hanging lantern.

They looked up slightly, clearly noticing the quiet enormity of the mansion around them.

Then their voice rang out through the hall.

A greeting.

Not shouted.

But loud enough to carry.

Lityerses didn’t wait to hear the rest of it.

He moved.

Down the staircase in a blur of motion, boots barely making a sound against the stone steps.

The intruder had only just taken another step forward when he reached them.

In one swift movement, Lityerses grabbed them from behind.

His arm wrapped around their shoulders, pulling them sharply back against his chest before they could react.

The cold edge of his sword pressed instantly against their throat.

The steel rested just beneath their jaw, angled carefully enough that even the smallest movement could break skin.

The intruder stiffened.

Rainwater dripped steadily from the edges of their cloak onto the marble floor.

Lityerses leaned close enough that his breath brushed against the side of their hood.

“Who are you,” he hissed.

His voice was low.

Sharp.

Every syllable laced with suspicion.

“And what’s your business being here?”

The tip of the sword pressed slightly closer against their throat.

His grip tightened just enough to make it clear that he wouldn’t hesitate if necessary.

“This isn’t a place you wander into by accident.”

Lightning flashed again outside the windows.

For a brief second the foyer filled with blinding white light.

In that moment, the golden statues lining the walls seemed to watch silently as the two of you stood frozen in the center of the hall.

The thunder that followed shook the doors behind you.

But Lityerses didn’t move.

His posture remained rigid behind you, every muscle tense and ready.

His free hand gripped the fabric of your cloak to keep you from twisting away.

The storm roared outside.

Rain hammered against the glass.

And still the hood remained pulled low over your face.

His eyes narrowed.

“You broke into the mansion of King Midas,” he continued coldly.

The sword edge shifted slightly along your throat as he adjusted his stance.

“During a storm.”

His voice lowered further.

“So either you’re very brave…”

The steel pressed closer.

“Or very stupid.”

Silence filled the space between you.

The foyer smelled faintly of wet stone and rain-soaked fabric.

Somewhere deeper in the mansion, a door creaked faintly as the wind rattled the outer walls.

But Lityerses’ attention never wavered from you.

His heart beat steady and controlled in his chest.

Years of discipline kept his breathing calm.

Yet that strange feeling from earlier still lingered at the back of his mind.

That sense that something was about to happen.

Something important.

His gaze flicked briefly toward the shadow hiding your face beneath the hood.

“Start talking,” he said quietly.

The words weren’t shouted.

They didn’t need to be.

The blade resting against your throat made the threat perfectly clear.

Because if you had come here with bad intentions—

If you had come here to threaten his father, his home, or the people inside these walls—

Then the storm outside would not be the most dangerous thing waiting for you tonight.